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Clarissa: Dolla dolla bills yo. (Dollar eyes emoji)
Troy: What do you have in mind? (Devil emoji.)
Clarissa: Chillout, perv. Your son’s about to lose his first tooth.
Troy: Yeah, I’ve got a few.
Clarissa: Great. I won’t have to write an IOU.
Troy: Which tooth?
Clarissa: One up front.
Troy: Shit. I hope it comes back.
Clarissa: That’s usually how it works.
Troy: I mean, comes back straight. I had crooked teeth.
Clarissa: Really? Your teeth are perfect.
Troy: Yeah, after four years of braces.
Clarissa: Ha. Can’t picture that. So, can I come get the money?
Troy: How about I play tooth fairy tonight?
Clarissa: How will you play it? I was thinking a stick of gum and a few dollars
Troy: That’s it?
Clarissa: Yeah. He’s got a mouthful to lose, and we aren’t going overboard for losing teeth.
Troy: He’s our kid. We can spoil him if we want.
Clarissa: Fine, Daddy Warbucks, can I run over and grab the cash or not?
Troy: You call me daddy again, and I’ll make it rain.
Clarissa: Har har.
Troy: I’ll bring it over later. Just let me know when he’s out.
Clarissa: Okay, thanks.
The flirtatious text exchange makes me hopeful, and I can’t help but spend a few minutes on myself. Troy’s seen me in every imaginable state, but some part of me wants the ‘what if’ connection back. I let my hair down and tame it with a little beach wave spray before covering my arms with lotion. Half an hour later, I have Dante tucked in, his tooth waiting underneath his pillow for the Tooth Fairy, who pokes his head in shortly after a light knock on the door.
This particular fairy is covered in sweat, his muscular frame showcased by the
long-sleeved tee clinging to him and sweatpants. His thick copper blond hair peeks out of his toboggan framing his face, outlining his square jaw. The sight of him knocks a little breath from me as I greet him.
“Hey,” I say, tightening my robe. I can feel the late fall chill coming off his skin. “You’ve been running?”
“Yeah, that’s kind of what I do.”
When he finally lifts his eyes to mine, that kiss is all I think about, but in his posture, I feel the agitation he’s still harboring. I don’t know how to make this right, but I can sense his need to do the same.
“Troy, I wanted to tell you—”
