Speaking of, where is that weirdo? We’re running low on glasses. I scan the crowded room and spot his dreadlocked head next to Ashley Kingston’s red curls.
For being smart enough to run a successful business, that girl has terrible taste in men.
I know her family and she’s the perfect example of strict parenting inciting rebellion. For both her and her brother Jonah. He’s got more holes in his head than God intended and she’s got herself a bad reputation.
I’m about to throw something at Falcon’s head to get his attention when Carter strides over and breaks up their conversation by stepping between the couple and turning his back on Falcon.
I can’t hear Ashley’s words, but from her tight expression I’m guessing she’s not pleased.
This place has more drama than a soap opera. And I have a front row seat.
Lucky me.
Hold on. If Carter is pissing off Ashley, who’s watching my door?
A monkey would do a better job at being a bouncer.
Falcon sets a tray of steaming hot glasses on the back bar with too much force, rattling the glass.
Perfect timing.
I put my hand on his shoulder like I’m offering him a promotion. “Get those organized and then go take over the door.”
“Really?” His eyes light up.
I don’t understand how this kid ticks. “Sure. Put on a jacket. It’s cold out there.”
“I never get cold.” He bounces on his tip-toes and speeds off outside in his T-shirt and ripped jeans.
If he catches pneumonia, I’m going to put an ad out for a real trained monkey.
Dan keeps telling me I need to get more help in here and slow down.
At least he doesn’t call me old to my face.
A breeze of fresh, but cold air blows through the open door. I see Falcon holding it open like a doorman. The thought he doesn’t know what a bouncer does concerns me until I see a few familiar faces.
Maggie Marion and her group of friends stand near the door. I’m not too proud to admit I loved her mother from afar for years before her death. She won me over with her baked goods and class despite being older than me by more than a decade. I think a lot of men around here had crushes on her. Her daughter sold the bakery, but carries the same sparkle Ann did. Maggie’s fella stands beside her along with another couple. A man holding a toddler is stuck between the swinging doors and the outside door.
I’m about to tell them this isn’t a day care, when Diane walks in behind him carrying Alene.
The group of seven squeezes into an opening at the corner of the bar near the window. The little girl happily takes up residence on the bench in the window, patting the glass and smiling at the people outside.
Diane waves me over using Alene’s chubby arm instead of her own hand.
“Kind of a late night for our little angel.” My voice softens at the sight of Alene sitting on her mom’s hip. Normally, kids aren’t allowed in here in the evenings, but I guess I’ll make an exception. At least she’s not trying to charm her way past Falcon. Yet.
“She’s started fussing.” Diane gives me a weak smile while bouncing Alene.“We’re waiting on Helen to meet us here.”
“Let me hold her.” I extend my arms for Alene. She claps her mittened hands together and reaches for me.
“She’s kind of going through a stranger-danger phase right now.” Diane apologizes, but hands the pink bundle over the bar to me.
Alene attempts to tug my beard, but her fingers are trapped. Her forehead scrunches and her face darkens as she works herself up to a wail. I remove her mittens and set the world right.
Delighted, she tugs at my white whiskers.
“She probably thinks your the real Santa,” Diane says softly. “You’d make the perfect one.”
I stare into Alene’s happy face.
Dammit if that little girl doesn’t have us all wrapped around her fingers. Anything bad ever happens to her and it’d break all our hearts.
Yes, I have a heart. No, it’s not three-sizes too small.
No way am I’m ever dressing up as Old Saint Nick.
“It’s a Christmas miracle.” Diane points to a quiet Alene, happily playing with my beard.
“Hello, Papa Silver Fox.” The blond man with the toddler greets me with a friendly smile.
I lift an eyebrow at him.
“Quinn,” Diane chides him. “Be nice to Olaf.”
“I’m paying him a compliment! Silver foxes are all the rage. Hi, I’m Quinn.” He extends his hand over the bar. I shift Alene and shake it. “The little one is Lizzy and the handsome man pretending to be a puppy with her is my husband, Ryan.”
