Nip it in the Bud (Bunch-A-Blooms)

by Shyla Colt

  “What?”

  “You know, the guy who adopted little orphan Annie.”

  Willow giggles. “I know who you were talking about. Olive’s husband is one of the Davenports.”

  “The candy family?”

  “Yep.” She pops her p. I can tell she’s nervous about introducing me to the group.

  I let out a low whistle.

  “So, fair warning, the girls can be a bit … overwhelming, but they mean well.”

  We had an agreement going: we’d start the introduction process.

  “Where were they?” I ask, remembering it was a welcome home party.

  “On a honeymoon through Europe. They put it off for a while after they got married because of scheduling conflicts. They both run businesses and Olive’s was rapidly expanding at the time.”

  “Jewelry and homeopathic stuff, right?”

  “Yeah.” She squeezes my hand, and I wink.

  “I listen when you talk.”

  “I know. It’s one of the things I love most about you,” she says.

  I steal a kiss before I leave the truck and hop down to come around to her side. She knows the drill by now and waits for me. After helping her down, I wrap an arm around her shoulder as she gives me a quick rundown on who’s who. She knocks, and Olive answers the door with a wide grin.

  “You’re here!”

  The girls hug, and Willow laughs. “The party is actually for you, you know,” Willow says.

  “Any excuse to get everyone together. Our lives are insane right about now,” Olive replies.

  “I know. It’s like an explosion of events.”

  “Drew, it’s so good to see you again.” The mischief in Olive’s eyes makes me wonder what the hell I signed myself up for.

  “It’s good to see you, too, Olive.”

  “Relax, I’m not the friend you have to worry about. That’s Petunia.”

  “Stop it,” Willow says as we step inside.

  “Is that Willow?” The woman in question comes around the corner with a wide grin and a flowing fuchsia-colored dress that billows out around her but doesn’t hide the baby bump forming.

  “The one and only.”

  “Drew, it’s good to have you over. Come on. The guys are all hanging out in the back,” Petunia says. The gleeful expression makes me feel like I’m about to be tossed to the wolves. I smirk. The girl has no clue what my emails say on a regular basis. I get death threats. A little interrogation isn’t going to do much.

  “All right.” I nod my head and squeeze Willow’s side. I walk into the backyard and admire the spread. I’d get lost in a home like this, but it suits the well-dressed men gathered in the space. There’s something in the way they hold themselves along with the expensive clothing that makes the Davenport males stand out. Small clusters of people talk and drink from the built-in stone bar being manned by a hired bartender.

  “Hey, guys, this is Drew, Willow’s boyfriend,” Petunia announces.

  All eyes turn to me, and I nod my head and meet their inquisitive gazes. I’m used to being judged on appearance first. In my dark denim shorts, black and white tennis shoes, and white Cincinnati shirt I stand out in the group like a sore thumb. Greetings rise up around me.

  “Let me introduce you properly,” Willow says as she leads me around. “This is our host, Luca, Olive’s husband.”

  “I’m glad you could make it, love. It’s been too long since we all got together. It’s nice to meet you, Drew.” He holds out his hand, and I shake it. He’s a little older than us, and I dig his laid-back attitude.

  “It’s good to meet you, too.”

  “There are snacks going around in the house, Mason is manning the grill, and the bar is stocked, so enjoy yourselves.”

  The names start to blend together as she leads me around … until we get to her parents.

  “Mom, Dad, this is Drew.”

  “Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Ridder.” I shake their hands.

  Her dad gives me a careful once over and offers no encouragement. As the father of daughters, I don’t blame him. Mrs. Ridder offers up a sweet smile.

  “It’s so nice to meet you, Drew. I’ve heard nothing but good things.”

  “At least one of us has,” Mr. Ridder mumbles.

  Mrs. Ridder elbows him in the side, and he coughs.

  “What is it you do?” Mrs. Ridder asks.

  “I’m a recording artist.”

  “Oh, that’s interesting. Do you tour?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I do.”

