by Anna Adams
Sighing, she swayed against him. “Help me get this in the oven and we can close our bedroom door for a little while.”
“I never thought I’d hear you ask for help without trying everything on your own first.” He bundled the turkey into its roasting pan and then into the oven.
Beth stared wistfully through the window set in the door. “I won’t be able to let you help at Christmas. That is going to be one ugly Thanksgiving bird.”
“I’ll take your mind off it.”
Several hours later, Beth shooed Van and Eli to the dining table where her mother’s china gleamed beneath candlesticks Aidan’s parents had sent as a housewarming gift. Aidan lit the candles and took his place at the head of the table. Van and Eli wrestled to their places on opposite sides.
“Van,” Beth said.
“You’re too serious.”
Aidan’s smile took her to the less serious two hours they’d shared that afternoon. She grinned.
“It’s a moment to be serious.” Aidan cleared his throat, but laughed anyway and Van and Eli laughed, too, though they didn’t know why. Beth felt herself blushing. Secure in her lover’s heart, she didn’t feel vulnerable any more.
“What’s up, Mom?”
“Nothing. Where’s Lucy?”
“I couldn’t find her.” Just a few months ago, he’d have been frantic. Now he was able to leave Lucy to her doggie concerns. “What were you and Aidan laughing about?”
“Private joke,” Van said.
“Oh.” He looked from Aidan to his mother, who went blank instead of coming up with a pithy distraction. “Gross.”
“Van,” Beth said again.
“Let me in here,” Aidan said. “I’m trying to toast my new family.”
“Let’s toast.” Van lifted his glass.
“Mom,” Eli did likewise, “can I have a sip of wine, too?”
“No.” She still overprotected her son at moments she found as startling as he. He was better. He no longer took antidepressants and he only visited his therapist once every two weeks. But she wasn’t about to add even a teaspoon of wine to the mix.
“I’m fine, Mom.”
“I know.” She put all her love in the smile she shot him.
“Don’t get all mushy.” Eli lifted his water glass to Aidan. “Better get on with it. That turkey looks funny but I’m starving.”
One of the wings had bent at an odd angle, and half the breast was a bit more well-done than its golden, glowing mate. No doubt due to distraction on the part of the cooks.
She sipped her wine.
“Beth,” Aidan said. Van laughed and took a sip, too. Eli waved his water with so much enthusiasm several drops spilled on the tablecloth. A bargain find—not the one they’d be using at Christmas with the Nikolases.
“Sorry. I was thinking.” Beth wiped her mouth. “Let’s try again.”
“I was going to say that no one had more reason to be thankful than I,” Aidan said, “because I’ve found the woman I love and a boy I want to call my own son.”
Beth stiffened. “You can’t do that unless—”
“Let me ask you before you answer,” Aidan said.
All the laughter stopped. Beth glanced at Eli, whose hope was intense. She looked at Van, who eyed her, worried.
“It’s all right,” she said. “We still have nothing in common, except I love him and he loves me and we count on each other, and Eli knows he can trust us both.”
“You’re not a novelty to him, are you?” Van asked.
“No,” Aidan said, his tone dry. “In case you’ve both forgotten I’m here.” He and Eli commiserated with a clink of their glasses. “She’s the woman I’ll love all my life. She’s the woman I want for my wife.”
“And she’s saying yes,” Beth said. “Yes and yes again. What do you think, Eli?”
Before he could answer, Lucy burst through the dog flap, click-clacked down the hall, skidded into the door frame and then stared at the family around the table.
“Over here, girl.” Eli pointed to a bone in her dish beside his chair.
“Beth, will you marry me?”
“And love you forever and ever and ever.”
“Gross,” Van and Eli said together.
Aidan came around the table. “Let’s make it worse for them.” Dipping her over one arm, he kissed her so thoroughly the chair rocked behind her. For a moment, she thought she should grab for it, but then she didn’t care.
ISBN: 978-1-4592-1714-0
TEMPORARY FATHER
Copyright © 2007 by Anna Adams.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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