There’s a kick against my stomach, and I place my hand against the round swell, now watching Lachlan show Lyla how to feed the chickens.
I had wanted to space our children out a little more, but the baby boy growing inside of me had other plans for us. Brodie will be joining us in less than four weeks. I’m excited, but terrified too, worried I won’t love him as much as I love Lyla. I know in my gut I’ll love him the same, but that doesn’t ease my fears.
“Mommy!” Lyla calls from outside. “I feed chickens! Come see!”
I let the dishes I was cleaning rest in the soapy water as I walk out, padding across the yard to join my family.
Lachlan … God, Lachlan.
He’s thirty-seven now, and I swear my Superman is even better looking than the first time I laid eyes on him. The graying at his temples makes him look more distinguished and I love kissing the laugh lines beside his mouth, because those mean I’ve made him happy.
“Look, Momma.” Lyla holds her chubby hand out, tossing the feed onto the ground.
We chose to stay near Salt Lake City, but moved about an hour away. Lachlan still commutes forty minutes to work at the same place he took a job after leaving Aspen Lake High. I got my degree, and work from home doing marketing for an organic health food store. It’s nice because I still get to work, but also be home with Lyla.
The house we bought sits on a few acres, which meant I got my chickens, two goats, and one cow. It’s a work in progress, but I know this is where we’re meant to watch our children grow.
“Wow,” I say to Lyla. “You’re so good. They love you.”
And they really do. I think Lyla thinks the chickens are dogs, which I can’t possibly fathom—though Zeppelin is more the size of a bear than a dog, so I guess her confusion makes sense.
Lachlan scoops Lyla into his arms and stands, putting an arm around my waist.
“How are you feeling, baby?”
“Tired.” I rub my round stomach. “He’s kicking a lot. I think he bruised my ribs.”
He laughs like I’m kidding. I’m not.
“Dadda, put me down.” Lyla kicks and squirms to get down. He places her on the grass and her tiny feet take off running, letting the chickens chase her.
“I didn’t know it was possible to be this happy,” Lachlan murmurs, placing his hand on my belly over top of mine.
“Me either.” I lean my head against his side, both of us watching Lyla run and squeal.
She’s the perfect mix of both of us, his dark hair, my hazel eyes, my lips, but his nose. She’s full of excitement and spunk. She reminds me of myself when I was young, before life happened. But thanks to her daddy, I found joy again.
Lyla runs up to us again, holding out a dandelion ripe with seeds.
“Make wish, Mommy.”
I bend down as best I can at eight months pregnant and take the dandelion from her, smiling wistfully.
“Wish,” she repeats, touching her small warm hand to my cheek.
“Together?” I wrap her hand around the stem so we’re both holding it.
“Otay.” I smile, loving how she can never say okay even though she talks up a storm already at such a young age.
“Okay, baby girl, let’s make a wish.”
I feel Lachlan’s hand squeeze my shoulder as my eyes close.
As a mother myself now, I’m really beginning to understand why my mom said some of the things she did to me, so it’s with that thought that I round my lips, and exhale, blowing the seeds to scatter free in the wind. To lay down their roots, and grow where they’ll thrive.
My sweet, Lyla. May you always be as free as the birds, as wild as the flowers, and untamed as the sea.
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Thank you! -Micalea
Bring Me Back
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
I could have put the typical blurb here.
Boy meets girl.
They fall in love.
Live happily ever after.
The end.
But this isn’t THAT story.
ONE
“Ben.” My giggles carry through the kitchen. “Stop, stop,” I plead as his fingers assault my stomach. “That tickles!”
His laughter is like music to my ears. “That’s the point.” He grasps my hips. “You need to loosen up some.”
My body relaxes now that he isn’t tickling me. He turns me around to face him, and then he cups my face in his hands.
“Ah, there it is.” He grins. “Your smile. I missed it.”
“I’m stressed,” I defend. My eyes fall to the mess cluttering our kitchen counters. We’re supposed to arrive at his mom’s house for Thanksgiving in the next hour, and I’ve yet to finish making the pie I promised to bring.
“Don’t stress,” he murmurs, ghosting his hands down my cheeks. “It’s just a pie.”
Such a guy thing to say.
“It’s not that simple,” I say. There’s no point trying to explain it to him since he won’t understand.
“Is this another one of your crazy notions where you think you need some kind of approval from my mom?”
I frown. Maybe he does understand.
“Babe.” He lifts me onto the counter. “My mom loves you, and you know that. You’re already part of the family.” He nuzzles my neck. “I mean, we’re getting married in three months. You have nothing to prove.”
“I know.” I frown and duck my head so he can’t see my eyes.
He notices and grabs my chin, forcing my head up. “Obviously you don’t, or you wouldn’t be going to this much trouble. We can pick up a pie at Wal-Mart or something. They’re always open.”
I gasp, flummoxed that he’d suggest such a thing. “We can’t bring a store bought pie.”
He chuckles. “No one will know the difference.”
I smack his arm lightly. “Oh, yes they will, and if they don’t, then I’ll know.”
“Okay, okay,” he says, hanging his head in mock-shame. The dimples in his cheeks appear, making him look more boyish than normal.
