by Penny Reid
“What’s that? Three times today? I’m on fire. Like your cheeks.”
“Oh my god!” I took the last two steps and smacked my hand against his chest. “You infuriating man.”
He grinned, leaning against the doorframe as I passed him. “If I kissed you right now, would you slap me again? It was kind of hot.”
“Now, I know you’re messing with me.” I pointed my finger at him. “Stop it. You have children to take out and I have a huge-ass, flatpack closet to build. There’s no time for your bullshit.”
He laughed as I passed him, once again, but this time, I left the room. I couldn’t build it without my tools which were downstairs. I ran down, poked my head in the living room to see the miracle of the twins still sitting nicely together, and grabbed my toolbox.
Brantley was still leaning against the doorframe when I got back upstairs. His arms were folded across his chest, and his gaze followed me as I eked past him into the room.
“Are you just going to stand there and stare at me?” I set the toolbox down next to the giant box.
“Do you mind if I do?”
“Yes. If you’re not going to go out, help me open this box.”
“Are you this bossy to all your clients?”
“No. You should know by now you get special privileges.” I pulled a pocketknife from my toolbox and sliced open the tape holding one side of the box together. “And not all of them are enjoyable for you.”
“I don’t know…” he trailed off. “It is quite enjoyable when you tell me what to do.”
“It’s a shame you don’t ever do it.”
He grinned. “I was only going to the store. Not some wondrous day out where they get to run around like hellions. At a push, I was going to take them to the beach tonight.”
“All I hear from this is your opinion that they need to go somewhere to run around like hellions.” I paused, and a shout came from downstairs.
“Daddy! Daaaadddyyyy!” Ellie’s shriek got louder, and stomps on the stairs echoed. “Ewi hit me!”
Without blinking, he replied, “What did you do to him?”
“Nuffink!”
“What did you do to him?”
She mumbled something under her breath, dipping her head.
“Eleanor.”
“Pushed him off the sofa.”
I coughed to hide my laugh.
“Then the lesson here is, don’t push your brother and he won’t hit you, isn’t it?” Brantley sighed. “We’ve covered this a hundred times.”
“But it hurted me.” She sniffed, giving him puppy dog eyes.
“Okay? So, let’s go downstairs. I’ll push you off the sofa and you can see if it hurts, too.”
Her eyes widened, from puppy dog to deer in headlights. “No. I’m okay. I go say sowwy now.”
Brantley nodded, watching her go.
“I can’t decide if that parenting technique is brilliant or…well, brilliant,” I admitted.
“Thank you.” His lips twitched. “It’s simple. If she didn’t push him, he wouldn’t hit her. After the paint fiasco, you’d think she’d know that. The stuff she does always gets a reaction.”
“What about Eli? Will you tell him not to hit her?”
“No. If she pushed him, she deserved it. Eventually, she’ll get the message.”
“So, basically, what you’re saying is that you’re raising both the kid who throws the first punch and the one who always punches back?”
He paused. “That’s the most accurate description of my children I’ve ever heard.”
I laughed, opening the box fully and picking up the instructions.
At least this wasn’t Ikea furniture.
I liked my patience, and I wanted to keep it today.
“That’s a lot of pieces,” he muttered, looking at the box.
“About normal.” I paused, then looked from the box to him. “You sounded…weary. Like this is terrifying.”
“I don’t build flat-pack furniture,” he admitted, dropping his arms and stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I can’t build it, actually.”
I looked at him for a moment. “Not even, like, a table? Or a bookshelf?”
Grimacing, he shook his head. “My father always used to do it. For whatever reason, I just can’t do it.”
I blinked. Several times. “You can’t build flat-pack furniture?”
“Nope. It doesn’t matter where it’s from. Whether it’s a local store or Ikea…”
“First, nobody can build Ikea furniture. Well, I can, but I don’t like to.” I put down the instructions. “But, this? Easy. I might need some help to hold some pieces together, but honestly, it’s like stacking Lego.”
