“We’re gonna take our food back downstairs, Aunt Beau,” Slider says as the boys fill their hands with their food and their drinks.
“There are a few sodas and water in the fridge downstairs,” I explain. “Let me know if you need anything,” I answer softly.
“Night,” Ty murmurs.
“Night, Aunt Beau. Night, BB,” Slider adds
“Night, guys,” Hunter says, ruffling Ty’s hair lovingly.
“Sweet dreams,” I murmur, nervous to be alone with Hunter.
“Beau, we’re guys. You don’t tell us to have sweet dreams,” Ty complains.
“I don’t?” I ask, trying to remain serious, because Ty looks seriously affronted.
“No, Aunt Beau. You’re supposed to tell us not to stay up too late cause that’s what parents do, but you can’t tell us to have sweet dreams. That’s what you would tell a girl,” Slider explains.
“You can tell us not to play video games with lots of blood and stuff, too,” Ty reasons.
“Son, all your games have that,” Hunter argues, not bothering to hide that he’s laughing.
“Yeah, I know, but girls get weird about that shit.”
“Ty, language,” Hunter mutters.
“Dad, I say that word constantly.”
“Not around a lady,” Hunter argues.
I look at Ty and roll my eyes, making Ty grin. It’s a good moment, until Slider ruins it with his next words.
“Dude, Aunt Beau’s favorite word is shit. She says it all the time.”
I huff out an annoyed breath. Hunter looks at me and I just shrug. “Bite me, Slider,” I grumble.
“No thanks you’d taste like paint thinner,” he laughs. This is actually a familiar game between us, and I find myself giggling.
“Just for that you don’t get my strawberry French toast bake in the morning.”
“I didn’t say anything. Do I still get it?” Ty asks.
“Do you like French Toast and strawberries?” I ask Ty.
“I like French Toast. I’ve never had strawberry French toast, but I do like strawberries,” he explains.
“Then, definitely you can have it in the morning.”
“You’ll love it. It’s the bomb. She’ll make it for me, too—even if she is threatening me,” Slider says with a sly look.
“Get out of here,” I laugh, because the kid knows he has me wrapped around his little finger. There’s no way I could deny it. They take off laughing and I find myself looking over at Hunter who looks like he just won the lottery. “What’s that look for?” I grumble.
“You keep saying you’re not going to let me move in,” he murmurs.
“That’s because I’m not. The thought of you moving in—considering until just recently we weren’t even talking—is the very definition of insane,” I gripe at him, not even caring if I come off as a bitch.
“Babe,” he says, scratching the stubble on his jaw as he continues to grin at me.
“What? I’m being serious. You have to see how insane this whole thing is, Hunter.”
