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“You’re Hudson,” Rory calls out, receiving his attention, and she stops when she’s literally inches away from him.
There’s no such thing as personal space.
“I am,” he replies flatly. “And you’re Rory.”
“My mommy said she loves you.”
Oh, God.
“Did she now?” Hudson gets to his haunches to get eye level with her. “What do you think about that? I am pretty cool.”
“Do you eat pizza?”
“Yes.”
“Do you go on carnival rides?”
“Sure.”
“Can you count to a hundred?”
“I can.”
“Are you bad?”
What the hell?
“I am,” Hudson says without flinching. “But your mama always puts me back in line.”
Rory smiles at that and lowers her voice, “I took one of her ChapSticks.”
“What kind?”
My brows knit because I can see the inner workings of a clique starting here and I’m not a part of it. Although, I can’t say how mystifying it is to watch Hudson hunched down to speak with my daughter and how easily they’re already conversing.
“Cherry.” Rory’s brows scrunch together. “No, watermelon. Mommy likes watermelon.”
“That’s good information to know.”
I shake my head because the millions of things going on through that man’s brain right now, I’m sure, are related to edible underwear or some shit.
“Can I get you some Kool-Aid?” Rory asks like the good little hostess I didn’t know she was. “Mommy makes good Kool-Aid.”
“I’d love some.”
Rory looks around Hudson and up at me. “Mommy, he wants some Kool-Aid.”
Raising a brow, I love how I just became the assistant but do it anyway because I am my daughter’s bitch.
Hudson is then guided over to Rory’s plethora of Barbies and she tells him all their names. I can’t help but watch them and bask in every single moment they’re together.
That Hudson fits so well already in our little nook of a family within seconds of being here.
forty-three
. . .
HUDSON
