by Kristy Marie
“Stay away from the sweets, Theo,” Cade teases as he comes to stand in front of Aspen and me. He gives Aspen’s cheeks a little pinch. “Momma can’t have Daddy and Baby hyper tonight.”
“You are fucking hilarious, Jameson.”
“Theo! You can’t drop the f-bomb at a school!” Breck looks around, making sure no one heard him, and I smother a laugh. Theo doesn’t give two shits where he is.
Theo, done with all the ribbing, turns to Breck and flashes her a smile that serves as a warning. “Fine.” He looks at me. “You two kids have fun. Have her home by midnight. Daddy is going to—” He covers Aspen’s ears, and she squirms. “—finger bang the F out of Mommy when the sun goes down. Take your own blanket. You can’t sit with us.”
Cade shakes his head, and Breck just glares at him.
“I didn’t drop an f-bomb,” he argues with her silence.
“You can’t do that at a school!” I imagine Breck’s words are more like a hiss.
“Why not? Kids do it all the time at schools.” Theo winks at Anniston who finally comes around to the side of the car with her arms full of blankets. Theo takes them from her, still bullshitting with Breck. He’s not serious. Not that he and Anniston’s sex life is discreet, but he does have sense and he would never finger Anniston in the midst of a children’s movie at the elementary school.
“I’m teasing.” He pushes into Breck’s shoulder lightly. Tears bead in the corner of her eyes. What the hell? Theo has definitely said worse. What could have possibly been said to make her cry?
“B?” Theo asks cautiously, setting the blankets down on the ground and moving toward his friend. Theo and Breck hit it off from the moment they met three years ago. Theo always takes to someone who will give Cade a hard time. So when Breck stayed at the foundation to help out when Theo and Anniston went on their honeymoon, he was more than happy to make a new friend that drove Cade crazy. Breck crying over something he said isn’t right. If anything, Breck is used to his type of comments.
Theo pulls Breck into his arms, and she starts sobbing into his shirt, shaking her head back and forth. I glance at Cade, ready to intervene to keep him from killing Theo, but he’s standing there watching his best friend soothe his wife before he signs to me, speaking the words to everyone else. “We wanted to wait to tell you, but the mood swings are becoming noticeable.”
I feel my eyes go wide. Is she…?
“We’re having a baby,” announces Cade. Theo pulls back with this new information and grins like he’s proud or about to say something really shitty, but funny. Instead, he goes for somewhere in the middle. “Pay up, Anniston. I win. I said she was pregnant.”
Anniston hangs her head and tries to smother her grin.
“You had a bet going?” Cade asks, pulling his wife from Theo, addressing Anniston. His grin tells me he’s not upset with their bet.
Anniston shrugs. “She’s been cleaning like the Pope is coming for a visit.” Another shrug. “And I might have seen you squeezing lemons in her water.” She looks at Breck. “Morning sickness?”
Breck nods and snuggles deeper into Cade’s embrace. “And evening sickness.”
Come to think of it, Breck has been looking a little tired. How did I miss that? Because I’m selfish and I’ve only been able to think of one thing since all this new job shit started.
“Congratulations,” I tell her, shifting Aspen’s weight onto my other side. “I’m sorry you had to wait to tell us.” I don’t add because of me and my new onset of deafness. My jaw tightens as I think of how selfless Breck has always been to everyone; something exciting happens to her and she has to wait to share the news because I’m such a glory stealer.
“Oh no!” She pulls away from Cade to stand in front of me, brushing a strand of hair away from Aspen’s cheeks. “I know what you’re thinking, but that’s not why we waited.”
She looks over her shoulder at Cade and says something I don’t catch since I can’t see her lips, but then he nods and she faces me, a smile bigger than I’ve ever seen on her. “We wanted to be sure before we said anything.” She looks around at Mason and Kane who apparently just parked. Confusion is all over their faces and coolers hang from their shoulders. “We’re having twins!”
Anniston jumps up and down, and I imagine there is a lot of high-pitched squealing going on, especially when Kane covers his ears.
