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They have a connection that she and I don’t have, something that will link the two of them together for at least the next fourteen years, if not longer. Maybe with time, I’ll get over it, but right now, I’m in a place I’ve never been before. Of course, I cared about Naomie when we got together, but I never got jealous. Not even when I found out she had gone on a couple of dates with Clay before we met did I feel a need to piss all over her. With Miranda, it’s different, and I know I’m fucked, because if I feel like this now, who knows what’s going to happen if this goes the way I think it might.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
miranda
“Mommy, I’m hungry.” Kingston wraps his arms around my thigh, and I stop applying mascara to my lashes and look down at his adorable, upturned face.
“We have about thirty minutes before we will be able to go. Do you want a snack?”
“Cookies?” He pops out his bottom lip, and I laugh.
“One cookie and some apple slices.”
“Deal.” He grins.
“Okay, give Mommy a couple of minutes to finish her makeup, and I’ll get you a snack.”
“Okay.” He sighs, and I turn back to the mirror and finish with my mascara, then add some blush and bronzer.
When I’m done, I step into my bedroom, where he is sitting on the bed running over his dinosaur with his truck while one of his shows plays on his iPad that he’s not paying any attention to. Today, he’s been his normal, happy, rambunctious self, only complaining once about being in any kind of pain. And that came after he bumped his head into the couch while playing. Though the promise of ice cream quickly fixed the meltdown he was having after that took place.
“Ready?”
“Yes.” He scampers over the side of the mattress, landing easily on the floor at the edge of the bed, then runs out of the room ahead of me.
As I’m passing by the front door, there is a knock that makes me frown. I checked the time not long ago, and although Tucker was a couple of minutes early last night for our date, him coming this early would be odd without a phone call. Going to the door, I look through the peephole, and when I see Bowie standing outside wearing his uniform, I draw in a calming breath.
This morning, he called to check on Kingston—or that’s the excuse he used when I first answered. Within about thirty seconds, the call turned into him grilling me about Tucker.
“Hey.” I swing the door open, and his eyes sweep over my hair, face, and the lounge set I’m wearing, since I haven’t gotten dressed yet.
“Are you going somewhere?”
“Kingston and I are going out to dinner.” I turn my back on him and start down the short hall. “Kingston, your dad is here to see you.”
“With Tucker?” Bowie asks.
“Yes.” I sigh, walking into the living room, where I spot Kingston hiding under a blanket on the couch.
“I can’t believe you’re seeing him, Miranda. Do you know how fucked up that is? Are you trying to get back at me?” he whispers at my back.
Ignoring him, I go to the couch and pull back the blanket. “Hey, did you hear me say Daddy is here?”
“I want to stay wif you.”
“Lovie, you’re not going with Daddy. He just wanted to check on you,” I say quietly, and he looks to where Bowie is standing behind me.
“I just wanted to give you a hug, bud,” Bowie adds, and after studying his dad for a few seconds, he gets up and goes to him.
As the two of them talk quietly, I go to the kitchen and get Kingston his snack, then grab my cell when a text comes in. When I see it’s from Tucker letting me know he’s on his way, my stomach twists. My biggest worry is that Bowie is going to do or say something that will cause Tucker to realize the stress of dating a single newly divorced mom is not worth the hassle. And since that would seriously suck and hurt more than it should this early on, I hate the idea of them in the same space.
Wanting to be honest, I text him back that Bowie is here visiting with Kingston but that he should still knock when he arrives instead of waiting in his truck. After pressing Send, I take the cookie and apple slices to the table. “Here you go, lovie.” I point out his snack, and he wiggles out of his dad’s arms. When he is sitting at the table, I wander back into the kitchen and put one of his sippy cups in my bag for tonight, and Bowie comes over to join me.
“Are you not going to tell me anything? Like when you two started seeing each other? Was it while we were married?” he asks, and I glare at him. “I’m just asking.”
