“That’s us honey, that’s me and your Dad. Bec is short for Rebecca, and your dad’s name is Alistair, but most people call him Rennie, like our last name.”
I can’t remember how old we were, but it must have been a long summer. Our parents often sent Rennie and me to hang out with Gramps, knowing there wasn’t much mischief we could get up to on his watch. Sometimes he’d leave us in charge while he ran errands, and that’s when our pent up mischief broke free.
“Rennie!” I call out, “come see this.”
“Mama, you’re bad! We’re not allowed to draw on walls, you said!”
“I know baby, this was very cheeky indeed. Your Dad made me do it.”
“You looking at our hands?” I hear Rennie say, and when I look down the length of my body, he’s straddling my legs.
“You remember this?” I reach out and he helps pull me up from the floor.
“Of course I remember. You forgot? Oh, you are in so much trouble,” he says, pulling me into his arms. I hope I never stop feeling that giddy rush I feel when he holds me tight.
“Why did you do it, Daddy?” Grace says, climbing up his leg until he lifts her into our embrace.
“We used to play a game called Truth or Dare, and I was hoping your mum would choose truth so I could ask her if she loved me. But she said dare,” he shakes his head at me, “so I dared her to tell me by writing it on the wall.”
“I would never have been so naughty to write on the wall,” I explain, tucking Grace’s wild curls behind her ears, “so I wrote it down here instead where my Gramps would never see it.”
“So Daddy was always your boyfriend?” Archie says, now halfway through a shiny green apple.
“Sort of,” I answer, looking up at my beautiful, brilliant, brave man. He is ageing so well. Crinkles around his eyes from years of laughing with me, a dusting of grey hairs around his temples, but still a full head of hair. He’s as strong as always, those warm, firm muscles filling out his clothes. I still can’t get enough of him. Every anniversary we exchange sexy wishlists, and the butterflies in my stomach kick up just as much now as they did then. “I always had a little crush on him.”
“Well, I had a huge crush on her,” Rennie says, his eyes full of love. “Still do.”
“How old were you?” Archie asks, crouching down to take a look too.
“Like ten,” I laugh.
“That’s disgusting,” he says. “You can’t be in love when you’re ten.”
“I know,” I say, reaching out for Rennie’s gorgeous face, “but I did love him. Still do, too.”
THE END