“Our kids are going to be besties!” Breck declares to Anniston, still jumping.
“As long as they are girls,” Theo adds, glaring at Cade. “If they are boys, they’ll be strangers.”
Anniston shoves Theo and scowls. “No, they won’t.”
Like Breck just put it together, her eyes widen and her mouth forms an O. “OMG! We could be family! What if they get married?”
You don’t have to be able to hear Theo’s scoff that nearly vibrates the car with his growl. “No. They will not get married. Aspen is never getting married.”
Delusionville is Theo’s favorite place to be.
I wink at Cade, who looks extremely happy, whether that be from pissing Theo off or finally being able to share his news. I don’t know, but it sends something fluttering in my stomach. I’m happy for my brother, and yet, I may be slightly jealous of never being able to share the joy of having a child of my own. I would never pass down this gene and destroy a life.
Something soft clasps my face, and I realize the little girl in my arms wants my attention.
“Play,” she signs again. Right. We are basically teasing her by standing in the parking lot and not going up to all the fun things.
“I’m taking Aspen into the festival,” I tell my family. “I’ll meet you before the movie.”
“Oh dear God. I should have brought a change of panties.”
Gretchen and I have been stuck at the face-painting booth for over two hours now. We’ve seen snot, candy, and what I hope are remnants of chocolate on nearly a third of the kids attending the festival. I knew it was going to be busy. These functions always are. Even if I would have preferred to stay at home with Pe, digging the last little bit of ice cream out of the container, I came, because the little chatty boy that I brought with me is having a freaking blast running around and torturing Gretchen with “did you know?” facts.
“What? What are you talking about?” I ask her, cleaning my brush after painting a unicorn that looked more like a blob on a little girl’s face.
“Don’t look now, but your co-teacher is heading this way.”
I whip around and confirm that, yep, the man who brought tears to my eyes is heading this way with a little girl grinning on his shoulders. She looks so small sitting on his massive trap muscles. She and I both could fit up there, and he wouldn’t even break a sweat.
“That’s the baby!” Gretchen whispers, not so quietly, in my ear. “The one he kissed in the car that day when I saw him. Do you think he has a baby mama I mean, I don’t care. I can deal, but I like to know what I’m getting into.”
“Shh! Be quiet.” I scold her. Frankly, I don’t want to think about Tim having any baby mamas or someone else seeing him naked. I kind of like the big headache with enormous biceps, who has grown on me these last couple of days.
“He’s deaf. He won’t hear me.” Gretchen’s face scrunches up in confusion. “Right?”
Have mercy. “He can lip-read, Gretch. Even if he couldn’t, we shouldn’t be whispering about him when he’s this close.”
She nods serious. “Okay. We’ll wait until his fine ass leaves.”
“Gretch—” It’s too late though, Tim and the little girl have made their way to the front of the line.
I’ll have to explain later to Gretchen that talking about Tim is a no-go zone with me. After the past two days I’ve had with him, I wouldn’t betray his trust and share the moments we’ve had together with anyone. Not even with Felipe.
Tim lifts the little girl off his shoulders and sets her on her feet. Her tiny boots are pristine against the grass. “Do you want you
r face painted?” he asks her, not signing. I’ve noticed he does that a lot—not signing. Especially when he’s in crowds. Surely he’s not embarrassed.
“Hola,” I say to the two, holding out the laminated sign of what we can paint—or what we try to paint. No one ever said I was good at art. I’m still shocked I was signed up to face paint. Why couldn’t I have been the kickball ref? Soccer is a huge sport in my country, and kickball seems similar. I could have easily handled volunteering for that. “We can paint anything on this sheet,” I lie, letting Tim know with a smile-cringe that I would be wary about picking something that looks complicated.
The little girl thoroughly inspects the sign while Tim holds it steady. And then, after what must be the most thoughtful selection of the night, she points to something.
Finally. My line is backing up.
“You want an owl?” Tim asks her with a grin.
