“To finding what you’re looking for,” I respond, clinking my glass against hers.
But as I drink, all I can think about is how wrong this feels. The idea of some other man proposing to Freya, some other man seeing her face light up the way it did in the jewelry store, some other man getting to call her his wife…
It makes me want to punch something.
Which is ridiculous, because I don’t do relationships. I don’t do commitment. I’ve spent my entire adult life making sure I stay unattached and focused on my career. I made a vow to myself never to end up in a relationship like my parents have.
So why does the thought of Freya marrying someone else make me feel like I’m losing something I never realized I wanted?
Freya raises her glass to a toast, stealing my attention once more. “To fake engagements and real friendship,” she declares.
“To taking chances,” I counter, clinking my glass against hers.
CHAPTER 4
FREYA
Iring the doorbell and wait, listening to the muffled chaos coming from inside Bella’s house. A toddler is wailing at the top of her lungs, followed by a man’s voice declaring something I can’t quite make out.
I ring again. Still nothing.
Given the volume of the screaming, I’m not surprised no one heard the bell. I walk around to the back of the house, following the familiar path that’s laid out with mosaic stones. The tulips are in full bloom, bright splashes of color against the backdrop of her white ranch house.
It’s cozy. Inviting. The kind of place I realize I should visit more often.
Opening the back door, I poke my head inside. “It’s just me!”
The scene that greets me in the kitchen is pure domestic chaos. Mark stands in the middle of the room with six-month-old Graham balanced on his hip, both of them appearing frazzled. Baby Graham is fussing, making those pre-cry whimpers that mean he’s about to join his sister in the screaming chorus.Meanwhile, two-year-old Sky sits on the floor in nothing but a diaper, tears streaming down her red, blotchy face.
Wooden blocks are scattered across the kitchen floor, what appears to be the remnants of a snack explosion on the counter, and a basket of unfolded laundry that’s been knocked over, clothes spilling everywhere. A sippy cup lies on its side, creating a small puddle of what I hope is apple juice near the refrigerator.
“NO WANT!” Sky shrieks at the top of her lungs. “NO CLOTHES! NO NAP! NO!”
Mark spots me over Sky’s head and his expression shifts from desperation to relief. “Freya! Thank God you’re here. I was about to send up a flare.”
He bounces Graham gently, trying to keep the baby from joining the meltdown while dealing with his toddler’s epic tantrum. His hair is sticking up in several directions, baby food splotches decorate his shirt, and he has that slightly glazed expression of someone who’s been running on four hours of sleep for the past six months.
“Sky, sweetheart, Mommy needs to get ready to go with Aunt Freya. Can you please?—”
“NOOOOO!” Sky’s wail reaches new octaves, and she throws herself backward on the floor in a move that would make a professional soccer player proud.
Despite the chaos, or maybe because of it, I feel something twist in my chest. Mark doesn’t appear angry or overwhelmed, simply tired in the way that comes from loving tiny humans who don’t understand reason yet. But when he gazes at his children, even in the middle of this meltdown, there’s nothing but love in his expression.
He crouches down next to Sky, still holding the baby, and speaks to her in the same patient voice he probably uses when she’s being an angel.
“I understand you’re upset, bug. Big feelings are hard. But we still need to get dressed, okay?”
Sky’s crying downshifts to hiccupy sobs. “No want clothes. Clothes yucky.”
“How about we pick out something super special? Maybe your sparkly dress?”
“Hey, little bug,” I respond, stepping carefully around the scattered blocks to sit cross-legged on the floor next to Sky. “What if we made getting dressed into a game?”
Sky peeks at me through her fingers, curious despite her tears. “What game?”
“What if we pretend you are a superhero, and getting dressed is putting on your special superhero disguise?”
“Like cape?”
