by LK Farlow
Cruz and I nod.
She takes a bite from each of the flavors, making a big show of how delicious they are. “Cruz! These are the best cookies I’ve ever had. My new favorite!”
My little guy jumps in the air. “That’s what I said, too!”
I hold out my fist to him, and he bumps it. “Nailed it.”
“I love that show!” Ashley says. “Thank glob you boys can bake better than those people.”
“You maybe want to hang around and watch an episode or two?”
“Is that Act Three?” she asks.
“Pretty much. The plan was to blow you away with our culinary prowess and to convince you to stick around and spend time with us.”
Cruz gives her his best puppy dog eyes. “Is it working?”
“Yeah, bud, it’s working.”
I send the two of them to the living room while I toss the dishes into the sink. When I head into the living room, I am shocked to find Ashley in the middle of the couch rather than Cruz.
“This way we both get to sit by Agent Purple,” my son says knowingly. Little dude is working his Cupid angle hard. And while I like the way he’s thinking, now’s definitely not the right time.
Maybe one day, though. One day when she’s not my client. When all of my focus doesn’t need to be on making sure Cruz is coping and adjusting well. One day when I can sort my feelings and handle my shit like a grown-ass man and not belittle her for my own lack of control. Yeah, maybe one day.
“Works for me.” I grab the remote and hit play before settling down next to my little temptress. The ends of her purple hair brush my arm, and her sweet scent tickles my nose. Sitting by her is pure, delicious torture—and yet, I love it.
One episode of bad baking turns to the entirety of season one, and before I know it, it’s well after ten and I’m begging her, once again, to stay the night.
“It’s too late to drive.”
“Colton—”
“We could take Cruz to the kids’ museum tomorrow. And for brunch at Benny’s.”
“We can do that regardless of where I sleep.”
“But—”
“I don’t have a change of clothes, so I’ll have to go home tomorrow anyway.”
“Please,” I beg, giving her my own version of Cruz’s puppy eyes. I’m honestly not sure why I’m pushing this so hard. All I know is the thought of her leaving sends a hollow feeling through me.
My heart pounds in my chest, beating out a pleading rhythm while she deliberates. I feel like I’m asking her to go to prom rather than to sleep on my couch.
“No can do. But I’ll happily meet y’all for brunch.”
I’m tempted to keep pushing her, to get on my knees and beg, but my pride—okay, and respect for Ashley—prevent me from doing so.
I release a huff. “Fine. We’ll meet at eleven.”
“Sounds good.” She leans over and kisses Cruz’s temple, causing him to grumble in his sleep, before standing.
“Where’s mine?” I hear myself asking, my words shocking me as much as they do her.
“You get a handshake.” She sticks out her hand. “Gotta keep things professional and shit, right?”
The easy way she takes my blunder and makes a joke from it has me laughing. I take her hand and yank her into me, wrapping her in a hug—a friendly hug.
For a moment, with her in my arms and her head to my chest, all feels right, like I’ve found a piece of myself I never knew was missing. “See you tomorrow, Ash.”
She pulls away. “See you tomorrow.” And then, she’s gone.
Cruz and I both are usually up before the sun rises. Except today, when I peel my eyes open, I find my little guy curled up on top of the covers beside me fast asleep.
I’m struck by how small he looks, with his knobby knees pulled to his chest and his hands tucked beneath his cheek. His breathing is deep and even as he peacefully slumbers.
How he snuck into my bed without me noticing is beyond me, but the fact that he came to me, that he felt safe with me, is something I’ll treasure always.
This kid is everything I didn’t know I needed, and I know beyond a shadow of a doubt, I’ll fight tooth and nail for him should it come down to it.
I keep still instead of starting my morning routine, content merely watching him sleep. Eventually, he begins to stir, slowly blinking awake.
“G’morning, Daddy.” His already raspy voice is thick with sleep.
“Good morning, bud. Did you sleep good?”
