“Oh, we’ve heard.” The shorter woman holding my daughter leans close to Birdie, her voice a loud whisper as she says, “Word travels fast around these parts.”
“Tell me about it.” The other woman comes to me, holding out one hand. “I’m Brooke.” Her grip is firm but not tight as it clasps mine. “Rumor has it, my future brother-in-law is head over heels for you.”
15
Tucker
Ilike having Ruth and Birdie here more than I probably should.
But it’s just because I like knowing they’re okay. That after what happened yesterday morning, I don’t have to worry about whether or not they’re safe. Because anyone who wants to get at them would have to make it past security, past my employees, and past me.
At this specific moment, they would also have to make it past Brooke and Maren. The duo showed up shortly after I came out onto the work floor, and they’ve been in my office with Ruth for almost an hour, talking about God knows what.
I know a big part of what I hoped to accomplish by bringing her here today was so she could meet some of my family before dinner tomorrow. But as the minutes tick by, I get more and more worried about what information is being shared.
Specifically, what’s being said about me.
I know Ruth is well aware of my reputation. I still don’t like the thought of her being reminded just how friendly I’ve been over the years.
I’m not ashamed of it. I was always honest and straightforward with any woman who wanted to share my bed. I haven’t done anything wrong. I just maybe wouldn’t mind if Ruth didn’t know I did so much of it.
When I finally get to a stopping point, I go straight for my office, slightly concerned about what I’m about to find. I pause at the door, warring with myself over how to proceed before deciding to knock, giving the women inside a chance to shut their mouths if I’m the current topic of conversation.
I still barely wait a second before going in.
Also just in case I’m the topic of conversation.
But as I scan the room, no one is acting suspicious. At all. Maren is on the couch with Birdie, playing with one of the toys Ruth packed to keep her entertained. Brooke and Ruth have found the coffee maker and are sipping cups of steaming liquid while talking about…
Pop-Tarts?
Ruth stops mid-sentence, sounding a whole lot like she's about to say her favorite Pop-Tart is chocolate chip, when her eyes snap to where I stand.
I search Ruth’s face for any sign of discomfort, but there's none. If anything, she looks completely at ease. Not surprising when I think about it. Brooke and Maren are fucking great. The two women are probably going to take her under their wing and help her navigate meeting the rest of the family.
I'm going to have to order each of them flowers. Both for helping Ruth and for not lamenting my life choices.
"Hey, loverboy." Brooke flashes me a grin that seems to carry a little more weight than I'm willing to look into.
And now I feel awkward about barging in the way I did.
“I just came to see if you need anything."
Ruth beams at me in a way that makes my chest tight. "Brooke helped me get some caffeine, so for now I think we're good."
"Yeah. Okay." I should have shown her where the coffee maker was. There's probably a million more things I should show or tell her, but this is uncharted territory for me. I've never been more than a one-night stand. Never had to offer a woman anything besides a few orgasms and maybe a snack for the road.
And Ruth doesn't seem interested in receiving one of those options. Unfortunately.
"Cmeer." Birdie's little voice pierces the room as one chubby hand lifts in the air, opening and closing as she beckons me over. "Look."
I crouch next to where she sits on the couch with Maren, looking over the toy they've been playing with. "You like that one?"
Birdie bobs her head while signing yes at the same time.
Ruth is brilliant to have taught her daughter extra ways to communicate. I'm doing my best to catch up with them, and have managed to pick up a few of her more frequently used motions. But there’s one in particular I’ve become very familiar with.
That’s the sign I use now, curling my hand and running the tips of my fingers down the center of my chest. “Are you hungry? Would you like a snack?”
