Fight For It

by Jessie Harper

  And these two hours are some of the most fun I've had in a long time. At the photo booth, as the boys work to agree on the theme for our photo, we naturally have creative differences.

  "What about cowboys?" This from Noah as they sift through the box of costumes.

  "No, not cowboys. That's dumb." Charlie pulls out the longest string of bandanas ever. "We have to be something tough. Coach Z, what's something tough?"

  I think before I answer, pretending to really consider the question. Two sets of expectant eyes look up at me, waiting for me to settle this dispute. I stroke my chin and lower myself down to their level, resting on my heels. "What's in there?" I look over the props. "Ninjas? Maybe pirates?" There are an obscene number of eye patches mixed in with a few of those pointed pirate hats. "I don't think any of that is right for you guys." I give my chin one more thoughtful stroke before I'm struck by genius. "I think you two are pretty tough just being yourselves. I don't think we even need props."

  Noah and Charlie consider this for a minute and then nod in agreement.

  "We can just make tough faces!"

  "And do our arms like this!" Charlie crosses his arms and gives me his meanest stare.

  I smother a laugh and mimic his pose. "Like this? Is that tough enough?"

  "You always look tough, Coach Z, even without the face," Noah tells me, his own face deadly serious.

  "Well, then, we should definitely take the picture just as ourselves because I think the same thing about you guys." And here I'm not even exaggerating. These are two tough kids. Losing their dad unexpectedly, moving to a new place and starting over—they're strong. Little warriors. I shrug and give them a minute to decide. Once we're all in agreement, we set ourselves up in front of the background the school is using for the photos. I wince a bit at the banner on top. Date with Dad 2020 will be immortalized forever once we get back our copy of these shots. But if the boys notice they don't show it. Luckily, the photographer doesn't tell them to get closer to their father or anything like that. We squeeze together, me in the middle, and make our toughest faces, arms crossed menacingly over our chests. When we circle back around to get our copy of the photo, I can hardly contain the grin that spreads across my face.

  "Mom's gonna love this," Charlie whispers.

  "We do look tough," Noah adds, his head leaning in to get a better look.

  "The toughest," I agree, struck momentarily by not only how fierce we really do look, but by the stupidity of their father. Why would he risk this? Risk losing them? Risk losing Julia? If this family belonged to me, you can be damn sure I would do everything I could to protect it.

  When the event ends, I herd them toward the parking lot. They've had way too much sugar and are both beginning to crash. I wouldn't be surprised if they fall asleep on the drive home. As I make sure Charlie and Noah are both securely buckled in, I try to control my nerves. I give myself a good shake as I approach the driver's side of my truck. What am I freaking out about? I'm going to drop them off and that's that. The end. But the pounding of my heart in my chest lets me know this isn't going to be nearly that easy. I'm hoping for more.

  When we pull into the driveway I'm relieved to find only one car parked there. I'd half expected to see Graham's car or Julia's parents'. That she's here alone gives me way too much hope. If there's a chance to start this thing over, to do things right this time, I need to be able to talk to Julia alone. Of course, there's the possibility she won't want to talk or that I've missed my opportunity. I did walk away when she was hurting.

  Noah's sound asleep when I go to get the boys. I manage to unbuckle him and hoist him up against my chest. Charlie puts himself in charge of slamming the doors shut, but even this only manages to make Noah wiggle a little bit in my arms. By the time we make it to the door, Julia's already there holding it open and ushering us into the living room.

  "You can just lay him down on the couch," she whispers. "I don't think he's down for the night. He'll rally here in a minute."

  I ease Noah's limp little body down onto the couch as Julia gets a blanket to cover him. We dance around each other, avoiding contact until our hands accidentally touch when she leans in to tuck the blanket tighter. We both freeze. Her lips part and for the briefest moment I consider leaning in to kiss her. Her eyes widen.

  Charlie interrupts before either of us can decide what's next. "Mom, it was so much fun!" He doesn't even try to whisper, unconcerned with waking his brother.

