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“Positive.”
He stares into my eyes, no doubt checking to see if I’m lying. Whatever he sees is enough for him to relax a little bit but tighten his hold around my waist. He bends down and brushes his lips against mine, which starts out brief, but a slight taste has us both reaching for a bit more, before standing up straight again and smiling down at me. “Alright.”
I smile back up at him and repeat, “Alright.”
“Babe?”
“Yeah?” I ask, a little distracted by how incredibly beautiful my husband is.
“Breakfast?”
“Oh!” I say a little too loudly and then laugh at my own ridiculousness. “Let’s make something. That makes for fewer groceries we have to cart back home with us.”
He smiles at me and nods his head once, “Good plan, baby. I’ll get started.” He kisses me once on top of my head, swats me on my butt, and walks back out of the bedroom toward the kitchen.
I hear him moving around and soon a “Babe?” is hollered through the small cabin.
“Yeah?”
“Any requests?” Again hollered.
“Cheesy scrambled eggs and ham!” I yell back, knowing that will use up the last of those items. And it’s his specialty. Well, sort of. I just know he makes excellent cheesy eggs.
“Sounds good!” he shouts back, even though he could just speak in normal tones because the cabin is so small. I know he’s doing it just to mess with me, or maybe he’s doing it to get me used to the loudness that will come back as soon as we enter our house. Either way, I love him for it. He’s a giant dork most of the time, but that’s one of the things I love about him the most. He owns his dork.
* * *
The snowstorm left its magical wake, making our trip home quite interesting. But after seven long hours in the car — which should have taken us five if the weather had cooperated — we’re finally pulling into our driveway. The second I open my car door, I see three beautiful heads pop out of the door that leads from the house to the garage. We got a much later start than expected because of the roads not being cleared, but still managed to get home at around five in the afternoon. I didn’t expect to see Grady here, so this is a wonderful surprise. Behind the three of them, I see James towering over them, shaking his head and smiling.
Harper pushes through the door as I round the front of the car and I, carefully, considering her arm is casted, hoist her up and hug her tightly. “Mommy! You’re home! It’s been nearly years!” she says in her dramatic flair that only six-year-olds exhibit — well, teenagers too, I suppose.
I hug her close and inhale her sweet scent. “Hi, baby girl. How ya doing?”
“I’m so great! Uncle James had lunch with us at school today! And guess what?”
“What?!” I ask her, in my own dramatic flair.
“He. Brought. Subway!”
“No. Way!”
“Uh-huh! A ham sandwich, some apples, and a cookie, and it was in one of those awesome bags!”
“Well, sounds like Uncle James scored some major points!”
“How’d you know that? He scored like a hundred points playing soccer at recess after lunch!”
“He did, huh?” I giggle, just picturing my big brother chase Harper and all her friends around the playground.
“Yeah huh! I asked Ms. Hanson if he could stay, and she said he could if he wanted to, and he said he wouldn’t miss it for the world!” She’s so excited that almost everything out of her mouth is screamed, and I wonder if her voice will go hoarse pretty soon.
“I just bet he didn’t say no to Ms. Hanson,” Barrett snickers, but I hear James laugh.
Ms. Hanson used to be Mrs. Hanson. From what I hear, a few years ago, her husband of twelve years decided he needed to downgrade to a much younger version of her. Given the fact that Ms. Hanson looks like the definition of the girl next door, with her naturally blonde hair cut in a blunt shoulder-length bob and deep brown eyes to match, is also a yoga instructor, middle school tennis assistant coach, and all around gorgeous person inside and out, not only is her husband a complete moron, but the parents of her students (and some of those that aren’t her students) are constantly trying to set her up. Even the few brave single dads have asked her out on their own. This isn’t to say that I haven’t thought of James one of the many times she and I have spoken.
We all step inside, and Barrett and I continue to give hugs. When I greet Maggie with a big squeeze, I whisper in her ear, “I hear there’s someone who’s caught Jack’s eye, hmm?”
I hear her gasp before she whispers back, “Mom?! How’d you hear that!?”