She shakes her head and points to his cheek.
I gasp and try to smother a laugh when he sits up straight and says with a little surprise in his voice, “Oh no, Uncle Tim doesn’t want his face painted. Just you.”
The little girl shakes her head. I think she’s saying no to the big bad Marine who, clearly, is a sucker for her.
“I don’t want my face painted,” he attempts to negotiate with the toddler once more. Except this time, her lip pokes out and she reaches for his face.
Heaven help me. Gretchen was right. We should have brought a change of clothes. This is beyond porn. This is kill-every-other-guy’s-chances-with-me-ever.
Tim sighs a big, heavy sigh and mumbles. “I can’t believe I’m letting you paint an owl on my face.”
I can’t tell if he’s talking to me or the little girl, but either way, he seems to have succumbed to the fact that he is getting an owl on his insanely square, chiseled jaw.
“Fine. We’ll both have owls,” he agrees, and the little girl claps her hands. But before she is finished celebrating, Tim has her swooped up in his beefy arms and blows raspberries on her sweet little neck. At her bubbly laughter and high-pitched squeals, he pauses. Did he feel her voice like he did in the music room today?
I wouldn’t dare ask, but I really freaking want to. I’m so curious what he feels and how he interprets the sound. I would love to pick his brain for—“Gretchen, stop it. He’s going to see you!” Gretchen is bent over holding her lower stomach, moaning like she’s going to spontaneously have an orgasm in her chair.
“Milah, please tell me you saw that. I think I need a break before these kids witness something life changing.”
I feel my eyes go wide as I look for tiny little ears and a lip-reader that I bet caught that.
“Is she all right?”
Yep. He caught it.
Gretchen springs from her seat when he has the little girl sitting in a chair, facing me. All I can hope is he just saw Gretch bent over like she has gas pains and not interpret her behavior as moaning and about to orgasm out of her thong.
“She’s fine,” I lie, tracking Gretchen’s sprint into the gym. Dammit. Now I am going to have to paint all these faces by myself—or at least until Tim clears out and she brings her ass back here. “Bad sushi.”
“Bad sushi?” he mimics me. Does he think I’m lying? Because I totally am. But what am I supposed to say? “Don’t mind her. You kissing on the baby made her come in her good thong. You have to wash those types of messes out immediately, so that’s why she sprinted faster than a gazelle to the gym.” Yeah, I don’t think I will introduce my crazy friends just yet. Especially not Felipe. I love them both, but Gretchen is probably the least crazy. I don’t think for one second Felipe would have behaved any better than Gretchen did in this situation. He would have been much worse. He probably would have told Tim he just came in his pants.
“Ah. Well, I hope she feels better.”
He leaves his words dangling out between us, and it’s super freaking awkward. I basically just told him Gretchen had diarrhea. Just wrap me up and call me sexy. I can get all the men with this kind of swagger.
“Who do you have here?” I say, dying to know who this little girl is to Tim. I don’t care if he has a child, but something tells me she isn’t his.
Tim takes a seat in the chair and stands the little girl on his knees. Kill me now, that’s even hotter. “This is Aspen, my niece. Well, not technically. She’s my commander’s little girl but….” He shrugs.
But he loves her like she was his; at least that is what his gaze says as he looks at her with such reverence. He loves this little girl, and I don’t know about other women in the world, but a man loving a child that isn’t his is like finding the last bag of mint M&M’s stashed on a random shelf that someone tossed away at the last minute. Those men are freaking leprechauns. You hear about them, but you never find one at the end of the rainbow.
I look at the man who I just referred to as a little green man and smother a laugh. He’s not small, and he’s definitely not green. But a rarity, he is. “Hi, Aspen,” I say, signing my words too. Tim’s cheek twitches before he clenches it still. Does he not want me to sign here? It’s getting dark, and I’m afraid if I don’t, he’ll have trouble reading my lips.
I watch him for a second, silently assessing him when the little girl signs back to me. “Hello.”