  Julia's face visibly relaxes. "Was it? You'll have to tell me all about it. But we should probably move away from Noah so we don't wake him up, don't you think? Maybe practice your whisper."

  Charlie nods and runs toward the kitchen, motioning for us to follow. "Come on, Zach! We're going to the kitchen."

  I know the right thing to say here, so I swallow the words I want to tell her and say those instead. "I should go. They were great, by the way. No surprise there. We had fun."

  Julia furrows her brow. "You don't have to leave. I mean, unless you want to. Do you have plans? Sorry, that's none of my business." She's flailing, another reason for me to fan the little ember of possibility. She's almost as nervous as I am which just might mean she's still in this too.

  "I don't have plans." I leave the statement hanging there without explanation.

  Julia stutters a bit, flustered. "Because I was thinking if you don't have plans you could join us for dinner. As a thank you for taking them. But you don't have to."

  "I would love to," I hastily respond, because whatever she's offering, I'm accepting. "To stay for dinner. If it isn't too much trouble."

  We're moving toward the kitchen where Charlie waits impatiently. He wants to tell Julia all about what we've done this afternoon and he won't have time for what I need to tell her. I'll need to wait it out, to take my time.

  "We're having pizza. Adding one more is easy. No trouble." She gives me a little dismissive wave with her hand.

  "Are we ordering? Do you need me to pick something up?" Maybe a few minutes driving will help me to calm down. Although, the longer I stare into her eyes the harder it will be to convince myself to get into my truck and drive away.

  "Who buys pizza?" Charlie asks as he pulls open the fridge door and starts rummaging around inside.

  "Charlie." Julia moves toward him, breaking eye contact. "What are you after?"

  "Juice," Charlie answers oblivious to the moment he's interrupting.

  "I can get it for you." Julia leans into the fridge and I catch a glimpse of her firm, round ass jutting from behind the door. Instinctively I look up at the ceiling and remind myself that I'm here to talk, not ogle.

  "I need juice," Noah squeaks from the couch. He's awake now too, and needing attention. I can't imagine what Julia's days are like with both of them as the single adult in this house.

  "Oh, good morning!" Julia calls out to him. She goes to scoop him off the couch, his eyes still squinty and his hair flattened on the side he's been lying on. "You can't drink juice on the couch."

  "Sometimes I spill it," Noah whispers as they pass by me. He's deposited on one of the kitchen stools still wrapped in the blanket.

  "What were we talking about?" Julia asks me, turning again so I can see the entirety of her face. I can feel the slack in my jaw and I'm sure I look as gobsmacked as I feel. Everything about her is perfect—from the shape of her nose to the flecks of gold in her warm brown eyes. Noticing that I'm blatantly staring, her cheeks pink up.

  "I have no idea," I manage to answer, sounding oh so smooth.

  "Pizza," Charlie interjects. "We were talking about how you pay for pizza."

  "Oh, right." Julia smirks. "That is what we were talking about. Always so helpful to have more than one person around to remember everything." She rolls her eyes and musses Charlie's hair. "We make pizza so we don't have to buy it."

  "Ah, then you're in luck because I used to work at a pizza place."

  "No you didn't!" Noah counters. "You're our coach, not the pizza maker."r />
  "Now I'm your coach but I used to be a pizza maker." My explanation does little to convince the three doubting faces surrounding me in the kitchen.

  "Seriously?" Julia’s face is still dubious.

  "Yes, seriously! I can throw the dough up over my head and everything."

  Julia leans her hip against the counter and raises an eyebrow. "Well now you definitely have to stay for dinner because I think we all want to see this."

  29

  Julia

  Turns out Zach does have some pizza throwing skills. I'll admit I was prepared to see a spectacular failure. Hopeful even. All this knowing I would probably have to clean up a mess if it turned out Zach was only capable of getting dough stuck to the ceiling. But Zach is a pizza master.

