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“Try for first thing in the morning,” I tell her.
“I know.”
I lean over to press a kiss to her cheek. “Anyone ever tell you that you’re the best wife I’ve ever had?”
She laughs. “I’m the only wife you’ve ever had, so that automatically makes me the best.”
“Not necessarily. Could make you the worst,” I point out, but that earns me a glare. “I’m just saying.”
“Well, don’t.”
“My point,” I continue, “is that I love you and you are the best.”
She hums as she glances at me from the corners of her eyes. “Sounds like you’re trying to butter me up, Scott.” She’s lifted one of her legs at the knee and is rubbing her foot up and down my calf. My first thought is that she’s on to me. My second thought is that she shouldn’t be balancing on one leg. “Are you?” she asks.
“Not yet.”
She grins as she grabs the last pot. “I was about to say.”
“Say what?”
“That after ten years, it appears you’ve lost your edge if you were buttering me up already.”
I let my jaw drop. “Are you trying to say that my seducing skills need work?” I don’t give her a chance to answer. I take the pot from her hands, drop it in the sink, and pick her up, causing her to squeal in surprise. “Be quiet; the girls are sleeping.” Then, I kiss her hard and quick.
“We can’t leave that last pot,” she says as I start walking toward our bedroom.
“We can, and you won’t be thinking about it at all in just a minute.” I close and lock the door with one hand. A moment later, I’m laying her down on the bed. I’m about to yank my shirt off, but Sylvia puts her hands on my chest to stop me. “What is it, Sylvie?”
The lamp on the nightstand is on, so I can see her eyes water. “I love you, you know? I don’t know what
I would do without you.”
A tear manages to escape. I lean down to kiss it away. “I know and I love you too.”
“You’re so good to me.” She takes a deep breath and moves her hands up to cup my face. “I just wanted to say thanks for being a good man. I appreciate all you do for us, too.”
Speechless doesn’t feel like the right term, but I’m not sure what to say in return to her. I love Sylvia and my girls and they’re my world, so I do right by them. Treat them well. What am I supposed to say when she thanks me for doing what’s right? For doing what I want to do for them—things that come as easy and natural to me as breathing?
When words fail, actions speak.
Leaning down, I kiss her. Unhurried, soft, and deep, I kiss her until she’s reaching for the hem of my shirt to move things further. My mouth, my hands, and the movements of our bodies manage to give her a better response than one I could ever say.
Wednesday morning comes sooner than I thought possible. I got in late from Buffalo, so Sylvia gets up with the girls in an effort to let me sleep in just a little longer. She wakes me up by rubbing my back and giving me a quick kiss.
Today is a big day. I get to see our baby and hear the heartbeat. To say I’m excited would be the understatement of the century. Sylvia was able to get the first appointment of the day, so once we drop the girls off at school, we head right over to the doctor’s office.
“Will you stop it?” Sylvia laughs, pushing my hand away from her stomach, which has a barely there bump. At this point, one would just think she’s gained some weight. “It’s not a genie lamp, Scott.”
“No, it’s a baby lamp.”
She laughs and shakes her head as my hand goes back to her stomach. I sure do hope it continues to grow.
“We need to take pictures of you and this baby lamp.” I want documentation that this actually happened and I want a way to remember every second.
“Don’t start calling it that.”
“Boyd,” a nurse calls.
