I go to close the door, only barely resisting the urge to bang my head against it while doing so.
She giggles when he picks her up and throws her over his shoulder before carrying her into the living room. He throws her on the couch, and she starts to laugh harder than before. Brooklyn then crawls into his lap when Aaron sits down beside her.
His hands instantly go around her body, holding her steady to keep her from falling.
He then turns around, his eyes finding mine. “Come here, love.”
“Yes, Sofia. Come here.”
And so I do, walk over to Aaron and Brooke, and take a seat on the couch with them.
Once I’m seated, Aaron repeats his question from earlier. “Tell me, little princess, what can I do for you?”
“You know how it’s my birthday this year?” Brooklyn starts, her eyes shining brighter than the sun as she looks at Aaron.
“No, no. Your birthday was last year, I’m pretty sure.”
Brooke giggles, scrunching up her nose. “But uncle Ron, I turn eight this year. Last year I turned seven.” Mind you, her birthday is in September and it’s currently March.
“Yeah, no. I’m sure your birthday isn’t until next year. You keep growing up and we cannot let this happen.”
Watching Aaron interact with Brooke has always made me question what he would be like with his own children. He’s the best uncle, though I might be a little biased, and imagining what he would be like as a father sure brings dangerous thoughts to my head.
I do not want children yet. It’s a little too early for my liking, but a woman can dream, right? Besides, I have my books for that part. Anything I want and cannot have, I’m sure there is a book for it somewhere out there that I can read. And if there isn’t, I’ll just write it myself.
That’s not entirely true. I do think I might be a little too young to have a child, but Aaron and I had this talk a couple of months ago and we decided that if it happens, it happens. Meaning, we won’t excessively try to get me pregnant, but we’re notnottrying either.
Whatever Brooklyn has said about her birthday next; I didn’t hear because I was too in my head with picturing Aaron as a father. But I do hear her say, “Did you know Emory looks exactly like my mom?”
“Did she tell you that?” Aaron asks in return.
Brooke shakes her head. “Daddy did. We had a talk.” She sighsveryheavily, leaning back in my husband’s arms like she’s trying to show him how boring the conversation was.
Someone knocks at the door, but before I get the chance to get up and open it, Brooke has jumped off Aaron’s lap and storms toward it. “It’s my dad. I have to leave now for my dance class. But I’ll come visit again!” And out the door she is, this time closing it behind her. Or maybe Miles did it for her.
I lay down, my head resting on Aaron’s thighs. “You think someone is going to come march in if we tried again?”
Aaron looks down at me, bringing a hand to my head, lifting it enough to quickly remove the bow from the back of it only to allow me to lie back down.
“Probably. Colin saw us coming back home, so there’s a high chance he’s running some errands and then shows up here to watch whatever stupid game is on TV.” He runs a hand right through my hair, then gently starts giving my scalp a rub that’s almost as good as having sex, while the other finds a cozy spot on one of my boobs.
Such a boobs-guy.
“I vote for exchanging the locks and—”
Aaron covers my mouth with his hand, or rather my face. “Shut up and get naked, wife. I’ll hang up a ‘do not disturb’ sign if I have to. We have a whole ass playlist to fuck through.” He pushes me off his legs and off the couch, slapping his hand to my ass once I stand.
“And they say romance is dead.”
Holding eye contact, I reach my arms underneath my shirt, unclasping my bra. Then, as Aaron would say it, I use my magical-woman powers to take it off in seconds from right underneath my top, pulling the bra out from under my shirt and tossing it on top of my husband’s head.
He pulls it off and gets up. The bra then falls to the floor as he lets go of it, only to lift me up instead and throwing me right over his shoulder. Aaron slaps his hand to my ass, again, chuckling when I gasp instead of yelp.
It doesn’t take him long until he has me in our bedroom, standing in front of our bed with his hands all over me.
“I love you,” he whispers after kissing behind my ear, moving down my neck.
Over the last three years, Aaron has said these three words at least once a day, if he felt extra romantic, a couple more times, and still, they never fail to make me weak in the knees.