  The boys and I sit lined up at the kitchen island alternating between clapping and making appreciative oohh sounds while Zach works. He flips the dough into the air like he's been doing this at some pizza shop on the coast of Italy for years. The boys bounce on their stools yelling, "Again! Again!" and Zach throws the expanding circle of dough, making faces at them as he waits the half second to catch it on the way down. We've cracked a bottle of wine and I find myself swinging my feet, sipping from my glass with a huge smile on my face. I realize with a start that I'm happy—this feeling right now is happiness. My children are laughing, I'm smiling, and the house feels warm and full.

  After the boys have strewn shredded cheese and toppings all over the counter, their pizza goes in the oven. Never ones to patiently wait the thirty minutes it takes for the pie to cook, they run back to the living room and their hoard of Lego bricks. I pass Zach a pan and he goes to work pressing the last of the dough around the edges.

  "Are we sharing this pizza or do we need to divide it in half like Noah and Charlie?" I ask, wiping the counter with my hand.

  "Don't know. Do you only like two toppings and even then are they not supposed to touch?"

  "Is that a thinly-veiled burn directed at Noah? He's five, you know, and in the other room. And his aversion to mushrooms isn't going to be fixed probably ever so you're wasting your breath there."

  "I'm not a big mushroom fan, myself, so I can't really make fun of him." Zach's got the crust in the pan. He reaches for the bowl of sauce before halting, hand in midair. "We're doing sauce, right?"

  Earlier when I'd decided on pizza for dinner, this was what I was hoping for, the chance to relax a bit with less pressure. Not that I knew I could convince Zach to stay, but I had been hopeful making the dough and letting it rise. I can do pizza in my sleep—something else I was counting on to keep things from getting too tense. We haven't brought up the kissing or the fact that his hands have been all over me. We haven't talked about my cheating husband or his ex-wife, but we're laughing in my kitchen and it feels natural to be hanging out again. Although I've been watching Zach's hands and wishing they were working on more than just pizza dough.

  "When did you work at a pizza place? Pizza parlor? What do you call it? Pizzeria?"

  Zach laughs. "All that sounds way too sophisticated for the place I used to work. It was in college. For two years I was in charge of making the magic you see before you here." He gestures broadly with his arm. "Green peppers, yes or no?"

  "Green peppers, yes. Other hidden talents? I mean ninja, pizza chef, master tequila drinker..."

  "I think you get to claim pizza chef. I'm just the entertainment here. You did all the work."

  I scoff. I may have spent the afternoon making sure dinner would happen, but Noah and Charlie won't remember how good things tasted. They're only going to remember Zach and how much fun he made things. The same way I'm only going to remember Zach and how fast he makes my heart beat.

  "Do I get to ask you about your hidden talents?" he asks, looking at me sideways as he puts more cheese on our pizza. "I know kitchen skills, and that you can deliver a vicious knee to the groin. Pretty good with a camera. Let's see... And there's the blistering kisses. Don't want to leave that out. Unless that's not a hidden talent. Maybe that's common knowledge."

  My face is on fire as Zach turns his body to look at me. I'm pretty sure I am rivaling the tomato sauce for deepest shade of red here. But Zach isn't looking at me in a teasing way. Not unless you count the fact that with Noah and Charlie in the next room there's no way to act on the molten gaze he's giving me. I feel that look all the way down to my core. And I find myself narrowing the gap between us as if I'm being pulled by an invisible wire—one that connects my body to his in a way I haven't felt in a while.

  "No, that isn't necessarily common knowledge." I’m careful not to get too close. I don't trust myself to touch him, but I want to be close enough to be able to smell him, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body. "Though, I guess in this town it isn't exactly top secret either."

  Zach reaches to push a strand of hair back behind my ear. I lean into his touch, letting the pads of his fingers brush my cheek.

  "But," I continue, "I haven't been advertising lately, or giving out samples."

  Zach's hand cups my cheek, his thumb rubbing along my jaw line. "I've been dying to get another sample," he whispers.

  Sadly, in a house shared with small children, there isn't much of a chance for the grown ups to act on their impulses. After pizza and several rounds of So You Think You Can Dance, Charlie and Noah are finally exhausted enough to entertain the possibility of going to bed.