Sitting up, he wipes his eyes. “I had a bad dream.”
“About what?”
“Mom.”
“What about her?” I ask, keeping my voice calm even though my blood feels like lava, burning and bubbling angrily in my veins.
“She t-took me away. Away from you and Ashley.”
This is one of the first times he’s initiated a conversation with me, and the only time I’ve ever heard him call her by name, and it’s tainted by Kelsey and the fear she instilled in him when she should have been his number one protector.
“It was only a dream, bud.”
“B-but could it happen? Could she take me away?”
I open my arms to him, and he curls into my side, laying his head on my chest. “She might try.” He whimpers, and my heart breaks. I swear on all that’s holy, if Kelsey comes back, I’ll call in every single favor I’m owed to combat her. “But I promise you—”
“Cross your heart promise?” he asks.
Nodding, I take his hand in mine and trace an X over my heart. “I cross my heart promise, I will do everything I can to keep you. You’re my heart, dude. I love you.”
“I love you, too, Daddy. A whole lot.”
26
Ashley
Benny’s is packed to the gills when I arrive. The lobby is shoulder-to-shoulder and there’s a line on the sidewalk. I get it, though—Benny’s food is kind of like a religious experience.
I spot Colton at a table in the back, but a familiar head of red hair stops me in my tracks. “Stacia!”
She whirls around, her son on her hip. “Hey, girl! What’s up?”
“Just feeding the addiction you created.”
“It has to be something in the powdered sugar.” She shifts Asher up a little higher. “Are you here alone?”
I toe at the floor. “I’m meeting Colton and Cruz, actually.”
“Oh, are you now?” She taps her husband on the shoulder, bringing him into our conversation. “Lookie who’s here to meet Colton.”
West smirks. “Imagine that.”
The two exchange one of those married-couples-only looks before breaking out into matching grins. I don’t know what I missed, but it feels huge.
“Is he here already?” Stacia asks.
“Yup, right back there.” I incline my head toward his table. “Y’all wanna join us?”
“And skip this line?” West chuckles. “Yes, yes we do.”
The four of us skirt the hostess and join Colton and Cruz. Luckily, he scored one of the coveted oversized booths.
When Asher catches sight of Cruz, he wriggles in his mom’s arms until she sets him down, allowing him to make a mad dash for his friend. “Cruz!”
Colton looks up from his phone at the commotion. “Oh, hey.”
“I brought friends,” I say with a little shrug. He’s so mercurial, even with his best friend, that I’m not sure how he will react.
“The more the merrier,” he says, sounding surprised but not displeased as he slides out of the booth and gestures for me to sit between him and Cruz.
Asher, with assistance from Stacia, climbs into their side, scooting all the way down so he and Cruz can play.
None of us bother with a menu; it’s French toast or bust, which makes ordering incredibly easy.
“How is the bad bride sitch?” Stacia asks, blowing on her coffee.
“She’s been quiet for the last two weeks. Honestly, I think she’s moved on from tormenting me.”
; “Thank God!” Stacia lifts her palms to the ceiling, lifting her shoulder. “Wait! Does that mean y’all are together now?”
“We’re—”
Cruz cuts me off. “Agent Purple is gonna be my stepmom!”
Both Colton and I choke—him on coffee, and me on air, all the while wishing for the floor to split open and swallow me whole. Naturally, the married couple across from us finds this absolutely hilarious.
“Because you’re our family. Right?” Cruz adds, his voice so full of hope.
“Bud,” I start, but Colton thankfully takes over.
“Ashley is Daddy’s friend. She’s your friend, too. And sometimes, friends are like family, too. But that’s all she is—a friend.”
Ouch. While his explanation is accurate it stings. A lot.
Cruz looks to me, his eyes begging me to refute his father’s words. I try to swallow, but it’s like my mouth is full of sawdust. I reach over to Cruz and clasp his hand in mine, hoping the physical contact will soften my words. “Your daddy is right, 005. I’m a friend—but not just any friend. Your very best one.”
