“Oh, my God, don’t you dare call me that. Ever.” Her eyes grow wide, before a soft pink shade of blush coats her cheeks.
“Why? I think it’s cute,” I tease as I pat the sofa next to me.
“I’m serious, Hetch. If you ever call me that, I will punch you in the junk.” She walks across the room and takes a seat next to me.
“What’s junk?” Arabella queries, her eyes still not moving from the TV.
“Ask your mom,” I offer like I’ve done for every question she’s thrown my way the last thirty minutes.
“I’m asking you,” she sasses.
Seriously, this kid is too quick for me.
“Has anyone told you she’s just like you?” I turn to Liberty and catch her regarding me quietly.
“All the time.” She beams like it’s the best compliment anyone could pay her.
“I don’t need to wonder what you were like as a kid. She’s sitting right next to me.” I hook my hand around her neck and drag her mouth toward mine.
“Trust me, I was worse.” Her lips move against mine. A smile pulls at the corners of her mouth.
“Oddly, I believe that,” I tell her, before running my tongue along around the seam of her lips.
“Thank you for staying last night. I know it’s probably the last thing you wanted to do, but I appreciate it,” she whispers, not quite opening her mouth to let me in.
“Don’t mention it,” I reply, about to deepen the kiss, only to be interrupted with Liberty’s mini me.
“Auntie Bertie, you know, if you kiss with no clothes on, you make babies.”
I choke on my laughter, causing a fit of coughing.
“Are you and Hetch having babies?”
“Breakfast. We should get breakfast started.” Liberty stands in a rush, not answering her niece's question.
“Yeah! Can we have pancakes?” Arabella’s gaze finally moves off the TV to look up at her.
“Of course, wanna help?” She holds out a hand in invitation. Arabella takes it, calling out to me on her way to the kitchen.
“Can you pause it, Hetch? I don’t want to miss anyfing.”
“You got it, kid.” I reach for the remote and hit the pause button. I’m about to follow them into the kitchen, the call of pancakes too good to give up, when I hear the sound of the front door opening.
That fucker came back.
Far too exhausted to have to deal with this asshole, I reluctantly head down the hall ready to rip into him, only to find myself standing in front of two vaguely familiar faces.
“Who are you and what the hell are you doing in my son’s house?”
Shit, Liberty’s parents.
“Aren’t you the police officer who came to our house?” Mrs. Jenson’s head tilts to the side as she takes a second to place me.
“Mr. Jenson, Mrs. Jenson.” I come up short, unsure how this may look to them.
A few weeks back I was knocking on their door asking how their daughter was holding up, and now I’m in their daughter-in-law's house and making myself welcome.
“Don’t you Mr. Jenson me.” His stance tells me he’s ready to blow his top unless he gets to the bottom of this fast. “Why are you here?”
“I came with—”
“Me.” Liberty steps out of the kitchen, walking past me to greet her parents.
“Hey, Daddy.” She reaches for her father first, letting him wrap her up in his large arms. For an old guy, he’s still in good shape. Not as tall or as built as I am, but considering he’s the dad of the woman I’m seeing, it wouldn’t matter in the end. I know he would kick my ass.
“What’s going on here, Liberty?” he asks, pulling back and allowing his wife to greet their daughter.
“Well, it’s kind of a long story,” Liberty answers when her mom releases her. Liberty’s mom is nothing like her. Small and dainty, she has this air of innocence around her. Almost like the way my mom was before my father died.
“Well, I suggest you start talking, darling, before your father loses it.” Liberty’s mother gently suggests, before the high-pitch squeal of Arabella fills the house.
“Nana!” She runs straight past Liberty and me, right into her grandmother’s arms.
“Hello, darling. How are you?” she asks Arabella, picking her up in her arms. She looks almost too small to be picking up the rowdy four-year-old, but she doesn’t falter, lifting her up and planting kisses all over her face.
“Hetch and Auntie Bertie sleeped over. And Aunt Bertie is making us her faborite pancakes,” she answers, causing more confusion to fill the air.
“Will someone tell me what the hell is going on here?” Mr. Jenson bellows, his temper no longer in check.
“Hey, guys.” Payton steps out of the hall, her steely composure complete bullshit.
“What’s going on, darling?” Liberty’s mom doesn’t buy it either, picking up on the change in her daughter-in-law.
“There’s something we need to talk about.” Her voice starts to wobble, and I catch Liberty’s worried eyes.
Fuck, what an awkward conversation this is gonna be.