“We’ve been doing things on the weekends you’ve been with your dad,” I explain. “What we were doing today got cancelled and we were coming up with a new plan when you walked in. But now that you’re here”—I flick my eyes to Jay—“they’ll probably be going.”
While Marv’s eyes stay suspiciously glued to the kids, Jay’s are on mine.
As happy as I am to see my kids, I hate the thought of him leaving. The week was pure chaos—his with work, mine combined with last week of school busyness of classroom parties, gift exchanges, and final tests. We haven’t seen each other since last weekend. We’ve talked every night, but I’ve been looking forward to today—to time with them then being alone with him.
I’ve missed him. Since last weekend, I’ve only thought of last weekend. Being in his camper. His bed. His arms.
When he showed up this morning with Marv, my first thought was to eat his face with a kiss but didn’t want to come on too strong, so—like a moron—I shook both of their hands.
“Jay already told me you’ve fornicated,”Marv had said with a flat tone.“And I’m an expert at reading body language. Your fake handshake needs practice.”
Jay pecked me on the cheek and whispered a raspy good morning in my ear.
And then, the kids arrived.
“What do you usually do this weekend?” Jay asks them casually.
“The Nutcracker,” Owen says with a very on brand eleven-year-old groan.
Jay chuckles. “Not a fan, eh?”
“Ballet is for girls.” My eyebrows pinch; Owen notices. “Sorry, Mom.”
Another tradition down.
“It’s fine.” I wave a dismissive hand. “And I don’t have tickets anyway, so you’re safe from the ballet.” A wave of celebratory sounds follow, which briefly annoy me. “But we’ll do something else. Come up with a plan.”
Jay leans over and whispers in Marv’s ear behind a cupped hand. Marv grunts. Twice.
“If you four tiny humans can keep a secret, I’ll show you the back of my truck.”
From anyone else, that line would be incredibly unsettling, but when said tiny humans look at me for approval, I nod and they trot after him.
“I’m sorry,” I say in a jumbled rush to Jay as soon as the door closes. “I didn’t know. He didn’t call. I?—”
He kisses my mouth to shut me up. “You’re a mom of four kids, Hollis. Don’t apologize.”
I search his face for any sign of a lie but find none. He means it. I kiss him again and it doesn’t last nearly long enough.
“I’ve missed you,” I admit. “This makes things, I don’t know, not what I want.”
He chuckles, and tucks my hair behind my ears. “That’s life. We’ll leave if you want. We’ll stay if you want.”
I bite my lip. I don’t know what Jay and I are, but I know I don’t want him to leave. Not that I’m testing him, but I want to see him with the kids. Four kids is a lot of kids, that has to be intimidating. Hell, I made them and half the time I’m intimidated by all of them. He has to see how unsimple this is to really know what this would look like.
“Stay,” I hear myself say, kissing him lightly again. “But I don’t know what we are, and I’ve never introduced them to aman who’s, you know, a man.” His mustache twitches. “I can’t be the way I want to be, I guess is what I’m saying.”
He leans in, scraping his mustache along the curve of my ear, whispering, “And what way do you want to be?”
“Naked,” I admit easily and with a smile on my face.
He laughs, kisses me once more, and steps away, adjusting his ridiculous antler-covered hat. “So we’ll keep our clothes on and I’ll follow your lead.”
Before I can say anything else, the door swings open and the kids appear, arms filled with food.
Food?
“That truck is awesome,” Millie cries, delighted.
