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As a mother myself now, I’m really beginning to understand why my mom said some of the things she did to me, so it’s with that thought that I round my lips, and exhale, blowing the seeds to scatter free in the wind. To lay down their roots, and grow where they’ll thrive.
My sweet, Lyla. May you always be as free as the birds, as wild as the flowers, and untamed as the sea.
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Bring Me Back
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
I could have put the typical blurb here.
Boy meets girl.
They fall in love.
Live happily ever after.
The end.
But this isn’t THAT story.
ONE
“Ben.” My giggles carry through the kitchen. “Stop, stop,” I plead as his fingers assault my stomach. “That tickles!”
His laughter is like music to my ears. “That’s the point.” He grasps my hips. “You need to loosen up some.”
My body relaxes now that he isn’t tickling me. He turns me around to face him, and then he cups my face in his hands.
“Ah, there it is.” He grins. “Your smile. I missed it.”
“I’m stressed,” I defend. My eyes fall to the mess cluttering our kitchen counters. We’re supposed to arrive at his mom’s house for Thanksgiving in the next hour, and I’ve yet to finish making the pie I promised to bring.
“Don’t stress,” he murmurs, ghosting his hands down my cheeks. “It’s just a pie.”
Such a guy thing to say.
“It’s not that simple,” I say. There’s no point trying to explain it to him since he won’t understand.
“Is this another one of your crazy notions where you think you need some kind of approval from my mom?”
I frown. Maybe he does understand.
“Babe.” He lifts me onto the counter. “My mom loves you, and you know that. You’re already part of the family.” He nuzzles my neck. “I mean, we’re getting married in three months. You have nothing to prove.”
“I know.” I frown and duck my head so he can’t see my eyes.
He notices and grabs my chin, forcing my head up. “Obviously you don’t, or you wouldn’t be going to this much trouble. We can pick up a pie at Wal-Mart or something. They’re always open.”
I gasp, flummoxed that he’d suggest such a thing. “We can’t bring a store bought pie.”
He chuckles. “No one will know the difference.”
I smack his arm lightly. “Oh, yes they will, and if they don’t, then I’ll know.”
“Okay, okay,” he says, hanging his head in mock-shame. The dimples in his cheeks appear, making him look more boyish than normal.