Cruz shakes his head. “Nope. You’ll see. I’m right. I know I am.”
I can’t help but smile at my determined little friend. Maybe he’s got a sixth sense, too.
Clearly feeling we need a subject change, West asks, “Have you heard anything else from social services?”
Colton’s mouth is too full of French toast to answer. He waves his fork in the air, signaling his friend to wait. After swallowing, he says, “Now that paternity has been established, they don’t have much to do. Our social worker mentioned a friendly check-in just to make sure Cruz is adjusting, but otherwise, we’re free and clear.”
“Right on, man.” West holds out his fist for Colton to bump.
The rest of our meal goes smoothly, with no more talk of my and Colton’s relationship—or lack thereof—and once everyone is finished, Colton invites the Larson family to join us at the kids’ museum.
The museum is tucked away in an old brick building on the fringe of the downtown area. Cruz and Asher walk hand-in-hand up the ramp and into the building.
Asher tries making a beeline for the gift shop, his eyes on the display of stuffed animals. West intercepts him just before he crosses the threshold, scooping him up into his arms. The toddler whines, canting his body toward the plush animals. “After, mini-man. We can look after.”
The little cutie thinks over his dad’s offer and finally nods. “After.”
We get in line for tickets before taking the elevator to the second floor. I’m not sure what I was expecting the museum to be like, but I can safely say, what greets us when we exit the elevator car isn’t it.
It’s more of a playhouse than a museum. The floor is split into four rooms, with a wide hallway. Each room is home to a different activity; there’s a classroom, a grocery store, a Lego room, and a dinosaur dig. The hallway also offers a few activities as well, like magnet fishing and a reading area.
The boys flit from room to room, loading their shopping carts and building towers. They play for hours while West, Stacia, Colton, and I congregate in the hallway, keeping an eye on them and chatting while they play.
Eventually, Cruz and Asher wear themselves out and we head out—stopping by the gift shop, as promised—and go our separate ways, with plans in place to make this a monthly thing.
27
Colton
I’m relaxing on the couch, having a nightcap, when my phone rings. An unexplainable thrill runs through me as I rush to answer without checking the screen.
“Hello.” My voice comes out lower than usual.
“Colty, are you okay?” Disappointment chased by guilt flows through me. A small part of me hoped it was Ashley, even though I saw her only hours ago when I picked Cruz up. “You sound like you’re coming down with something.”
“I’m good,” I assure her. “How are you?”
“No, no. A mother knows these things. What’s going on?”
I’ve never been able to get away with shit; Mama Mel always knows.
“Mel—”
“Don’t you Mel me, boy. Who is she? Is it the purple-haired girl my grandson is so smitten with?”
I answer with a long-suffering sigh rather than words. Which is apparently all the confirmation Mama Mel needs.
“That’s what I thought.” She clucks her tongue. “When are you gonna bring her and that grandson of mine to see your Mama K and me?”
“Whoa, whoa. Slow down.”
“Speed up! You’re knocking on thirty’s door and still single. When I was your age, Kim and I already had you—”
“I’ve got the kid!” I say, hating the whining edge in my voice.
“But not the girl,” she fires right back.
An odd sensation settles over me with her words. Something a lot like loneliness, which is preposterous. I’ve never felt lonely before—and I’ve certainly never lacked for companionship. Except now, I only seem to want it from one woman—and there’s still so much murkiness there that I can’t seem to force myself to make a move.
“Bring her. You, Cruz, and the girl. Next weekend.”
“She might have a wedding to shoot,” I say, lamely.
“Then come during the week. Ain’t nobody getting married on a weekday.”
“I have court.”
“Colton Elliot Banks! You stop making excuses, find a date, and bring your people to meet your mothers. Do you hear me?”
I puff out a resigned breath, knowing she won’t let up until I agree. “Yeah, Mama Mel, I hear you. I’ll text you a date.”