He says all of this as if I’ll remember. “Nice to meet you.”
The man and child in the window both give me friendly woofs.
Diane introduces me to the rest of her friends. I pretend I’m interested while smiling down at Alene.
“You should bring them to Sal’s, Maggie.” Diane gives her former landlord a knowing smile. The kind of looks women exchange that send a nervous tremor down the spines of men.
“We went there for lunch. Unfortunately the resident silver fox is on vacation this week,” Maggie answers.
“Selah was heartbroken,” Maggie’s guy Gil says.
A shorter woman with dark hair pokes her head around his tall frame. “You know what helps with heartbreak? Beer. What do you have that’s extra hoppy. Cause it’s the hop, hoppiest time of the year.”
After singing the last sentence, she grins at me as if she somehow knows how much I hate that song. I sense a kindred sister of sarcasm.
Reluctantly returning Alene to her mother, I recommend an IPA and fill the rest of their order. The tall blond one named Kai, who looks like an old Viking, slides a fancy black credit card on the bar, subtly letting me know he’s paying for whatever they drink. I appreciate a man who doesn’t waffle when it comes to taking care of the check.
John wraps his thick arms around both Diane and Alene before kissing their cheeks. “Helen’s outside in the car.”
Diane’s smiles and then frowns. “You think she’ll be okay? It’s her first overnight without us.”
He kisses his wife softly on the lips and tells her, “Without us? Or us without her? We can cancel. Or go home early.”
She frowns again. “And give up the chance at a full night’s sleep? Are you crazy?”
He grumbles about priorities before she kisses his cheek. “I’ll walk her out and be right back.”
John watches them go with love in his eyes and all over his face like he got smashed with a love pie right in the kisser.
I remember that feeling. Best one in the world.
Before the divorce. Before the kids grew up and moved away.
When I was a young man in the Navy, I fell in love with a teacher from Oak Harbor. She wasn’t charmed by my stories from around the world or my good looks. To a young buck with an ego, I accepted her challenge, making it my mission to make her fall in love with me. I sent her pearls from Japan and fancy perfume from France. Before I got transferred from Everett, I made her a promise. If she married me, as soon as I finished in the Navy, we’d move back to the island and never leave again.
I kept my end of the promise.
She now lives on a golf course in Phoenix with a retired insole salesman. Our youngest son, Neil, calls him Dad, too. Neil’s always been a little prick. Steve at least remembers to call me on my birthday.
I’m the one who never left. Born here, I’m going to die here. Not for a long time, God willing.
Here’s the part of the story where the ghosts of Christmas past, present, and future show up, isn’t it?
“Bah humbug,” I grumble under my breath.
“Did you just say—” Diane asks as she returns childless.
“He’s been muttering it all night.” John slings an arm over her shoulder. “Shall we go take advantage of our hotel room?”
She grins and nods. “I made sur
e to avoid the Room of Unmentionable Things.”
“I heard that! I highlighted that quote in the review!” Holding up his arm in triumph, Tom shouts from his table. How he heard her from across the room, I can’t figure out. I can barely hear myself complain in my own head. Hailey nudges his shoulder and lowers his arm.
I watch the John and his wife say goodbye to their friends and dammit if my heart doesn’t feel fuzzy and warm.
One thing people either get or don’t get about this island is we’re all family.
We have a bunch of crazy aunts in those ribbon-wielding gossipers, Sandy, Connie, and Sally. They meddle and gossip because they care.
The brotherhood of friends with John and Tom at the heart is as strong as blood. No longer boys, they’ve become honorable men.
For the most part. Maggie’s circle is the only family she has now that her parents have passed. Knowing she is loved and cared for would make Ann happy again.
As the younger generation pairs off and starts their own broods, our family grows and expands to include the newcomers like Dan, his lady Roslyn, sweet Diane, and even the younger Kelso’s girl, Cari. Despite our differences, Dan’s become a true friend to me, pushing back the loneliness solitary life can bring.
