Then I spot the molds she used to create the space-themed pancakes beside her on the counter. It looks like I’ll likely be getting a moon or a planet with rings around it if I don’t getthe rocket ship or the star. Honestly, when I’ve seen these things, I had no idea who might actually use them.
Kenzie and Cody, apparently. That’s my answer.
“Can I do anything to help?” I ask.
“We’ve got it all under control, but thanks,” Kenzie says. She flips the last few pancakes onto a plate, and Cody brings the plate to the table while she pulls a pan out of the oven with bacon on it. She brings the bacon over a moment later, and the adults sit to eat with the kids.
They pray first, and then they start dishing out the food.
“I’ve never seen a two-and-a-half-year-old eat bacon the way Cassian can,” she says, setting a cooled piece on his tray. He grabs it and immediately puts it down, and she gives him a second piece while I watch Kapri, the fifteen-month-old, pick up the pancake and chew on the corner of it.
They’re adorable. This whole entire scene is adorable, and it pulses something in me that I wasn’t expecting. Something I wasn’t planning on.
I want this.
I want the husband who kisses me on the cheek while I’m cooking pancakes, and I want the two cute kids with pink cheeks, and I want the pancake molds and bacon late on lazy weekend mornings. Out of season, anyway. I want the perfect exposure photos with the reality that backs them up.
I want a family of my own.
I felt the twinge when my brother visited Ford’s on Thanksgiving, but this is now the second family with young kids I’ve spent time around, and it suddenly feels like time is running out.
I always wanted kidssomeday, and I guess I sort of assumed that Archer and I would get it together and have our own family eventually.
But that’s off the table now, and that dream of my own perfect young family feels like it’s slipping away.
I’m already twenty-seven. Even if I got pregnant today, I’d be twenty-eight by the time I had a baby. With the second, I’d be thirty or older. That’s if I got lucky enough to get pregnant right away without the types of complications so many women face.
Maybe perfection is a fantasy. Kenzie got lucky enough to find it, but just because it’s in my face right now doesn’t mean it’s the norm. It’s more of an exception, I think. An anomaly.
I finish breakfast and help clean up, and then I tell Kenzie that I need to head into my little office to work.
I do, actually. I need to work. I have to finalize the details for Archer’s garden party that’s set to take place in five days. Kenzie has handled most of the details while I’ve been out of town, but this is still my business. My brand.
My ex.
But I also sort of have this need to get away from the happy little family. I want to give them their space to enjoy their usual Sunday activities without feeling like their fifth wheel.
I put Ford’s game on my tablet while I mindlessly work through the details on my laptop. I have my three usual cups, but I left my favorite one at Ford’s place on accident. Or maybe it wasn’t an accident at all, and it was my subconscious leaving something physical behind as a way to pretend like that’s all I was leaving there.
But the longer I spend apart from Ford, the more I can’t believe that to be true.
The week feels long. I feel weird calling him now that Archer said Ford is in love with me, so I keep it to texts that somehow keep managing to turn flirty.
I bury myself in work. I plan all the details for the local weddings I have coming up, and I even spend a little bit of time on Devon and Lindsay’s wedding as I schedule a time to take them to view Winston Manor next week. I’ve handedso many of the little details off to Kenzie over the last two years that I find I’m enjoying making these plans with Lindsay.
I guess that means I’m returning to Tampa next week.
Ford could take them.A little voice in my head reminds me of that. I mute said voice.
I want to get back to Tampa. I want to see him. I want to feel whatever it is I’m going to feel when I’m around him to see if it’s real or some manufactured thing I’m feeling because I’m flailing after a breakup and being aroundthe perfect familywhile I plan other people’s weddings. It has to be that combination…right?
Ford calls me once on Tuesday evening to check in, and we chat for a while about the charity event I’m holding for Archer. We talk again on Thursday, but it’s brief since he has an appearance.
Eventually Friday rolls around, and I’m busy all day with the final preparations for this evening’s event.
I’m in my cocktail dress when the band arrives, and every last detail has been perfected. Archer’s foundation creates scholarships and equipment donations for underprivileged kids, and tonight’s party came with a pricey ticket and a selection of raffle prizes donated by Archer’s teammates—not becauseheasked, but becauseIasked the girlfriends and wives of other players.
The atmosphere is warm and inviting with the string lights and the acoustic band warming up in one corner of the garden before the guests are set to arrive. We’re serving hors d’oeuvres and champagne, and the gardens have high-top tables for guests to stand near with their food. I created two specialty cocktails for the event, both of which are quite expensive so we can wring every possible penny out of guests tonight. The Vegas Heat is a spicy margarita with a flair, and the Curveball is a whiskey and peach concoction.