Ben exudes boy-next-door with his all-American good looks—blond hair, blue eyes, charming smile—and while I admit that his looks are what attracted me to him in the first place, it was his heart that made me stay. I’d never met anyone as kind and caring as Ben.
Kissing the end of my nose, he lifts me off the counter and sets me on the ground.
“We’ll do it together.”
I smile at that.
I know that attempting to bake a pie with Ben will make the whole process take a whole lot longer, but I suddenly don’t mind it; I know he’ll make it fun.
With all the ingredients needed already strewn across the counters, I begin to boss Ben around.
We work side by side, our laughter filling the kitchen.
I look up at him, and for a moment I’m taken aback by the fact that this guy is mine. We went to high school together, but while he was the popular jock, I was the mousy band geek. Cliché, I know, but love is. We ended up at the same college and ran into each other at a local coffee shop. He recognized me, and I’d been shocked he’d known my name. From there we started hanging out—one thing led to another and we ended up together. Now, we are in our late twenties, have bought our first house together, are getting married soon, and Ben is working to complete his residency to become a doctor while I have started my party planning business.
“Blaire?” He grins at me.
I duck my head, embarrassed that he caught me staring at him.
“Blaire,” he says again, this time more sternly. I feel his cool fingers on my chin and powdery flour sticks to my skin. His eyes roam over my face, almost like he’s searching for something. Finally, he says, “I love you.”
“I love you too,” I whisper back.
He lowers his head and kisses me.
A fire ignites deep in my belly, and soon all thoughts of pie flee from my mind. His fingers dig
into my hips and my body arches into his. My fingers wind into his hair, tugging him closer as his mouth dances over my lips. My insides are doing the cha-cha. Kissing Ben never gets old. Every time feels new and I swear I fall more in love with him, like his lips are tracing a road map straight to my heart.
“Fuck the pie,” he growls against my lips, and I giggle. He swipes his hand behind us, knocking everything on the counter to the floor, then lifts me onto the surface once more.
He fits himself in-between my legs and presses his lips to my neck.
My head drops back, giving him more access. His fingers skim under my loose t-shirt as he lifts it up over my head and drops it to the floor.
When he looks into my eyes, his are a dark blue, heated with lust.
His mouth is on mine again and his hands are pressing into my hips, keeping me from moving.
I know I should stop him, remind him that we need to go, but I don’t.
Life is about living in the moment; I know this one is about to take me to the highest form of pleasure.
Breaking his lips from mine, he bends down and jerks my yoga pants and underwear off where they join my shirt in a pile on the floor. His eyes flash with a devilish glint before his mouth latches onto me. I cry out and my back falls to the cold counter top. You’d think it would be uncomfortable, but if anything, the cold only adds to the pleasure he’s giving me.
My eyes close, and I hold my breath as my toes curl.
Oh, yes.
“Ben,” I pant. “Oh, God.”
His tongue swipes against me faster, and I can feel his eyes on me even though I’m not looking at him.
I hold my breasts, pinching my nipples between my fingers as my hips rock.
I scream out a moment later, and then his mouth is on mine quieting my cries.
As I come down from my high, he steps back and pulls off his clothes—all the while his eyes are glued to me spread out on the counter before him like a feast. He grabs a condom from one of the drawers and rolls it on before climbing onto the counter with me.
He lays me down on my back with my hair spread around me. I’m sure the dark strands are covered in flour by now, but I don’t care.
He guides himself inside me and my hips rise to meet his. I touch my fingers to his stubbled cheek and rub my thumb over his plump bottom lip.
How’d I get so lucky?
He puts his hand over mine where it rests against his face, then entertwines our fingers together and pins my hand above my head. He does the same with the other.
His chest presses into mine.
Heart to heart.
He kisses me the way he makes love to me. Slow. Deep. Hard.
He lets go of my hands, and I press my palms flat against his muscled chest. They fit perfectly there, like the curvature was carved just for them.
When I come again, I wrap my arms around his neck, trying to get lost in him.
He’s not far behind me, and when he comes, he cries my name and whispers “I love you,” in my ear.
We lay together on the counter—a tangled, sweaty mess. He rests his head on my chest, his ear pressed to my heart. I rub my fingers through his messy hair and roll my head to the side. I’m completely spent.
“That’s my favorite sound,” he breathes into the quiet.
“What is?”
“Your heartbeat.” He rises and cups my face in his hand, angling my head so I’m looking at him. “Every day, I’m thankful for you; for what we have together. It’s special, Blaire. Once in a lifetime.”
I smile at him and let out a small laugh. “You’re always at your most romantic after we have sex. I think it turns your brain to mush.” I wink.
He grins, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’m always romantic.”
“You wish.” I jokingly smack his shoulder.
He brushes a piece of hair off my forehead. “Okay, so maybe not always,” he agrees, “but I try.”
He’s right. He does. I know I’m much luckier than most women. Ben’s always surprising me with my favorite flowers, gift cards for my favorite stores, books he thinks I’ll enjoy, date nights, and notes.
Every day he leaves me a note inside a paper crane.