“Such a good boy.” I can practically hear her smile. “Love you.”
“Love you, too.” I end the call and promptly text Ashley.
Me: I have a question for you.
Ashley: Hmm. Sounds ominous.
Me: Tell me the worst thing you think it could be, then when it isn’t anywhere near that bad, you’ll feel relieved.
Ashley: But what if it’s worse?
Me: It won’t be.
Ashley: Fine. Worst case, you ask me to stay away from Cruz.
Me: Quite the opposite, actually. How would you feel about joining Cruz and me at the beach for a little getaway?
Ashley: Oh, um, wow. Like a day trip?
Me: More like a few days…
Me: To my moms’ place.
Me: Mama Mel all but said your presence is mandatory, so please say yes? For me. And Cruz. And Mama Mel. You wouldn’t want to upset an old lady.
Me: And maybe don’t tell her I called her old?
Fuck. This—this right here—is what Ashley Murphy does to me. She makes me crazed and needy and willing to beg. I’ve never begged for a thing in my life—I’ve fought tooth and nail for the things I have, for the friendships I have.
And yet, here I am, begging her to accompany me to the beach. To meet my mothers. I can’t decide if I’ve just hit a new low or if it’s merely a side effect of her.
God knows, the woman needs a warning label: Hot as hell; prolonged exposure may lead to distracting thoughts, an abundance of lust, and a deep-seated desire for commitment. Proceed with caution.
Ashley: When?
Me: When are you free?
She sends me some dates and we firm up our plans to head down to Dogwood three weeks from now. Something tells me I’m going to be counting the days like a child waiting for Christmas.
As Cruz and I drive over to Ashley’s to pick her up, I can’t help but wonder for the millionth time what kind of swimsuit she’s packed. I’m crossing my fingers for small, stringy, and skimpy, even though I know it won’t be. At least not in front of Cruz and my moms.
A guy can dream though, right?
She’s waiting on her porch with her bag at her side when we pull up. I shift my BMW into park and step out to greet her.
She bounds my way, and without a thought, I pull her into a hug as soon as she’s within reach.
We both tense as my ar
ms wrap around her, but I band them there and hold her close. “Ready to go?”
We’re so close she has to tip her head back to look me in the eye. “As ready as ever.”
Reluctantly, I release her and bend to retrieve her bag. I pop the trunk and stow it before helping her into the passenger seat. As she lowers herself into the seat, her linen shorts ride up, revealing more of her toned thighs.
The sight of her creamy thighs has me leaning into the car for a closer look. I play off my creepiness by pulling the seat belt across her with jerky movements.
I know I’ve made a mistake the second my fingers brush over her breasts. She sucks in a sharp breath, her eyes flying to mine in question, but I stay my course, dragging the belt over her hips to secure the buckle.
“Thanks,” she whispers on a shaky exhale.
“No problem,” I tell her, even though it most definitely is, because unless a miracle occurs on my short walk to the driver’s side, I’ll be starting this trip with some goddamn blue balls.
No miracle occurred and the first half of the drive was a special kind of hell. Sure, my boner deflated, but I still ached for release, to spill myself into the little temptress to my right.
Luckily, she struck up a game of I-Spy with Cruz, effectively halting all thoughts of sex. West wasn’t kidding when he said nothing halts your arousal more than the sound of your kid’s voice.
About an hour into the four-hour drive, Cruz conks out, leaving Ashley and me to speak a little more freely.
“I’ve been watching your accounts; it seems like Bridezilla is gone for good.”
“Yup. All quiet. Oh, hey, you need to invoice me for your time and whatnot.”
I choke out a laugh. As if I’m going to charge her for sending a letter after all she’s done to help me with Cruz…fat fucking chance.
“I’m serious, Colton. You provided a service, and I need to pay you.”
Her words are completely innocent, but my mind wanders to dark and dirty places. I’d love nothing more than to describe to her all of the services she could provide for me—in great detail.