  “And you make money off this?” her father asks.

  “Dad.”

  I laugh. He’s straight forward. I can respect that. “I understand, Mr. Ridder. I have two little girls off my own. You can never be too careful. Yes, I’ve been fortunate enough to live off what I love to do.”

  He nods and huffs. “Two girls?”

  “Twins.”

  “My Lord. My girls are three years apart, and I think the house barely survived. How do you do it?”

  “Well, right now they’re only ten. Ask me this question after the teen years.”

  Her father chuckles, and I know we’ll be just fine.

  “At least you know what’s coming.”

  “I have a younger sister. Watching it remotely was scary enough.”

  “Hormones,” her father mutters with a shake of his head.

  “Oh, they’re already activating.”

  “Yes, ten I about the right age for it,” her mother remarks.

  “I’m going to grab a drink. Do you want anything?” Willow asks.

  “Whatever beer they have is fine. Thank you,” I say.

  She gives me a bright smile before she heads to the bar and I continue to talk to her parents.

  “I was just telling Drew he’ll have to come by the house for dinner so we can show him old photos,” her mother says as Willow returns and hands me a cold bottle of beer.

  “I can’t wait to see them.”

  “Mom, no.” Willow shakes her head, and I hide my laughter by taking a drink. Her family dynamics are similar to mine. I like them, but I know her father is cautious about my girls. It’s a lot to take on, and he doesn’t know me well.

  “What? You were adorable,” Mrs. Ridder exclaims.

  “I think we’ve monopolized enough of his time. I’m going to introduce him to some more people.” She grabs my arm.

  “We’ll see you soon for dinner, Drew,” her mother calls, ignoring her as she pulls me into the crowd and I nod my head in agreement.

  “What? You don’t want to share the bathtub and ducky photo?”

  She shakes her head. “Laugh it up. It’s your turn next, smart ass.”

  “I’m going to tell the girls about us.”

  She misses a step. “Yeah?”

  “Are you okay with that?” I ask cautiously.

  “Yes. I really want to meet them.”

  The tightness in my chest decreases.

  “Good.”

  She leads me to Mason.

  “You need any help?” I ask, nodding toward the grill.

  “I won’t say no to that.”

  “Cool. I’m the griller in my family.”

  “You know Olive and Petunia are waiting for you in there,” Mason says to Willow.

  “Yeah. Don’t let my Pop give him the Spanish Inquisition, okay?”

  “Ha. When Pop Ridder gets something in his head, ain’t no stopping him. Sort of like another woman I know.”

  “Shut it,” she says, pointing her finger at him.

  “I got this, babe.” Bending down, I kiss the worry from her lips. I pull back, and she smiles when I pat her ass. “Go have fun with your girls.”

  She nods her head and walks away with a wag of her fingers.

  “You must be a damn magician ’cause I’ve never seen her so easily managed.”

  I laugh. “Nah, we just get each other.”

  “Clearly. That girl has given so many men a run for their money. It’s amusing to watch.�
�� He snickers.

  “I like a woman with a strong personality. It means she can keep up with me.”

  Mason nods. “There’s a sink over there where you can wash your hands, and we can get some burgers going. These hotdogs will be done soon.”

  “Good deal.”

  We work well together, and I get more perspective on the group. His experiences growing up with the girls make me laugh. As Petunia’s best friend, he’s been around to witness a little bit of everything.

  “Do we even want to know what you’re talking about?” Petunia asks as they approach.

  “Oh, I was just telling him about the time you decided to be the Spice Girls for Halloween, post Ginger Spice exiting the group, and how you got hammered and insisted on performing everywhere, we went.”

  “Oh no.” Willow covers her face.

  “I definitely have video of that,” Mason says.

  “I have to see it.”

  “You really do not,” Willow retorts.

  “Hey, I thought we were adorbs,” Olive says.

  “You would,” Petunia scoffs.

  “Yeah, because she’s the only one of us who can carry a tune,” Willow says dryly.