Our family happily welcomes home the wayward sons and daughters like Hailey King. Hell, I’d greet my own boys with open arms and a smile if they came to visit.
Some may say we’re stuck in the past here. Those people are the ones who don’t understand the magic of life in a small town.
I feel a lump lodge in my throat and a burning behind my eyes.
Dammit.
“Bah humbug,” I grumble to dispel the feelings filling up my crotchety old heart.
“Merry Christmas to you, too!” Tom shouts from the corner.
The Kelsos follow his lead and raise their voices. “Merry Christmas to us all.”
Next thing I know, the whole crowd is echoing their words with glee.
“Merry Christmas, one and all,” I softly say, catching Maggie’s eye.
Louder, I shout. “Merry Christmas to all. Now go home. It’s last call.”
Wingmen Babypalooza
CHAPTER ONE
TOM
My life has turned out to be a live action version of Lady and the Tramp.
I should know. I’ve watched the cartoon version a million times recently with my pint-size Donnely family members. Seems a pregnant wife is the perfect excuse for my sisters to use me to babysit their spawn. For practice. Or so they say as they laugh their way out my front door every weekend.
The only practice I like when it comes to babies is the making kind. And as the saying goes, the only way to be the best is with lots and lots of practice.
Hey-o.
I made that joke in front of Hailey and three of our nephews.
Then had to explain I meant it like Little League practice. You know, choke up on the bat, keep your eye on the balls, don’t forget to run the bases if you make a hit, and slide into home whenever you can because it feels awesome.
I think they bought it.
Anyway, getting back to Lady and the Tramp.
In case there’s any doubt, I’m the tramp in this scenario. Honestly, I’ve been called a lot worse than tramp by more than one woman.
I was the happy-go-lucky guy without a care in the world, minding my own life, and keeping my business to myself. Until one day, the lady, that’s Hailey, batted her pretty eyes at me as she sashayed into my life. Or more accurately, kissed me in the hallway to the bathrooms at the Dog House. Yep. She definitely made the first move. Can’t blame her—I’m irresistible. She stuck her tongue down my throat and begged me to sleep with her. When she asked me to come home with her, I didn’t say no. That’s the R rated version.
Next thing I know, I’m sharing my spaghetti, giving up my last meatball, and cleaning up my tramp ways. She may have made the first move, but the proposal was all me. Except for when her Christmas gift almost ate my grandmother’s ring before I could pop the question. Nameless is lucky we kept him.
And here we are today.
Like the song says, first comes love, then comes marriage, then comes me shopping for a baby carriage.
“Why do they call them strollers now and not carriages?” I test the brake locks on an oversized baby transporter by trying to shove the contraption into a wall. Impressively, it doesn’t budge.
Hailey casts a dirty look in my direction from where she’s scanning a car seat cozy. It’s not the actual car seat, but some fuzzy thing that looks like a sheepskin. For babies. That’s going to be covered in bodily fluids in a nanosecond.
When I glance at the price, my eyeballs bug out. I could get a decent fishing rod for less.
While I’m wondering if you can hose off fur, Hailey sucks in a sharp breath. Panicked, I flip the stroller out of the way to get to her side.
“Are you okay?” Resting my hand on her belly, my heart races as I worry something’s wrong with her. Or the baby.
Our baby.
Baby D is growing like a champ from the looks of Hailey’s rounded belly. Seven months into this, and I’m amazed at the elasticity of her skin.
My wife’s waddling around like a gorgeous, fat duck these days. I never thought a waddle could turn me on, but damn if seeing Hailey all curved out doesn’t make me the horniest bastard ever. And we all know that’s saying something.
Every time yet another person asks if she’s having twins, she groans. I grin because the more she shows, the more beautiful she is.
“I’m fine. Heartburn or the baby is standing on some vital organ again.” She rubs the top of her belly. Right below her full breasts. Of course my eyes lock on the area like magnets to steel.
