“You look hot,” hecommented.
“Well, it is ninety-three degreesoutside.”
He grinned. “Not what I meant,butokay.”
Tucking the sign between my knees, I grabbed his face and planted one on him. “Imissedyou.”
“I missed you too. Are you ready to be parents for the nextmonth?”
“No.Areyou?”
“God, no. It’s going to be adisaster.”
“Or,” I said, coyly. “We could totally surpriseourselves.”
He and I stared at each other for a moment before laughing andsaying, “Nah.”
Sydney’s classwas preparing for the play, so Jake and I visited Riley’s third grade classroom first. They’d just started the party, and the children were lined up like little toy soldiers waiting for their turn to select their finger foods off the beautifully decoratedtable.
“Did you make something?” Jake whispered inmyear.
“I did. You want to guesswhichone?”
He scanned the elaborate selection of items, all tailor-made for kids with fun little designs. There were deviled eggs sporting funny faces and pigs in a blanket shaped like actual pigs and rainbow fruit kabobs. And then therewasmine.
Jake was diligently trying to determine my contribution to the kid table, when a smile spread out wide across his face. “Youdidn’t?”
I shrugged. “They said to bring horsd’oeuvres.”
“They’re thirdgraders.”
Okay, so maybe my shrimp skewers weren’t the best choice, but how was I to know what a third grade palate was like? At least the skewers were colorful little swords. That looked third gradish,didn’tit?
“Jake McKallister!” A voice from behind called out. “Wow. I’m Tiffany. Welcome. I can’t tell you how excited I am to meet you. I’m suchafan.”
Tiffany was Miss Soriano, Riley’s very young, and very hot, teacher. By the looks of things, she’d heard Jake was coming and had dressed accordingly in a body-hugging shirt that accentuated her bosom. Too bad the bulletin she received about his arrival didn’t also include information on his marital status. However, because she was Riley’s teacher, I was inclined to give her the benefit of the doubt. It was possible she’d been imprisoned in a foreign country or had tragically been stuck in a well around the time of our wedding. Whatever it was, no way was Miss Soriano trying to hijack my man. Or was she? Within seconds of her introducing herself, I was effectively boxed out of theconversation.
Annoyed, I stood off to the side as a group began to form around him. I was about to swoop back in and rescue my husband when a strange sight caught my eye: a group of boys, Riley being one of them, was gathered around one central location. Curious, I wandered over and my eyes doubled in size at what I saw – my shrimp lying limp on the floor, and boys everywhere trying to stab each other with the plastic skewers. I gasped and looked back toward the teacher. She and all the mommies had formed a circle around Jake, and none were aware of the fight club that had materialized out ofthinair.
My hors d’oeuvres were to blame for this medieval swordplay, and I needed to get rid of the evidence before anyone noticed. Stomping my way into the circle, I went boy to boy with my palm laid flat. “Hand it over,” I demanded. One by one, the little swords filled my hand, and the boysscatteredoff.
As I was about to pick up my discarded shrimp, I could hear Jake disengaging himself from the conversation to come find me. With no time left, I used my shoe to scoot the shrimp under Tiffany’s desk. With any luck, they’d sit there all summer cooking up a nice stink just in time for the start of the new school year. Smiling, I tossed the skewers in the trash and rejoined myhusband.
My momand dad were saving us seats in the front row of the auditorium, and we arrived just in time to see Sydney’s class file in to take the stage. She glanced over and gave us each a wave before her eyes settled on Jake. A squeal could be heard throughout the room as she broke ranks, ran to him, and flung herself intohisarms.
“You came!” she said, her cheeks flushed with excitement. Syd yanked on his arms attempting to pull him from his chair. “Come on, I’llintroduceyou.”
“Oh, no.” Jake sat back. “I’m here to watch you on stage, not be on it myself. Besides, your play isstarting.”
“I don’t care. It’s stupid anyway. I’m playing a celery stick. I don’t even likevegetables.”
“Celery?” he laughed. “Dude, thatsucks.”
“I know.” Syd rolled her eyes. “That’s what I said. I wanted to be the strawberry, but the teacher gave it to Kimmy because she’s such asuckup.”
“Okay.” Mom stood up and pulled Sydney off Jake. “Get up there and be the best celery stick youcanbe.”
“Fine,” she huffed, stomping her way back to stage before turning around and saying, loudly enough for the entire auditorium to hear, “I’msoover fifthgrade.”