“More like stepping on Lego,” he muttered.
“I can’t believe you can’t build flat-pack furniture.”
“Here we go. I never should have told you that.”
“I’m going to bring it up every single time you mention me blushing. I promise you that.” I laughed, sweeping the instructions to the side and pulling out the first bit of solid wood. “Every. Single. Time.”
He pushed off the door, smirking. “Rookie error, Kali.”
“What is?”
“What you should have said is you’ll bring it up every time I make you blush. Now, I’ll keep making you blush, and just not mention it.”
My lips parted. “No, wait. That’s not fair!”
He went to step out of the door, then stopped. “You promised. You can’t take it back. Oh, and by the way? I dreamed of you naked in my bed last night.”
I gasped, moving forward to be on my hands and knees as if I were going to chase him.
“What a coincidence.” He smirked. “You were just like that.”
I dropped back onto my knees immediately. “You rotten bastard!” I snapped through the burning of my cheeks.
He winked, and, on that note, left, shouting for the kids to find their shoes.
I stared after him for the longest moment.
That sounded like a war declaration to me.
My lips curved.
If you can’t beat them…
Torture them.
Chapter 23
Look, I didn’t mean to go home and get changed.
Well, not entirely. It hadn’t been my initial idea, but when I’d built the main structure of the closet and only had to add in the rail and the shelves, and Brantley still wasn’t back, I made a flash choice around lunchtime.
In my defense, he’d started it. He was the one who’d declared war upon me and my blushing.
Yeah. He’d started it, and I was ready to finish it.
I adjusted my bra and glanced at my legs. This skirt was basically indecent—like hotpants but without the stretch of denim covering your vagina. I hoped like hell I wouldn’t have to bend over around the kids.
Jesus, that would scar the poor things for life.
I slotted the rail into Ellie’s closet and took a step back. The doors were open, but the pink and white closet was every little girl’s dream. Complete with custom handles in the shape of a tiara. She was going to freak the hell out when she got back and saw this.
I closed the doors and gave it a push across the floor so it was against the wall. I blew out a heavy sigh, then turned my attention to the mess of packaging. My Spotify playlist ticked over to the next song, and I hummed along as the familiar tune of Ed Sheeran’s Galway Girl filled the room.
It made the clean-up a little better. I just wasn’t going to hold an impromptu concert this time…just in case.
The last thing I needed was for Brantley to come in and see me using a screwdriver as a microphone this time.
With all the trash sorted and in the opposite corner, I headed downstairs to the garage and found the box that had Ellie’s drawers. I would build her furniture first, and get her room ready except for the bed before turning my attention to Eli’s.
The box was lighter than the closet, and I was able to move it myself. I heaved it upstairs
into her room and set it down. I glanced around for my pocketknife to slice it open, humming along to another Ed Sheeran song I didn’t know the title of. I found it in the trash in the corner of the room, grabbed it, and kneeled down to open the box.
“Jesus!”
My hand slipped in shock and I sliced my finger open.
“Shit!” I immediately dropped the knife and brought my finger to my mouth. “Ouch!” I mumbled against my finger.
“Oh, shit.” Brantley crossed the room in two quick strides. “I was about to tell you to warn a guy you’re wearing next to nothing, but never mind. Let me look.”
I shook my head and pulled my finger out of my mouth. “It’s fine. It’s not deep. It’ll stop bleeding in a minute.”
It really, really fucking hurt, though.
“Let me see.” He grabbed my wrist and looked. “That’s not going to stop by itself.”
“How do you know?” I brought it back to my mouth.
He met my eyes and said dryly, “I have a four-year-old son. I’ve seen more cuts and scrapes than you can imagine. Come downstairs and I’ll get the First Aid kit.”
“It’s fine,” I mumbled against my skin. “Really, it’s my own fault.”
