Aiden rounds the corner and, gosh, he is so the God of all Hotties.
His dark blond hair is messily pushed back off his forehead, a few random pieces falling over one beautiful green eye and drawing attention to the sexy freckle underneath. He has a piece of hay in his mouth, a grin on his face, and cowboy boots on his feet.
But it’s the hay in his mouth that causes me to realize that Aiden reminds me of my dad. Perfect blond hair, amazing eyes, a beautiful wide smile, and an easy-going demeanor.
When he stands on his tiptoes, reaching up to retrieve the butterfly, his muscular forearm flexes.
It’s hot.
And makes me want him.
All of him.
Like, now.
The girls are shouting out orders of which butterfly they want.
Gracie wants to examine all the butterflies up close, so he lifts her high in the air. After she chooses one, he sets her down and takes the butterfly off its flower perch. Then he crouches down to her level and places the pale pink one she chose gently in her open palm.
The exact way he placed a perfect four-leaf clover in mine.
My own stomach fills with butterflies.
“Why don’t you girls run back to the house and show your butterflies to everyone,” he says.
As they race away, he pulls me into his arms. “You better always need me.” Then he gives me the kind of kiss that sends my butterflies somewhere lower. A hot, powerful tongue kiss.
It’s official. I am obsessed with his tongue. With his lips.
With him.
Our kiss is interrupted by Gracie coming back and pulling on his sleeve.
“Gracie tired. I need piggy,” she says, although she doesn’t look the least bit tired.
Avery, who has run back to check on Gracie says, “Gracie is a baby.”
“NO! NO! Gracie is NOT a baby! I big girl! Gracie no more wear pull-ups. Mama says I big girl!”
Aiden’s chuckling as he crouches down to her level.
“You are a big girl, Gracie. Good job,” I tell her, picking her up and putting her on Aiden’s back.
“Hang on tight!” Aiden tells her, then he rears up like a bucking bronco and gallops toward the house.
A happy memory rushes to the front of my brain. Me jumping off bales of hay onto my dad’s back. Him rearing back and pretending to try to buck me off even though he had a firm grip on my legs. Me telling him to Giddy-up, horsey because Grandma had dinner ready.
After he drops Gracie off at the house, I tell him, “You’re going to be a good dad someday.”
“And you’re going to be an amazing mom. You’re great with the girls. When do you want to have kids?”
“I’m not sure,” I say, putting my head down as reality slaps me in the face.
Aiden cocks his head and reads my mind. “I’m sorry. I won’t talk about the future any more. I understand now why the word forever freaks you out.”
A special rock.
2pm
Lunch is long and practically an event in and of itself.
The sun is shining and everyone is out on the lawn. The kids are blowing bubbles and running around like maniacs.
Damian, Peyton, and Grandpa are playing croquet. The other guys—Tommy, Matt, Deron, Aiden, and his dad—are tossing around a football. The rest of us are sitting around a large, weathered wooden table, drinking wine and picking cheese and fruit off a big wooden board.
I notice Aiden take out his phone and point it toward Tommy, who just pulled a rock out of his pocket and gave it to Emery.
Oh my gosh. It’s time!
Emery comes running up to Mom.
“Look, Mommy! Look what I found!! It’s a special rock.”
Mom is used to getting special rocks. The girls think every plain old rock they find is special.
Mom leans down toward her and says, “What’s so special about it, Em?”
“It has a word on it! And I can read it!”
“Oh? What does it say?”
She puts it on the table and yells, “Me!”
“Oh, that is special. Where did you find it?”
“I don’t know,” she says and happily skips away.
Pretty soon, Ivery prances up. “I found a special rock too, Momma. Look. What does this one say?” She sets it in front of mom.
“Oh, honey, that one says YOU.”
Ivery says, “Me and you.” She runs off singing, “Me and you, you and me, we live together in a tree, me and you, you and me, don’t get stung by a bee.” She’s really quite creative.
About five minutes—and a full glass of wine for me—later, Avery marches up, all business.
I’m starting to get nervous.
“Abby, I found a special rock, too.” She’s decided she’s too mature to call Mom and Tommy Mommy and Daddy. “And this one has your name on it.”
“It does. ABBY. Good job,” Mom says.
When she runs back out to play, Mom turns to me. “What’s going on?”
“I have no idea,” I lie.
She turns her attention toward Tommy, who is swinging the girls in circles and then laughing when they walk around dizzy and fall down.