  “So no singing on my track then?” I tease.

  She hmmphs at me, and I laugh. Wrapping my arm around her waist, I pull her to me. “You’re perfect the way you are.” I steal a kiss, and she hums against my lips, letting me know I’m forgiven.

  As the day turns to night, we say our good-byes, and I drive her home.

  “What did you think?” she asks.

  “I had a good time. Everyone was friendly.”

  “Sorry about my parents, they’re extra.”

  “Hey, every parental unit has the quirk, believe me,” I say, thinking of my mom and how excited she’s going to be to meet Willow.

  “I guess it’s my turn next?”

  “Yeah. You don’t have to be nervous; Hunters are pretty chill.”

  I pull into her driveway and park.

  “You don’t have to walk me up.”

  “You know by now I take my job of caring for you seriously, so let me. I know you’re an independent woman who doesn’t need to be protected, but I’m here now, so you’re going to have that from me. It’s how I’m built.” I lean over, and she meets me halfway. I can taste the whiskey sours lingering on her tongue as I sweep inside her mouth. Moaning, she leans forward, and I cup the back of her head and bring her even closer. She places her palms against my chest and a flash of pressure streaks through me like lightning. Surging forward, she climbs across the center seat that separates us. I move my hand down to the small of her back and pull her into my lap.

  When she straddles my thighs and her full ass grinds into me, I grip her hips and rock up. She breaks our lip lock and lets her head fall back. I nuzzle her cleavage. Honk. The horn blares in the silent night. We jump apart like guilty children. My heart pounds in my chest and I let out a shaky laugh.

  “Holy crap. That scared me,” she whispers.

  “Same.” I rest my head on her chest for a moment. “Time for me to get you inside, beautiful.”

  “Yeah.” She sighs and climbs off me. My lap feels empty and my hand itches to grip her ass once more. I look up at the ceiling and release a deep breath before I move to leave the truck. The walk up to her home takes forever.

  “I had a good time today. Thank you for coming with me.”

  “Nowhere else I’d rather be.” I kiss her gently. “I’ll set something up with the girls soon.”

  “Okay. D-do you think they’ll like me?”

  “I think once they get to know you they will, but they’ve been hurt by the one woman who was supposed to always have their back, and it’s left a scar. If their reception is icy, don’t take it personal.”

  I glance down. I’m always going to feel guilt over the damage Monica has inflicted.

  “Hey, I get it.” She cups my face. “It’s not on you. It’s pretty clear we’re both in this for the long run. I don’t scare easy.”

  I pour my feelings into our kiss. Ilana and Neomi are my world, having someone who understands what they need and why they are the way they are is everything to me. I step back.

  “Goodnight, Willow.”

  “Night, Drew.”

  I shove my hands in my pockets as I walk toward the car and start making plans.

  Chapter Four

  Drew

  I scribble down the words, desperate to capture them before they disappear into the ether. I always do my best writing under pressure. Between the new thing developing with Willow and the papers filed for an Involuntary Termination of Parental rights being drawn up for Monica, I’m dealing with polar opposites. I’m looking at what I mistook for love and what I hope will develop into the right kind of love. It’s great for material, but hell on me personally.

  The sun is just starting to rise in the sky and turn the inky night into something beautiful. The girls won’t be up for another hour, and I’ve been writing in my room writing since I woke from a nightmare around four this morning. The thing I had with Monica is getting under my skin. Our relationship was twisted from the start. We were two young kids, looking to fill an emptiness inside with pills and each other.

  We fought, fucked, got high, and made up. It was a vicious, sick cycle made up of insane thinking. How the hell we thought anything would get better when we weren’t willing to change I can’t say. Thinking about that version of me makes me sick. We worked solely to feed our addiction. The habit damn near stole the girls from us. They were tiny, premature, and weak as kittens coming in under the three-pound mark.

