“Dad’s a catch,” he remarked.
“Um… yeah,” I grinned back.
“Girls think he’s hot,” Jonas noted.
I looked at Tate then back at his son.
“Yeah.” I was still grinning.
Jonas’s grin turned mischievous. “Everyone says I look just like him.”
I heard Dad chuckle and I swallowed a giggle before nodding. “Yes, baby, you do.”
“Means I’m hot too,” Jonas stated.
“Well –” I began.
“Girls’re already all over me, want me to kiss ‘em at recess,” Jonas informed me audaciously.
“Do you kiss them?” Dad asked.
“Only the pretty ones,” Jonas answered.
Dad laughed right out but my eyes narrowed on Jonas.
“Jonas Jackson, are you telling me you kiss pretty girls at recess?”
“Well, yeah,” Jonas answered.
“Bub, you’re ten,” I reminded him.
“So?” he asked.
“You’re not supposed to be into girls for at least five more years,” I proclaimed.
Jonas’s head tilted to the side. “Is that a rule?”
“Yes, I just made it up. It’s Lauren’s rule for when Jonas can be into girls.”
“You can’t make up rules, Laurie,” Jonas told me.
“I just did,” I replied, Jonas looked at Dad and rolled his eyes but I looked at Tate and shouted across the room, “Tate! Jonas is kissing pretty girls at recess!”
Tate’s eyes cut to me but Jonas threw himself at me and cupped his hand over my mouth.
“Laurie!” he yelled.
I struggled with his lean, too strong for a ten-year-old kid’s body, one arm wrapped around his waist, my other hand at his wrist, trying to pull his hand from my mouth.
I succeeded and yelled to Tate, “Jonas is ten and already breaking girls’ hearts!”
“Laurie!” Jonas repeated, sounding mortified and exasperated and I looked from Jonas’s father’s face, his mouth twitching, to Jonas.
“Well, you are,” I said.
“You don’t have to shout it across the room!” He was still yelling.
“Your father should know,” I informed him. “Seeing as your moving so fast, you’ll probably start going on dates next week and Tate’ll have to drive you and I’ll have to make more cupcakes, all your women showing up at the house to study with you.”
Jonas slouched back and crossed his arms on his chest, telling me, “I’m not goin’ on dates. I’m playin’ the field.”
Dad burst out laughing but I glared and snapped, “Jonas!”
Jonas looked at Dad. “I gotta keep my options open, make sure I get a good one.”
I looked at the ceiling. “Lord, deliver me,” I implored and looked back at Jonas when he poked me in the ribs.
“Laurie, I’m ten.” He used my words against me then grinned cheekily again. “Like I said, gotta keep my options open.”
“You’re grounded,” I announced.
“Why!” Jonas shouted.
I didn’t answer, instead I went on. “And you’re staying grounded until you’re sixteen.”
Jonas’s head whipped around and he yelled, “Dad! Laurie grounded me until I’m sixteen!”
I looked to Tate to see Mom and Pop had joined Tate, Stella, Mack and Carrie and they all had eyes to the couch.
“Sure I can talk her outta that, Bub,” Tate called back, Jonas looked at me and grinned smugly.
I glared at Jonas then rolled my eyes then muttered, “I need another beer.” Then I looked back at Jonas, lifted my brows and asked, “Since you’re growing up so fast, do you want a beer?”
“Yep,” he answered instantly.
“Tough,” I replied, caught him by the neck, pulled him to me and kissed his forehead.
Then I let him go, pushed off the couch, gave Tate a “we’re going to talk later” look which only made him shake his head, still fighting his grin and I headed to the cooler outside.
When I got outside, I saw, through the sea of people, Bubba sitting on top of a picnic table at the bottom end of the yard.
I gave up on the beer, threw my bottle in an overflowing garbage bin and wended my way through bodies. When I got to him, I started to climb up carefully (my skirt was tight and I still had on my pumps) then Bubba’s hand came out and grabbed mine, holding firm and steadying me until I sat down next to him, hip to hip and he let my hand go.
He’d looked at me when I arrived and kept looking at me as I sat down but he didn’t say a word. I let this go on for awhile before I bumped him with my shoulder.
“You okay?” I asked quietly.
Bubba didn’t answer so I turned to him.
“Bubba?”
“Miss my cloud,” he muttered then sat back, lifting a can of Coke to his lips, he took a deep slug.
I stared at the Coke, a Coke that was not a beer and it was not a bottle of bourbon, vodka or gin, then I stared at Bubba.
“You miss your cloud?” I asked.
He leaned into his elbows at his knees and didn’t reply.
I leaned into mine but did it twisted to him.
“Bubba, honey, talk to me,” I whispered.
“Motherfucker got Neeta,” he whispered back.