He wants to make a thousand before our wedding so he can wish for us to have happiness in all our days together. After that, he says he’ll start again, because there’s always another wish to be had. I hope he makes them forever. They’re always the best part of my day—finding them in the random spots he’s hidden them in and reading the heartfelt words he’s written.
Ben kisses me quickly and slides off the counter.
I sit up as he ties off the condom and throws it away.
He lifts me down, even though I’m perfectly capable of getting down myself. We then take turns dressing each other—a few kisses stolen here or there.
We clean up the mess together and then completely forget about the pie. It’s a lost cause at this point, and I resign myself to the fact that we’re eating Wal-Mart pie.
We head upstairs to get ready, each taking separate showers since we know what will happen if we take one together. When my hair is clean, I blow dry it and curl the shoulder-length strands. I shake them out, trying to make the curl appear more natural.
Ben steps out of the shower and wraps a towel around his waist. His chest glistens with droplets of water, and I stare.
He chuckles and kisses my cheek as he passes.
My cheeks blossom with a red hue.
Even after seven years together he still manages to make me blush.
That’s how you know he’s a keeper.
I finish my hair and apply my makeup, using a smoky gray around my whiskey-colored eyes and magenta on my lips. I’m normally more subdued in my makeup choices, but I feel like being adventurous today.
Ben comes back into the bathroom dressed in a pair of slim-fitting jeans and a maroon-colored sweater. He steps up to the other sink to try to tame his wavy hair.
Leaving him to finish up in front of the mirror, I move out of the bathroom and over to our walk-in closet.
I step into a pair of dark-wash jeans and pull an oatmeal-colored sweater over my head then add some bracelets to my wrists and my large gold watch. I opt for a pair of chestnut colored boots to dress up the look more.
By the time I step out of the closet, Ben has finished in the bathroom and is sitting on our bed waiting for me. Our Siamese cat, Winnie, sits on the bed beside him. She gives me a murderous look. I don’t know why, but that cat has always hated me.
I pick up my purse and fluff my hair.
Ben stretches and stands from the bed.
“Ready?” he asks, looking me over.
I nod. “Yes, but knowing me I’m probably forgetting something.”
“Pie.” He winks.
My blush returns, and I duck my head. I’ll never think of pie in the same way ever again.
We head downstairs and we each shrug into our coats. Ben locks up behind us, and then hurries to open the passenger door on his Mazda SUV for me.
“Thank you.” I smile graciously and slide inside.
He jogs around the front of the car to get in the driver’s side.
His blond hair sticks up from his brief jog, and I reach over to smooth it down. He smiles at me in appreciation.
He drives over to the local Wal-Mart and I sit in the car while he goes inside to get the pie. I feel bad that there are people working on the holiday when they should be with their families. It doesn’t seem fair.
Ben returns a few minutes later with a pecan and apple pie. Surprisingly, they don’t look that bad. He sits them in the back and starts the car.
“Ready?” He waggles his brows.
I laugh and smooth my hair back. “You bet.”
***
An hour later, he parks in the driveway of his mom’s house. It’s a decent size, Cape Cod style, with white siding and red shutters. A porch wraps around the front.
My parents used to live a few nei
ghborhoods away, but when I left for college, they decided to pack up and move to Florida. I can’t blame them since lately the Virginia winters have been brutal.
Ben slips from the car and grabs the plastic bag. He meets me at my side of the car and entwines our fingers together. He smiles down at me so big that his dimples make an appearance.
“Next Thanksgiving we’ll be husband and wife,” he says.
I smile as my stomach is flooded with warmth at the thought.
Ben. My husband. I love the sound of that. I feel like I’ve been waiting forever to call him that. He proposed to me our senior year of college, and I was the genius that decided it would be best to postpone the wedding until his residency was complete or close to it. I regret that now. I should’ve made him my husband a long time ago, but the day is fast approaching.
“Why do you want to marry me?” I ask him in jest.
He pauses on the porch and looks down at me. “Because I love you.”
“Good answer.” I lean up on my tiptoes to kiss him.
He rings the doorbell, and the door swings open a second later.
“Benjamin,” his mom cries, throwing her arms around his neck.
Even though we live close, we rarely get to see his mom or his brother, Jacob, and his family. We’re both too busy with work, especially Ben.
His mom lets him go and pulls me into a hug. Loraine has always treated me like the daughter she never had, and for that, I’m thankful. Sometimes I go overboard trying to please her, like with the pie, even when I don’t have to.
“Come in, come in.” She steps back to let us inside. “It’s cold outside.”
Almost immediately, Ben is attacked by his six-year-old niece, Bella, and two-year-old nephew, Jackson.
“Hey, guys.” He bends to hug them. “I’ve missed you guys.”
I smile. Seeing Ben with his niece and nephew always melts my heart.
“Mom, take the pies before they get squished.” He holds out his hand with the bag.
She takes it and chuckles when she looks in the bag. “I think it’s a bit too late for that.”
Ben sighs. “Well, we’ll all know they were squished with love.” He picks each of the kids up in an arm and cries, “To the kitchen,” before running with them down the hall. The children’s laughter trails behind them and my smile widens.
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