Three Dirty Harts
Page 8
“Yeah, and I got a new skateboard!”
I grinned and smooched his face. He’d recently lost his baby chubbiness, and I wasn’t too happy about that. “You’ll have to show me when we get home.” By then, the twins and the dogs surrounded me, and I was lost to them for several minutes. The twins spoke rapidly about everything they’d done while I was gone. I did my best to keep up with the toddler speak. Mommy wasn’t sick in the morning anymore, Dad had burned his finger on the stove, Daddy sucked at answering the phone—
“Remember what I said, buddy?” I adjusted David’s beanie. “I can’t use the phone in the woods.”
He nodded. “Sucks! You take pics for Mommy’s Istagwam?”
“Instagram,” I corrected with a soft laugh. “Sure, I took loads of pictures for her. That’s why I do this. So she can post them online.”
He looked over his shoulder, toward Belle and Andrew, who walked toward us hand in hand. Fuck, she was beautiful. “Mommy, he took pics!”
“That’s ’cause he’s a good daddy.” Belle winked. As soon as she was within reach, I pulled her in for a hard kiss. She’d gained a few pounds, not that I’d ever tell her that, and she was showing more and more. Every pregnancy was the same. I turned into a starving lunatic the minute she gained some baby weight, and I was secretly thrilled she didn’t lose every single pound after the birth.
Okay, it was a secret I shared with Andrew.
As the kids and the dogs scattered, it was just Belle, Andrew, and me.
“Best surprise in a long time, love.” I kissed the smile off her perfect face and threaded our fingers together. “Our baby girl treatin’ you okay?”
“She’s an angel compared to the other heathens.” She patted her belly, humor evident in her green eyes. “I think this one will finally take after me.”
Andrew and I exchanged a look.
“Then we’re all fucking screwed,” I told her.
She thought that was funny.
With a shake of my head, I faced my brother and hugged him too.
“I heard you burned your finger.”
He scoffed. “Did David snitch on me? I tried to make Belle’s blueberry muffins again.”
I laughed under my breath and pressed a kiss to his shoulder, to which he draped an arm around me and pulled me close.
“David!” he called, and our son looked up from whatever he was playing with in the grass. “Son, I thought we agreed to keep the stove incident to ourselves?”
David shrugged and scrunched his nose. “I forgotted things, Dad. Can I have ice cweam now?”
“Guess my answer,” Andrew grumbled quietly.
“You poor thing.” Belle mock-pouted at him.
I merely looked at her as she teased Andrew, and I didn’t know how it was possible to love her more than I already did. Yet, time and time again, she proved me wrong and made me fall a little harder.
“Okay, let’s get Jace off his feet for a bit,” she said. “You look tired, honey.”
“Thanks.” I threw her a smirk.
“You know what I mean, dork.” She giggled and slipped under my arm, and I kissed her temple. “We wanna hear everything about your trip.”
“You must be hungry,” Andrew added. “We brought food for everyone from Anchorage.”
“I’m starving.”
Most of all, for them.
The sweet and dirty hearts of my life.
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Check out Cara’s entire collection at www.caradeewrites.com, and don’t forget to sign up for her newsletter so you don’t miss any new releases, updates on book signings, giveaways, and much more.
About Cara
I’m often awkwardly silent or, if the topic interests me, a chronic rambler. In other words, I can discuss writing forever and ever. Fiction, in particular. The love story—while a huge draw and constantly present—is secondary for me, because there’s so much more to writing romance fiction than just making two (or more) people fall in love and have hot sex. There’s a world to build, characters to develop, interests to create, and a topic or two to research thoroughly. Every book is a challenge for me, an opportunity to learn something new, and a puzzle to piece together. I want my characters to come to life, and the only way I know to do that is to give them substance—passions, history, goals, quirks, and strong opinions—and to let them evolve. Additionally, I want my men and women to be relatable. That means allowing room for everyday problems and, for lack of a better word, flaws. My characters will never be perfect.
Wait…this was supposed to be about me, not my writing.
I'm a writey person who loves to write. Always wanderlusting, twitterpating, kinking, and geeking. There’s time for hockey and cupcakes, too. But mostly, I just love to write.
~Cara.