family stuff. Not that I don’t want to spend time with them, but so many people all at once, can be a little overwhelming, especially since my family doesn’t take shit from me.
There’s a commotion behind me, then, "Unca Wes." Arms wrap around my legs. I glance down at my niece.
"Present… Christmas." The little imp smiles up at me. Well, one of us has our priorities right, at least.
"Phoenix," my sister calls out to her daughter, "let Uncle Wes and his friend inside the house, at least, and it’s impolite to ask him what he’s got for you. Speaking of," she turns to me, "I didn’t realize you were bringing a guest." She looks between us.
Amelie’s body goes even more rigid; she turns to me, "You didn’t tell them?" Her gaze narrows on me and color flushes her cheeks.
Oh, this is going to be so much fun. That thing about keeping her off kilter? I intend to deliver on that.
"I like to be spontaneous," I allow my lips to curve.
Amelie makes a sound deep into her throat.
I train my gaze on my sister, "Kirsten this is Amelie. Amelie…this is my younger sister, Kirsten."
"Amelie," Kirsten’s eyes bob between us. She shuffles her feet in that manner which is a dead giveaway that she’s dying to quiz me… Not that I am going to allow that.
Max barks from his vantage point against Amelie’s breasts. I seriously needed to have a man-to-man with that pooch.
Phoenix tugs on my hand. "Moosic…" she chants, "mooooosic."
"Hey, honey." I release my hold on Amelie, then bend to swing Phoenix up in my arms.
The little girl giggles, "Mooooosic."
"Music?" I turn to Kirsten for help.
"Yea, music," Kirsten sighs. "She’s driving us mad with her music blocks."
"Moooosic bo-k-ssss," Phoenix warbles. "Unca Wezz."
I chuck her under her chin and she giggles. "Play…play… Unca Wezz."
Right.
I glance toward Amelie, who smiles at the little girl. "Hey, baby doll," she coos, "What’s your name?"
Phoenix blinks at Amelie, then holds out her arms.
"Oh." Amelie looks at Phoenix, then at me.
I reach over, fasten Max’s leash to his collar. "Told ya so," I whisper into her ear.
She scowls, lowers Max to the floor, and her handbag slides down her arm.
"Let me get that." I grab the bag before it hits the floor.
Then I straighten and hand Phoenix over to her. Amelie cuddles Phoenix, and her other bag—the chef's toolkit—bumps her back. I reach for it; Amelie frowns.
"You can trust me," I snicker.
She raises one eyebrow, "Can I?"
"Of course, Sweetheart." I raise one eyebrow.
She opens her mouth, to protest, no doubt. I lean down, press another kiss to her lips, and slide the bag off of her shoulder in the same move.
I step back, swinging her chef’s satchel over my other shoulder.
"Smooth," Kirsten laughs.
"Doggy," Phoenix pants.
Max woofs, wags his tail, pawing at Amelie as he tries to get to the little girl.
"Wait…." Amelie protests. Phoenix pats her cheek. Amelie glances down at her and her face breaks into a smile. "Hey pumpkin, what’s your name?"
"Phe," she grins, jumping a little in Amelie’s arms.
Amelie props her on her hip, "Hey, Phe." Amelie’s smile widens, "Whatcha wearing on your head."
Phoenix touches the unicorn shaped hairband, "Pepper."
"Good name." She leans in closer, "What about your friend behind you?"
Phoenix gazes at her wide-eyed, "You…can see him?" She gulps.
"Yep, I can. What’s his name?"
"Jack." Phoenix bobs her head, "Jack. Jack."
"Jack?" I turn to Kirsten.
Kirsten nods. "He’s imaginary," she says in a low voice.
"Ah." I glance back at the woman, who bends her glossy blonde head toward the dark blonde-haired kid. Something hot stabs at my chest.
"You want one of your own, huh?" Kirsten nudges me.
"What?" I turn to her, "Of course, not."
Kirsten tilts her head, "Hmm." She looks me up and down. Seeing...what? The bags over my shoulders, the dog straining at the leash, the other end of which I hold onto with my uninjured hand...
I scowl at her, "You have a weird look on your face."
"I am not the one who’s changed." She grins, then reaches up to pat my cheek. "Finally," she titters, "I can’t tell you how I was looking forward to this day."
"You are not making any sense," I grumble.
"It’s normal—so much happening in so little time," she waggles her head, "but when it’s right, it’s right, you know?"
"No," I glower.
The fuck is wrong with my sister? Had I grown another head on my way here?
"Hey," a new voice mumbles. I glance up as my eleven year old niece ambles into the room.
"Skye." I hold out my fist.