  "We're only going if Zach helps with tucking," Noah demands and I'm not sure whether to be horrified or thrilled. While keeping Zach here under the guise of pleasing my children seems a bit desperate, it also means more opportunity to sit far too close to be friendly on the couch and to let him keep running his fingertips up the inside of my arm. Then again, too much kid time isn't exactly the best mood setter and I'd hate to have him overdose on the boys early in the game. Having Zach touching me, even if it is covert, is making me wish I had never put a bedtime story into the boys' nighttime routine. And I need to make sure Charlie and Noah aren’t getting their hopes up along with mine.

  "What is this, a hostage negotiation? You can't force someone to participate in tucking, especially after he has spent the entire afternoon and evening with you." I poke Noah in the ribs for emphasis. I try to give my sternest possible look, but the tired look I get in return makes it hard to stay too annoyed.

  "Wait!" Charlie shoots up from the corner of the couch where he has lazily slumped. "We forgot to show Mom the best part. Where's the picture? The tough picture?" He looks frantically to Zach who responds with settle down hands before reaching back into his pocket.

  "I have it right here," Zach assures. "Do you think we should show this to her? We all look pretty mean. Do you think she's ready to see you guys looking super tough?" He holds the photo away from me and eyes me skeptically.

  Both boys are instantly energetic again, begging Zach to show me the photo. He pretends to consider it, still holding it just out of my reach. When I move to grab it, he pulls his arm back with lightning quick reflexes. "Oh, you'd have to be faster than that," he teases as I stand on my tiptoes to make another attempt.

  I end up pressed up against Zach's chest in an effort to reach the photo. When I tilt my head up I find myself looking directly into his eyes, our mouths close enough to touch. A slow smile spreads across his face as my face begins to redden again. The temptation to kiss him is overwhelming and I hear his breath catch when I let my tongue peek from between my parted lips to moisten them.

  Taking advantage of his distracted state, I manage to snatch the piece of glossy paper from his outstretched hand. I run to the other side of the couch, cackling. Zach shakes his head, but makes no attempt to catch me.

  "I'm not sure if that was fighting fair," Zach says, turning to the boys.

  I hold the photo over my head and do a little victory dance. "Just using what I've been taught. I would think you'd be prepared for dirty fighting."

  He smiles again, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "Touché."


  I haven't even taken the opportunity to look at the photo yet. When I finally lower my eyes, I can feel my heart go warm and gooey. It's Zach, Charlie, and Noah in the most adorable tough guy poses ever created. The boys' attempts at looking mean have only succeeded in making them look even more like teddy bears. Prickly teddy bears, but cute ones none the less.

  I can feel the slight sting of tears in my eyes as I look at Zach. "This is fabulous.” It's just a photograph, but one where my sons look relaxed and happy. A photo of my boys being silly with someone who understands the value in that and isn't afraid to go all in.

  "I told you she'd love it," Charlie whispers.

  "I do," I tell him. "I really, really do." I look back at Zach who has gone somber on the other side of the room. "I think I'm going to put this on the fridge. What do you guys think?" I go back to the kitchen and move one of the two million crayon drawings to make a space in the middle. Once I've positioned the photo I stand back to admire it again. "You guys were right, I can barely handle the toughness here." I catch Zach's eye and wink. "But now I think it's time for you two tough guys to go to bed. For real."

  Zach helps me herd the boys toward their rooms. I've given up on baths and by the time they are in their pajamas and settled under the covers there's no need for bedtime stories or glasses of water. Noah conks out the second his head hits the pillow and Charlie manages to last only a few seconds more. Once I'm sure they're down I tiptoe out and quietly shut the door.

  As I approach the kitchen I can hear the sound of running water. Zach's positioned himself in front of the sink and is making short work of the dinner dishes. The muscles in his back bunch as he rinses the remnants of pizza and salad from each plate. It's comfortingly domestic to see him here in my kitchen and I almost forget the rush of lust I felt earlier until he leans toward the dishwasher with a plate and I get a view of the way his jeans hug his ass. And just like, that domestic bliss is the last thing on my mind.