  I arrived just in time to watch the girls come into the world. The moment I laid eyes on their dark skin and the cap of black hair I knew they weren’t mine, not biologically. But none of it mattered. I knew Monica was in no shape to take care of them, and I refused to watch them become wards of the state. Knowing I’d gotten high with her while these precious beings were still inside of her, the one place they should be safest, brought me to my knees right there in the room. It was a come to Jesus meeting as the girls were rushed off to the neonatal unit. Seeing them in distress as the doctors swooped in like a group of pigeons coming after a piece of bread broke something loose inside of me … or maybe it realigned it.

  In a way, the girls were what made my first shot at sobriety stick. I wasn’t going to do anything to jeopardize their well-being. All the late night feedings, diaper changes, and firsts were experienced by me while Monica went through a detox and rehabilitation program. She was lucky. They’d taken pity on the new mother who’d never been caught using before. They gave her a shot to change her life and travel a different path.

  She’d done her mandatory ninety-days, got out, managed three months clean, and blew it all with a high. I’ll never forget walking into our apartment to find her high as hell with the kids just a few feet away in a pack and play. I kicked her out, and the back and forth began with the kids. Streaks of a good runs were ruined by relapses and downward spirals hidden until they were so out of control it was obvious.

  I set the pen down and stand, cracking my neck. Today the letter will be delivered while I lay down another track in the studio. I plan on channeling all that anger into “Good-bye.” I’m shutting the door on that chapter and opening a new one. Which means coming clean to Ilana and Neomi.

  My girls are more observant than most. They study their environment and people’s behavior—a leftover tactic from living with a mom who was prone to going off the rails. They’ve asked where I go. Usually, when I’m home, I’m glued to their side twenty-four-seven. This time around I’ve been carving out time for Willow. I want to believe they’ll like her, but women make them wary. We’ve been dating for nearly two months and I know I’m not letting her go. There are more things to learn, and details to smooth out, but she’s my one.

  The last thought before I go to bed, and the first one before I wake up, she’s haunting me like a ghost. My choices a
re influenced by her, and I count the minutes until I can see her again. We do more than have fun. We talk about things. Things I’ve kept close to my chest for years roll off my tongue with ease. If we’re going to work, she and the girls have to meet. With the tour schedule looming, I want the growing pains settled before I leave for the road. I set the new song developing aside and head to the shower. I’ll butter them up with their favorite breakfast.

  After tossing the clothes into a hamper, I turn on the spray. I step into the heated water and bow my head, wishing I could rinse the dark memories down the drain. I’m still praying for a miracle. Maybe this once, she’ll open her eyes and put the girls first.

  ** *

  I set the table with a pitcher of milk and orange juice as the sweet smell of the cinnamon apple French toast casserole fills the air. The girls stumble in like zombies, and I smile over the rim of my coffee mug. They’re no longer little girls. They’re young women. It’s a tough pill to swallow as they move toward me in their uniforms. Neomi has a high ponytail, and Ilana has a side part and free flowing curls that frame her oval-shaped face. I remember when I had to do their hair for them.

  “Something smells really good, Dad,” Neomi says.

  “It’s your favorite.”

  “French toast casserole?” Ilana asks. Her eyes light up, and I nod.

  “Are you leaving soon?” Neomi asks.

  “What? No. I have four more months before I tour. You know that.”

  “I do, but this feels like more than just a breakfast,” Neomi replies.

  “You’re right. I do have some news to share with you, but it’s not about Daddy leaving early.”

  They both relax and take their seats at the table as I pull the casserole out of the oven to cool and take a seat across from them.

  “I know you’ve noticed I haven’t been around as much lately. There’s a reason for that. Daddy met a special woman, and we’ve been dating. I never mentioned her, because I wanted to make sure this was going somewhere before I announced it to you.”

  “And it’s serious?” Neomi whispers.

  “Pretty serious. I like her, and I see her being in my life for a long time.”

  “What’s she like?” Ilana asks.

  “Willow is a lot of fun. She’s smart, driven, and creative. She loves to read and explore.”