For the first time ever, Hailey has cleavage. Spectacular is the word I like to use to describe her breasts. I love her body because it’s her, but I’d be lying if I’m not enjoying every change and full curve.
I’m pretty sure babies in the womb can’t stand, but if anyone could, it would be our baby. Baby Donnely would totally take home the gold for the in-utero Olympics. Not that it’s a competition or anything. There’s going to be some friendly comparison, especially when two of my buddies are expectant dads, too. Dan and John are going to be dads in December. Well, in John’s case, Diane’s having Baby Day numero dos.
Blame Valentine’s Day or the Seahawks winning the Super Bowl. Or the late February ice storm that knocked out power for three days.
Olaf’s been joking he’s gonna need to add a changing table to the Dog House men’s room with three of his regulars about to be dads.
“Are you sure?” Scanning her eyes, I rest my hand over Hailey’s. “You should probably sit down. Or drink some water. Put your feet up.”
I don’t mention her swollen ankles. Apparently, women pay attention to the circumference of their ankles and worry about something called “cankles.”
If a guy’s socks stay up and he can tie his boots, that’s about as much thought as he ever gives to his ankles.
I shift my hand to her lower back and remove the scanner from her hand. “Why don’t we call it a day? How much stuff does a baby need? Car seat, stroller, crib, changing table … some diapers and clothes. I bet most of that we can get from my sisters. Have you seen their houses? We could pilfer from them and they’d never even know anything was missing.”
Not saying my sisters are hoarders, but they’ve got a lot of kid and baby shit. If I start now, I could take something every time we visit and fill the nursery with no one being the wiser.
“I don’t want hand-me-downs for our first child. Leave that for the second.” She meets my eyes and I see mischief in her green eyes. “Or third.”
My gut clenches at the thought of sharing her with so many kids. “We’ll see.”
She allows me to guide her over to the furniture section. Flopping into an armchair, she pushes back and forth with her feet a few times before resting her legs on the matching ottoman.
“I like this one.” She pats the navy plaid upholstered arms. “Reminds me of one of your shirts.”
I glance down to make sure I don’t match the chair. Nope. My shirt’s brown and white plaid today. The price tag grabs my attention.
Blinking, I try to figure out why a baby chair costs so much. I could get a new leather recliner with the beer cooler built into the arm for the same price. You can’t hose off a chair and there’s no way this thing isn’t going to be covered in baby mess.
“I’m sure there’s a wooden rocker around the farm someplace. Probably the one Gramma used for all her kids. Keep it traditional.” I frown at the thought of spending over a grand on a nursery chair.
“You have excellent taste.” A petite blond saleswoman strolls up to us. “This is one of our most popular pieces of furniture. The Maserati of nursery chairs. Do you have any questions?”
I think she’s overstating the luxury and aerodynamics a little. A family sedan like a Toyota Camry would be a better comparison. Comfortable, but not flashy. Oh, I have questions.
She’s focused on Hailey, but I’m the one to respond. “Is it stain resistant and can you hose it off?”
The two women stare at each other for a few beats before Hailey laughs, shaking her head. “He’s kidding.”
“No, I’m not. These are important questions. I saw Alene projectile vomit last year clear across the room.” I sit down in the twin to the chair Hailey’s occupying. To my surprise, it reclines as well as rocks and swivels. I tilt back and settle my hands underneath my head. “Whoa. This is really comfortable.”
Hailey smirks at me. “See?”
“Still think it’s overpriced.” I flinch and flick my attention at the saleslady. “Sorry.”
“Think of it as an investment piece. Something you’ll be able to use for many years.”
“Not if it’s covered in shi—stuff.” We all know what I mean.
“Is there a washable slipcover option?” Hailey asks.
Great. A thousand plus dollar chair requires its own accessories.
This baby game is a racket.
Very Merry Wingmen Holiday Collection Page 5