Page 101 of Unexpected Complication

I looked at Skylar, confused.

She smirked. “Not like that, Cian. We’re supposed to tell him how we met.”

“Oh.”

She arched one eyebrow at me. “Remember, he’s barely six. It needs to be short—the edited, modified version.”

I took a huge bite of my burger to cover my smirk. Telling him I was an undercover hit man for hire and his mother was homeless and watched me kill someone would certainly cause a few people to talk. I chewed thoughtfully for a few minutes then grinned as I spoke.

“Well, bud, one day while Daddy was at work…”

“In the bar?” he interrupted.

I winked at my wife. “Not this bar. Another place. It was called, ah, the warehouse.”

Skylar snorted, and Colton looked at her. She smiled and smoothed his hair off his forehead. “Daddy’s funny.”

I ignored her teasing.

“So,” I drawled. “I was at work…and Mommy came in. She was hungry, so Daddy made her some sandwiches.” I leaned forward. “And you know what? Mommy didn’t even say thank you.”

His eyes widened. Skylar was very firm on manners. “She didn’t?”

“Nope.”

“Did you give her a time-out?”

“I did. She was really grumpy that day.”

“How come?”

“She hadn’t gone to bed early enough the night before.”

“Oh…” He nodded in understanding. Our Colton liked his sleep.

Skylar rolled her eyes and stood, lifting Raymie out of her high chair. “Daddy was a little grumpy that day too. He yelled at Mommy,” she pointed out.

Colton looked confused. I rarely ever yelled. “You did?” he asked, his eyes wide.

“Only because I wanted her to eat.”

“Did she?”

“Yep, bud. She did. She realized Daddy was a smart man and she’d feel better if she ate.”

“Did she say thank you after? When she wasn’t so grumpy?”

I snickered as I met Skylar’s eyes. Memories of that day and the years that had passed drifted through my mind. Our history was rich with love and laughter—and lots of thank-yous.

“She did. And she thought Daddy was so handsome and smart, she married him.” I held up my hands in triumph.

“Oh.”

His face showed his disappointment at the end of my short story. Laughing, I pulled him to my lap. He immediately dug into my pocket, pulling out the pocket watch I carried with me every day. It meant as much to me today as it did when I was young. I hoped one day it would mean as much to my son. I smiled at him, ruffling his hair. “Mommy helped me find Grandpa’s watch too. She is very smart.”

“How?”

“Daddy, ah, thought he lost it and was very sad. Mommy found out who had it and got it back for me.”