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“Hands too,” Hazel said, holding them out.
While one of her knees was pretty bloody, the other was just a bit scratched. Her hands had nothing, but probably had that awful road rash feeling to them from the cement.
“What happened?” Lana said, rushing in, eyes panicked.
“Soldier got injured in the line of duty, ma’am,” Sully said, rushing back in with the emergency kit, unzipping it, and spreading it on the counter. “Looks like she needs some saline,” he said, pulling out the tubes. “Triple antibiotic cream,” he went on, producing that tube. “And bandages for her war wounds,” he went on, his overly dramatic tone making Hazel’s tears stop as her lips twitched a bit. “And I think the patient needs 4ccs of ice pop,” he added. “Listen, Private Hazel, this is very important,” he said, ducking down to get in her line of vision. “What color ice pop, Soldier?”
“Red,” she said.
“Red! Of course, it’s red!” he said, still being way over the fucking top, but he was getting giggles out of the kid who’d been hysterical a moment before—even as I cleaned and dressed her wounds—so it was clearly working.
“The scissors…” I started.
“Scissors, who needs scissors? We are soldiers. We use our hands,” Sully said, grabbing each side of the ice pop, and cracking it right down the middle, then handing one to Hazel, and the other to Isaac.
“Okay. All done,” I said to Hazel.
“Mommy kisses it to make it better,” Hazel said.
“And who am I to argue with her vast medical knowledge?” I asked, leaning down, and pressing a kiss to the knee. “Better?” I asked, getting an enthusiastic nod.
“I think it is time to go sit by the kiddie pool and take a rest, soldiers,” Sully said, waving outside.
I reached for Hazel, catching Lana’s gaze as I did so.
“Okay,” she said, nodding.
“Okay?” I clarified as I set her daughter down.
“Yeah. Let’s… give it a try.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Lana
He liked my kids.
And he wasn’t just saying that to get in my pants.
Because everything he did just reinforced that declaration he’d made.
He’d gotten up and made breakfast with them, he played outside with them, he fed Clara and put her to sleep, he cleaned up Hazel’s cuts.
Granted, yeah, Sully had been the real hero in that situation, dragging up his own GI Joe version of Robin Williams in Patch Adams to get my usually very hard to soothe daughter from crying to laughing in no time at all.
But Seth had been right there, getting to the nitty-gritty of cleaning her up, and even kissing the bandage after she requested it.
He wasn’t just saying he liked them. He was showing me and them that he did.
So I didn’t question when the electrician didn’t show up that day. And I didn’t ask again when he would be coming out. Because I was suddenly okay with being in his house. Albeit temporarily.
It was a long day of outside play followed by a rare treat—pizza night, at Seth’s insistence.
The kids were so beat that they crashed almost immediately after. Even Clara was sun-tired, drank her bottle, and was out cold in minutes. She didn’t even jerk awake when I set her down in her playard.
Almost unsure what to do with myself when I had a few minutes free, I made my way downstairs, ready to enjoy a late cup of coffee in complete and utter peace.
Only to find Seth already brewing it.
This man was going to make it way, way too easy to fall in love with him if he didn’t stop it.
“It was this or a stiff drink, and I don’t know if you drink,” Seth said, grabbing mugs.
“I guess I used to. Forever ago. Before Clara. Usually just wine, though. Coffee is more my vice,” I admitted. “The kids had a blast today,” I told him.
“Layna texted a picture of Sully assed-out on the drive back to the clubhouse,” he said, showing me a picture of the man with his head pressed to the window, his Hawaiian shirt opened to reveal a slightly sunburned chest.
“I did try to tell him to reapply the sunblock,” I said, shaking my head.
“Wanna drink it while watching something not kid-friendly on the TV for a change?” he asked as he prepared our cups.
“Oh, God. What a luxury,” I said, following him out into the living room.
“What do you want to watch?”
“I literally don’t care, so long as there is cursing involved,” I admitted with a smile.
I wasn’t perfect. Sure, I let some curses slip out here and there, but I tried not to swear as much as I wanted to, and I didn’t watch risqué TV in front of the kids. There was always the fear that Clara would innocently learn a curse word. Or that Hazel might just pick up on one because she thought it was funny. Isaac was a little old for that, but still.
