“You don’t have to do that.” I glance at him in surprise.
“I know. I want to. It’s polite. Besides, I’m not used to just standing around.”
Well, who am I to turn down help? It’s not like I have it very often.
“Deal,” I say. I hand him the sponge and then dry my hands before calling to Joey. “Come on, kiddo. It’s bathtime!”
“Yay!”
Joey loves baths. It’s one of his favorite times of the day. Even as an infant, it was one of the only things that soothed him. It’s a great way to get him ready for bed, and it’s become a relaxing part of our routine.
Tonight, however, I’m completely distracted.
There’s a big, burly hockey player in my kitchen finishing the dishes. I don’t know why I agreed to let him finish cleaning up, but there’s something about his presence that’s commanding. He’s quiet and seems laid back but I’m finding it hard to say no to him.
And he’s spending the night, which makes me both happy and nervous. It’s confusing but I’m not stupid. There’s no doubt I’mlonely and for the first time in nearly four years, I’ve met an interesting man who’s going to stay with me for at least one night. The road is blocked, ice is falling from the sky, and I’m going to hunker down with this gorgeous stranger.
I’m not even going to pretend it’s not the most exciting thing to happen to me in…a long time.
“Mommy, ow!” Joey swipes at a line of soap bubbles that have migrated to his eyes and I quickly grab a towel to wipe them.
“Sorry,” I murmur. “Mommy’s tired.”
“Me too.” He gives me a loud, exaggerated yawn.
“Well, let me rinse your hair and then we’ll get in your jammies.”
“Twelve stories?” he asks with an impish smile.
“How about two?” I counter.
“Eleventy-seven?” he asks, giggling.
“Three. That’s my final offer.”
“O-kay.”
This is a nightly game we play and I’m still smiling as I wrap him in a towel and carry him into the area we refer to as his room, laying him on his bed. I grab his warmest pajamas, the ones with feet, and a long-sleeve T-shirt to put underneath. Once he’s dressed, I comb his dark hair that’s in need of a cut and put a little balm on his lips since they get dry in the winter.
“Ready?” I ask him.
“Is West gonna read to me?”
That startles me.
“Um, no, he’s taking care of the fire.”
Joey scowls. “But he has to read too.”
This has never happened before. While I’ve never had male guests here, I’ve had friends over in the past and Joey is usually fairly distant, preferring me to anyone else.
“Honey, he’s our guest. We want him to relax.”
He juts out his lower lip. “Please, Mommy? He could read about the pigeon who likes hot dogs!”
“Joey, it’s not?—”
“It’s okay.” West’s deep voice startles me. “I don’t mind reading to him. In fact, ‘The Pigeon Finds a Hot Dog’ is one of my favorite children’s books.”