“I won’t argue with that.” He stood. “Come on.”
I sighed and followed him. Maybe he was right—my finger was showing no signs of slowing down its bleeding.
Just great.
“Oh no,” Eli breathed, sitting at the kitchen table with apple slices. “Do you had a booboo?”
I grimaced in pain and nodded. “Yep. Opening a box.”
“Opening a box?” Ellie asked, her voice getting higher at the end. “How do you cut yourself opening a box?”
“When your daddy starts shouting in the doorway and scares me,” I answered honestly.
“Oh, Daddy!” Ellie stared at him. “Look what you did to Kawi.”
Brantley froze, plastic tub in hand. “I didn’t do anything. If I knew she had a knife in her hand, I wouldn’t have said anything.”
“Lies,” I muttered under my breath.
He met my eyes. “Your own fault and you know it.”
“You started it.”
“Who started what?” the twins asked in unison.
“Never mind. Eat your fruit,” Brantley said waving me over to the side. “Rinse your finger off and dry it carefully.”
I did as he said as he basically emptied the contents of a hospital storage room onto the countertop. I was seriously impressed by the amount of Band-Aid’s, bandages, and various other first-aid type bits he had in there.
“Were you a doctor in a past life?” I asked holding the dark red towel around my finger.
“No,” he replied. “I’m a parent in the current one. You’d be surprised how often I restock this thing.”
I glanced at Eli who currently had a scrape on his elbow. “Maybe two weeks ago I would have been. Now? Not so much.”
He laughed, taking the towel. “You’re learning fast. Rest your arm on the counter and I’ll bandage your finger up.”
“I don’t think I’m learning anything,” I said slowly, putting my forearm on the towel. “Everything just makes a bit more sense now.”
“Whatever you say.” He got to work on wrapping my finger.
“What are you doo-win?” Ellie asked. “Upstairs.”
I turned my head to the side and offered her a smile. “I’m building your furniture, actually. I did your closet already. I was about to start your dresser when I cut myself.”
“Oh no! Is my dwesser okay?”
Brantley snorted.
“Perfectly fine. Unlike my finger.”
“You’re the one with butterfingers,” Brantley said, wrapping a bandage around my finger.
“You scared me,” I shot back. “I didn’t do it on purpose.”
“Can you still build my dwesser?” Ellie asked around a mouthful of strawberries.
It was nice to know where her priorities were.
I was fine, not that she cared.
“Yes, I can still build your dresser,” I replied as Brantley taped my finger. “Amazing. You can do that, but not build a bookshelf.”
He sighed, dropping his head back. “I could build it if I had to. But, I don’t have to. You do.”
“I think you’re lying.” I admired his handiwork on my finger before crossing my arms and ultimately wincing as I put pressure on my cut.
“Daddy can’t build wego,” Eli said. “He twied to build a castle for Ewwie but couldn’t.”
“Okay, first,” Brantley waggled his finger at Eli, “There were bricks missing.”
“I stole dem.” Ellie grinned.
Brantley flicked his gaze to her. “Exactly. And second, I can build Lego, I just choose not to.”
“Because you can’t?” I offered.
“Don’t you have something to do?”
“Mandatory break,” I replied.
“On what grounds?”
“My finger really, really hurts.”
He stared at my hand, then shook his head. “I don’t know how to argue with that, so I’m not going to. I’m going to say okay and leave it at that.”
Smart choice. And he said I was the one who was learning fast…
“Can I help you build my dwesser?” Ellie asked, picking up an apple juice box and sipping on it so hard her cheeks hollowed out. Trails of red juice dribbled down her chin from the strawberries.
Brantley hit a button on the dishwasher and closed it. “What happened last time someone tried to help?”
“But, there’s no paint dis time,” she replied.
Ha. Point: Ellie.
“Kali already sliced her finger off. I can only see this ending badly.”
“I didn’t slice my finger off. It’s just a scratch.”
