When I come backfrom getting everyone set up for the day and checking on the brooder full of new chicks that Clover and Lennon insisted they would die without, the girls are up and ready. Well, mostly. Lennon is sitting on one of the tall stools at the counter and Clover is carefully braiding the wild mane in front of her into two braids.
“Lovey says this will keep the hair out of my eyes and I won’t get as sweaty,” Lennon says, noticing me.
“Hey Beetlebug,” I say, smiling widely. “It looks amazing.”
“All done,” Clover says proudly, spritzing some glittery stuff in a spray bottle over Lennon’s hair, then leaning down to plant a kiss on top of her head. “Go get your stuff so you can stay at your Gram’s tonight.”
Lennon’s eyes light up. “A sleepover?!” She cheers and runs off upstairs. I look cautiously to make sure she’s out of view before I wrap my arms around Clover, pick her up and spin her in a giant hug. She tries not to giggle, but it escapes anyway.
“Good morning to you, too, Sir,” she says in a hushed, teasing voice.
“Good morning, indeed,” I respond, checking one more time for Lennon before I cup her face with my hands and kiss her. Her face is beet red when I let her go, and she is actually acting bashful.
“Sorry, I fell asleep in your bed last night,” she says. “I was a little exhausted.”
I shake my head. “No apology needed. And . . . ” I drag out. “It seems a sleepover has been arranged, so maybe we should have one, too?” I suggest, raising my eyebrow.
Clover pretends to mull it over. “Mayhaps,” she says in a horrible accent. I’m not even sure which one she’s going for. I laugh and kiss her again, pulling her to me. I feel like I can’t get enough.
I hear little feet running across the floor above us, so I retreat a little bit, rummaging in the fridge for a yogurt.
“Don’t spoil your appetite!” Lennon chastises as she runs in, sounding like a miniature version of my mother. I put the yogurt back and hold my hands up in surrender.
“Fine, fine. Go get your jacket on, kiddo,” I tell her.
Lennon grabs her flannel from the cubby near the door and brings Clover one of mine. The ones that Mom got Lennon and I last year, that match. They both finish getting dressed in their own synchronized little way and I can’t help but smile. Them matching might be one of the cutest things I’ve witnessed.
“Earth to Bucket,” I hear Clover saying, and I grumble in her direction.
“What was that, Love?” I ask, not meaning to. I meant to call her Lovey, like Brynn and Lennon do. Clover watches me for a second, but Lennon catches it.
“It’s Loveyyy, Daddy,” she corrects, exaggerating the ‘y’ like I’m learning for the first time. I smile at her.
“You’re right. Thanks, Beetle,” I tell her.
Clover recovers. “I was saying we have to stop by the store. Your mom needs more strawberries and creamer.”
I nod. “Sure, yeah. Let’s head out.” Lennon goes first, Clover follows her, and I take the duty of closing the door.
I definitely smack Clover’s ass.
CLOVER
We are letting Lennon pick out her own fruit to take to Mary and Hayes’ house for snack time later. She’s being very thorough with her choice, too. We walk a couple of steps behind her, giving her a sense of independence while staying close by.
“Will you be alright for a second? I’m going to go grab the creamer for Mom while Len finishes picking,” Beck asks.
“Yeah, go ahead. We are good,” I tell him, and I feel my face heat when he leans in to press a kiss to my hair.
“Be right back,” he assures, and hurries to the dairy section. Lennon and I keep meandering, but I think the little butthead has secretly been waiting for the bakery to start the free cookies for the day, because she’s slowly gravitated towards the glass display the longer we walk around. She’s looking up at the baker when I walk up.
“Yes, you can have oatmeal raisin, but only if your mama says it’s okay,” the sweet older lady at the counter tells her. Lennon doesn’t hesitate. There’s no confusion, no questions, no corrections. Lennon turns right around and looks at me.
“Is it okay?” She asks. I, on the other hand, am completely caught off guard.
“Uh,” I stammer briefly. Lennon is staring at me, the lady at the counter is staring at me, but I don’t want to make things weird. It’s just a cookie. “Yeah, that’s fine. But just an oatmeal raisin, okay?”
Lennon claps and bounces in excitement as the lady wraps two fresh cookies in wax paper and hands them to her. I feel Beckett at my side when Lennon hands me the second cookie. “She said since my mama matches, she gets a cookie too.” She takes a big bite of hers, but then her smile drops a bit. “Please don’t get mad that I didn’t tell her you’re not my real, actual mama. Sometimes I pretend you are, so I just forgot. I’m sorry, Lovey.”