“Oh, she knows sign language!” I don’t know why I’m shocked at this little bit of information. It’s not like Tim’s commander, I think her name is Anniston, wouldn’t teach her daughter sign language living with Tim. But I don’t know, it’s just a little shocking. I’ve seen young babies sign before they could speak, so why am I even analyzing this? Because everything about him is fascinating. Each little piece of himself that he shows me, is awe-inspiring. Who is this man and where has he been?
“A little.” Tim beams, looking all proud and giving the girl a little bounce on his lap that makes her giggle. You can tell she’s adored. I bet she’s one spoiled little girl in the best way—not like the little shitty spoiled kids that need to be told no occasionally.
“She’s absolutely precious,” I sign to both of them, watching to see how much of it Aspen knows. If she knows what I said, she doesn’t let on. Instead, Tim clears his throat and grates out almost painfully, “Aspen wants you to paint owls on our faces.”
No, I didn’t grin. I full-out smiled at this man’s pained expression. He is tossing away his, I-have-a-shitty-attitude-but-I’m-hot persona and letting this little girl talk him into getting a cartoon owl on his chiseled jaw.
And then I realize I’m going to have to do it.
I’m going to touch his face—feel the scruff of his cheek.
Have mercy.
I will be fired for moaning in front of these small souls.
“Oh,” I say softly. “Both of you.”
He sighs a long, drawn-out sigh and mutters, “The things I do for this little cracker thief.” Aspen turns and places a tiny palm on his cheek. He gives her a smile that I’ve never seen—not that he smiles much, but this smile is real. This is the smile he saves for important people. And yep, I’m a little bit jealous. And I shouldn’t be. It’s completely irrational. I am leaving at the end of the year. I haven’t had a steady boyfriend in years, and Tim is as standoffish as they come. Neither one of us needs to be jealous. Especially me because that would be crazy.
“Yep. Both of us,” he says softer than I’ve ever heard as he still smiles at Aspen.
Yep, there’s still a teensy bit of jealousy swirling around in the bottom of my stomach, but I push it down and nod as I turn around and grab my paint and stencils. “Two owls it is then.”
“Call dibs right now or I’m marching over there. I swear I will be impregnated by the end of the night and you will never have a chance. I’m serious. I will lock his ass down with dozens of kids. I don’t care how torn up my vagina becomes. The man will never leave me.”
Like Felipe, Gretchen can be dramatic, but in this case, I think she is being honest about her intentions with Tim.
She’s making it known that the single women of Madison are salivating to get him, her and her future ruined vagina included.
“I love you, Milah, and as your friend, I am giving you this one opportunity. I know you like him.”
I make a scoffing noise that could be interpreted as she’s being ridiculous. She’s not wrong, but I don’t think now is the time to tell her that just touching his face, painting the cutest owl on his scruffy cheek, sent tingles throughout my body. No, telling her this would be bad. Not that I think she would be jealous or act crazy, but Gretchen has always said that eventually I would meet a man that I would be able to tolerate past the first date—not that Tim and I have had a date—oh, good gracious. I am spiraling. Touching this man and seeing him with a baby has me a mess.
“Don’t make that bullshit noise with me, Milah. I do not believe your ‘my love life is non-existent crap’ for one minute. You see more ass than my panties. Just because you can’t lay down some roots because of your visa situation doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy the love of a man while you’re here. The end of the year is a long way off. You don’t know what will happen by then.”
Someone has been drinking the Felipe Kool-Aid. I eye my friend and track Tim as he chases the little girl around their blanket. Oh, God. Gretch is right. This shit kills your ovaries.
“Admit it, Milah. You like him.”
“I—”
I do like him. It’s not something tangible or even something I can explain. We’ve only had a couple of days together, but I’ve found myself smiling going into work. When has that ever happened? But why? Why do I feel a connection? I’ve given it a lot of thought. Sometimes when you’re the only one who knows how to communicate with the other person, you develop this bond. You rely on each other. So it would be unprofessional and misusing a situation.
