I grimace. “I’m sorry, honey, Mommy used all the eggs this morning.”Teaching a bad man a valuablelesson.
Joel’s lower lip drops intoapout.
“But I can duck down to the store later this afternoon, and we can have pancakes for dinner,” Isuggest.
Joel’s eyes bulge. “Really?”
I smile and nod. “Really.”
Joel shares the story of how Mrs. Mable fell asleep with her mouth open as we walk into the back entrance ofourhome.
“She was drooling too. It wasgross--”
He stops talking, and his head lifts in slow motion. The more his neck tilts back, the larger his mouth gapes. “Who are you?” he asks with his head fullycrankedback.
My head swings to the side so fast, my neck screams in protest. There standing before us in all his six-foot-five gloryisHugo.
Shit.
Chapter Eleven
Hugo
My eyes dartbetween Ava and the little boy standing at her side, clutching her hand. I stare at him. Not a general stare—I stare, stare at him, absorbing every little feature of his adorable face. Big plump lips, smooth caramel skin, a crazy mess of ringlet hair on the top of his head, and the biggest pair of blue eyes I’ve ever seen. I take a step back,flabbergasted.
Holy shit. Itcan’tbe.
The little boy’s eyes run the length of my body, from the tips of my toes to the top of my head. When his eyes reach their final destination, his jaw slackens. I’m not surprised to see little white pegs of perfectly straight teeth in his mouth. His mom is a dentistafterall.
“Who are you?”heasks.
Even his voice isadorable.
Ava flinches before her head rockets to the side. Her eyes travel the same path the little boy’s just did. But when she reaches her final destination, her mouth doesn’t gape open in surprise, but her eyes do. Ava musters a fake smile across her ashen face before she bobs down in front of thelittleboy.
“Sweetie, go into your room. I’ll be there in a minute,” she requests, her tone coming out with atremble.
“But,Mom—”
“No arguing. Go!” Ava demands, her voice stern and authoritative, a tone I’ve never heardheruse.
The small boy clenches his hands into tight balls and screws up his nose. With a loud huff, he storms downthehall.
“You’re not being fair!” he yells before slamming his bedroomdoorshut.
His abrupt closure of the door is so powerful, the picture frames lining the hallway rattle from his force, making Ava balk. She runs her hands down the front of her white-washed jeans before standing from her crouched position. When I step towards her, she holds her hand out in front of her body, silently demanding for metostop.
Her moisture-glistening eyes lock with mine. “Heisn’t--”
“Don’t you dare,” I interrupt, my words coming out sterner than I was anticipating. “Iknowhe ismyson.”
He is the perfect mixture of both Ava and me. My hair coloring, her curls. My eyes, her lips. His nose is a combination of us both. He is my son, and nothing Ava could say would change my mind on that. Even if I wasn’t looking at an exact replica of my eyes, I can feel it in my bones. He has my blood pumping through his veins.He ismyson.
My eyes bounce between Ava’s. “Why didn’t youtellme?”
Ava’s head flings back as she laughs. It isn’t the beautiful, soulful laugh I'm used to hearing. It is a laugh that expresses how much she is hurting. It is crammed with pain and sorrow, and it breaks my heart justhearingit.
Once her laughter settles down, her eyes glare into mine. “And exactly how was I supposed to tell you? Put an ad in every newspaper in the state… or perhaps the entire country since I didn’t know whereyou’dgone?”