“A scratch that won’t stop bleeding.”
“Oh my god, you’re so pedantic. Whatever.”
He burst out laughing. “You’re feisty today. Is it that time of the month?”
“You know damn well it isn’t.” I put my hands on my hips. “I’m not taking this. I’m going to work.”
More laughter followed me as I made my exit, and I realized that was exactly what he was trying to get me to do.
I paused at the bottom of the stairs. “Well played!”
Again, laughter.
“Ellie! Let’s go!” I called, waving my hand toward her.
“Yes!” She threw her tiny fist into the air and jumped off her chair, scrambling after me as I headed upstairs.
Ellie tipped a tiny bag of the screws into her hand. Holding it out, she picked one screw off her palm and handed me it.
“Thank you,” I said.
Apparently, four-year-olds liked screws if it meant they could help. Organizing all of them had kept her amused for the entirety of this build—she’d taken them all out, sorted them into piles, and then put them back in bags.
“Kawi,” she said, watching me as I screwed together a drawer.
“Yes?”
“Do you wike my daddy?”
I paused mid-screw. That was a loaded question. “What do you mean?”
She shifted, then tucked some of her hair behind her ear. “Are you fwiends?”
“Sure. We’re definitely friends.”
“Are you fwiends who kiss?”
I blinked at her. This was not a conversation I’d ever pictured myself having. “Why do you ask?”
“’Cause he waughs wots now, and I know he doesn’t have any fwends.”
I tightened the screw, then set down both the completed drawer and my screwdriver.
This was one observant child.
And I had no idea how to have this conversation with her.
“Have you asked Daddy this?”
She shook her head. “I don’t wanna make him sad.”
“Why are you asking me?” I said it gently, because I genuinely wanted to know.
“Daddy was sad. Den we moved here.” Sh
e dropped her eyes and played with the screws in her hand. “Den you came. And now Daddy is happy. And, and, sometimes, when I’m sad, Daddy kisses me and den I’m happy again. So, I fort maybe you kissed Daddy and made him happy again.”
Wow.
Kid logic.
Pretty accurate, actually.
Shit.
I took a deep breath and slowly let it go again. How was I supposed to answer that? How was I supposed to answer it in a way that she wouldn’t take it and come up with some wild scenario?
Because, yes, I had kissed Daddy—and a whole lot more—and he’d already told me that I made him feel happy. But explaining that to Ellie when she obviously had some kind of hope for something would not be easy.
Maybe it shouldn’t even be explained at all.
“I like your dad very much,” I said slowly and carefully. “But that doesn’t mean I’m the reason he’s so happy. Maybe he really likes it here in your lovely new house.”
She shook her head, her curls bouncing. “No. He waughs a wot wiff you.”
“Maybe he thinks I’m funny. Like you think that dog on that TV show that’s really clumsy is funny.”
She looked up, a hint of a grin on her face. “Marshall is funny when he cwashes into the elevader.”
“Right? See, maybe that’s how Daddy thinks I’m funny.”
The smile slowly dropped from her face, and she nodded. “Okay.”
I moved the drawer to the side and grabbed two pieces to start the next one. She was already handing me a screw. I took it and paused. There was something else bothering her.
“Ellie?” I said softly. “Is there something else?”
She looked up and met my eyes. “All the udder kids at Summer’s house have a mommy.”
Oh, boy.
“Yes, they do,” I said carefully.
“But, my mommy is an angel.” She frowned. “Do you fink I can have anudder?”
Oh.
Boy.
I started screwing. “Well, maybe. That’s sometimes how it works. Did you know that my mommy is an angel, too?”
“No. When did she gwow wins?”
“I was five,” I said, taking the next screw. “I was very sad, but when I grew up a little bit, my daddy met someone else, and now she’s my step-mommy.”
“Does she do fins like bwaid your hair and paint your nails and help you pick pwetty dwesses?”