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The clicking of Jen’s heels echoed off the hardwood floor as she made her way from the kitchen. As she approached, she smiled and handed him a glass with amber liquid. The color reminded him of Mel’s eyes.
Clearing his throat, he took a sip.
It was her father’s scotch, which he secretly hated. For how expensive it was, it tasted like paint thinner.
“So, you made it through your first day, huh?” Jen kicked off her heels and curled her legs up on the couch, angling her body to face him. “Tell me all about it. I want to know everything.”
Blake smiled at her enthusiasm and began regaling her with stories from his day, noting the way her mouth pinched at the potty mishap, but he gave her credit for trying to hide her horror. As he recalled some of it, he found himself smiling. Even though it was exhausting, it was kind of funny looking back. Only when he thought about having to return tomorrow did the smile slip from his face. There wasn’t enough sleep in the world to prepare him for another day of that level of chaos.
When he finished, he glanced over at her to gauge her reaction. She blinked, the tiniest of smiles curling the corners of her lips. “So it sounds like you had your hands full,” she said.
“Definitely.” He leaned his head back against the cushion and gazed over at her. She was always impeccable, not a hair out of place, her make-up flawless. Grant had once called her a Barbie doll. At the time, it ticked Blake off, but he wasn’t entirely wrong in the comparison. So many times, Blake had wondered how he got so lucky. She was so completely perfect.
He had never pictured himself with a woman as high maintenance as Jen, but from the moment they met at one of his client’s parties, he was smitten. Her lifestyle, the way she carried
herself, it made him wonder what kind of mother she’d be. Though he could only judge Mel by his first couple encounters with her, he sensed she was the type to choose her kids over dishes. The kind of mom that spent her last couple bucks on her children instead of herself. The type of mother to cave when they begged for “just one more” story at bedtime. One that ran herself ragged, yet persevered for the sake of her children. Though money would never be an issue for Jen, he wondered if she’d be the same way. Would she choose selflessness over selfishness? The fact he wasn’t entirely sure made him uneasy, and he shoved the thought away.
He shifted on the couch and picked her free hand up, then he kissed the back of it. “As long as it’s enough to gain your parents’ approval, at the end of the day, it’s worth it.”
“Yes, well. I think it’s silly. You know I told you I don’t care what they think. I love you, and at the end of the day, what I think matters, not them.”
While he believed she mostly meant it, he knew their opinion actually did matter to her. “I want their blessing.”
“I know you do.” She pursed her lips and squeezed his hand. “I’m sure you’ll get it, too. Anyone who goes to this length to prove they can make a commitment and have what it takes to be a family man is certainly husband material.”
He stared over at her—all that creamy flawless skin, bright eyes, and golden hair—and felt his resolve strengthen. If all he had to do was sacrifice a month or two of his time to prove himself to her in order to be granted life with her, then he’d do it. Looking at her now, he knew why he came instead of heading home to collapse in his bed. Because he knew she’d give him the motivation he needed to show up at Mel’s again.
As long as he remembered this was all a part of the plan, he’d be fine.
TUESDAY CAME AND WENT with excruciating slowness, and thus far, Wednesday wasn’t turning out to be any more promising. Blake was hanging on by a bare thread. It was only his third day with the Triple Threat—so aptly named—and it already felt like an eternity.
Blake noted the telltale pounding of an oncoming headache as he knelt by the rug on the floor.
“Charge!” Brady raised his plastic sword in the air and ran at Peter full speed.
Blake dropped the sponge he was using in his futile efforts to try and scrub the marker from the rug and jumped in front of Peter, saving him from an unprovoked attack. “Brady, put down the sword.”
“No.” Brady’s little chest heaved, his breath coming in and out of his lungs at a rapid pace. He wore nothing but a makeshift cape and Spider-Man underwear, his scrawny little chest heaving with each breath.
When he bared his teeth and growled, Blake put his hands up. “Whoa. Let’s surrender the weapon and calm down. How about some mac and cheese?”
“Never!” Brady bellowed, then made a lunge at Peter behind him.
When Blake glanced over his shoulder, he noted Peter peeping over him and sticking his tongue out.
A crashing noise came from the kitchen, followed by Kinsley’s tiny voice. “Oops.”
With a sigh, Blake dragged a hand over his face.
THURSDAY. IT WAS THURSDAY, which meant the week was almost over, Blake reminded himself.
He entered the living room and his gaze immediately zoned in on Peter.
He squatted in the corner, shoulders hunched, face scrunched like The Joker.
“Peter, what are you doing?”
He grunted. “Nothing.”
