‘You don’t even like kids.’
‘Just a fuckin’ minute.’ Hands on her shoulders, I push her away a little just to see her expression. ‘Where’d you get that idea from?’
‘The day at the pub. You said—’
‘Come on. I say a lot of shit.’ It’s true. ‘Especially when I’m trying to get an invitation to your undies.’
‘You said you’d make a great uncle.’
‘That’s true. And I do. My older brother, Byron, has a couple of the little fuckers. But I want kids. I just needed to find the woman mad enough to put up with my arse to have them with. Looks like you’re it.’ She doesn’t look convinced.
‘Then why did you say that? Why did you look so horrified?’
‘Firstly, it’s not the kind of thing a single bloke runs around saying—go on, let me fill you with my babies!’
‘Actually, that sounds like one of your pickup lines.’ She bites her lip to stifle a smile.
‘And second, I really liked you. I didn’t want to frighten you off because you weren’t giving off baby vibes. You have your business, and you’re always so straight, when you were fully dressed, at least. And you don’t go around kissing babies and pulling kooky, gooey faces.’
‘No, but I’m always the first to offer to hold little ones to give mums a break.’
‘Sneaky. I like it.’
‘I think I have a bit of a fetish,’ she admits shyly. ‘I like the smell of a baby’s head.’
‘Nah, that’s not a fetish. That’s biology.’
‘It’s like baby crack,’ she adds.
‘Nah, pretty sure baby crack is at the other end, and not quite so sweet smelling.’ Funny how her tear swollen eyes can still manage a withering look.
‘So you’d like a family.’
‘If I find the right man.’ A hint of her attitude returns, and though I smile, I also theatrically clutch my heart.
‘Way to sling me under the bus. Are my swimmers no good for you?’
‘Don’t joke about it, Flynn,’ she says, sounding pained.
‘Who’s joking? See this face? As sober as a judge and just as serious.’ And as I say the words, I know them to be true. ‘So, that’s settled then. You want kids and so do I. Guess that makes me your ideal man a little further down the line. We just might need to get a lot of practice in first.’
‘My ideal man isn’t crazy. You can’t just decide you want a family with someone you barely know.’
‘Didn’t stop my parents.’
‘What?’ She drags the word out over several disbelieving syllables.
‘They’d been dating a month when Mum fell pregnant. Forty years later and the old fella still can’t keep his hands off her.’
‘That sounds like a fairy tale.’
‘True. Like the ones the Brothers Grimm wrote, especially when you’re a kid and you go into the laundry room to find a clean T-shirt only to find your mum sitting on the washing machine, your dad’s hips working like a piston between her legs.’ I shiver at the memory, feeling like I ought to cast a circle of salt or something. ‘And then there are my brothers. They’re like the cast of a gory fairy tale. When you meet them, you’ll see what I mean.’ I pull her to my chest again and sigh. ‘Come on, fuckin’ Miles?’
‘What’s wrong with Miles? Apart from him being a colossal twat?’
‘It just sounds like you had a close escape from the fuckwit. He must’ve been an ugly kid. Who names their kid a measurement of length? Maybe the kids weren’t even his. His wife might’ve been playingMilesaway. A bloke with a name like Miles sounds like he couldn’t organise a fuck in a brothel, never mind father a couple of kids.’
‘And you’re such an expert on fatherhood?’
