I could practically hear her smile through the phone, undoubtedly looking at my brother as she muttered the words. They were the ultimate power couple, quite fashionable too. Finn had his Armani suits for dealing with a boardroom full of stuffy shareholders, while Waverly’s weapon of choice was to rock a pair of Jimmy Choos as she slapped a set of cuffs on a perp.
She hung up after dropping her little bomb. A few minutes later, Finn––who had a twin in each arm––carried them through the house to their bedroom, kissed me on the cheek, then left without saying a word.
After removing Duncan’s shoes and tossing a blanket over the top of him so he wouldn’t get cold, I went to bed. When I woke up in the morning, I expected him to be long gone, not snoring softly in the exact spot I’d left him. From experience, I knew he functioned on less than six hours of sleep, so for him to be lights out for the better part of eight hours meant he’d pushed himself to exhaustion. I was torn between letting him stay or giving him the boot. The kids made the decision for me by being…well, kids. Curiosity got the better of them, so instead of hanging out in their room like I asked, they wandered into the living room to sneak a peek at our slumbering guest. As soon as I shooed them out, I woke him up, made plans for him to come back in a few hours, then he kissed me.
The kiss wasn’t the only parting gift he left.
Soon, Sunshine.
Those words stayed with me all through breakfast with the kids, through cleaning up the dishes, and they echoed in my head when I brought myself to completion in the bathtub a short while later.
Two words.
A promise spoken during a moment of desperation. Nothing more than wishful thinking until he followed through. No matter how much my body craved his affection, my heart was miles away from making his “soon” a reality. Too much was at stake to risk it all by crossing the road without looking both ways first.
Love was the easy part. Building a life from the ashes of our past was how we’d recover the future they’d stolen from us.
Staring at my watch didn’t make time go any faster. Who knew? The house was as clean as it was going to get and smelled like the chocolate peanut butter chip cookies––Rogan and Reagan’s favorite––which were baking in the oven. Anything to make the day easier on the twins, I did it, including pulling the menu out for the nearest pizza place in town. I wasn’t above bribery if the need struck.
At nine fifty-nine on the dot, Duncan knocked on the door. I knew it was him because, once again, I was watchinghim. This time though, it was through the kitchen window. He’d been sitting in his Jeep for the past five minutes with his eyes closed and the car running. For a second, I wondered if he had second thoughts, but then he turned off the engine and climbed out of the car, his arms loaded up with more shopping bags than I could count. It was good to know I wasn’t the only one with bribery on the brain.
“Hi.” I opened the door, waving him inside.
“Hey, Sunshine.” He bent, kissing the top of my head as he passed. “Did you bake?”
“Cookies, yes, and they aren’t ready yet.”
Duncan set the bags on the sofa, then took both my hands, rubbing his thumbs over the top. His pale blue eyes assessed me from head to toe.
“You bake when you’re stressed.”
“I also do it because our children have a massive sweet tooth.”
It was the first time I’d said it outloud. Dang, it felt good, like a weight had been lifted.
“Our children,” he said reverently.
“Speaking of”––I cleared my throat––“they're out back playing. I’ll go get them. Make yourself at home.”
Unlike Finn’s mountain mansion, our rental was on the small side, which made tracking down two seven-year-olds a simpler task. The back door––which was technically a side door––was located steps from the kitchen. It opened to a fenced-in yard, complete with a paved patio area, a wicker table, and matching chairs. Rogan and Reagan were in the center of the yard, swinging side by side on the wooden playset Finn insisted on buying for them when we moved in.
Rogan noticed me first.
“Momma,do you see how high I’m flying?”
He kicked his legs out and leaned back as the momentum from the swing carried him forward. I was “Momma” when he was seeking praise, other times I was “Mom” or the shortened version, “Ma.” It all depended on his mood.
“Great job.”
“Look at me, Mommy. Am I doing a great job too?”
To Reagan, I was always “Mommy.” I cursed the day when that changed.
“You’re doing awesome, Love, but it’s time to come inside.”
“Oh, man.”
“Please, can we have five more minutes?” She held up five fingers, pleading their case.