Bonus Kisses - Freya Barker Page 0,73
I’m pretty?”
I look in the rearview mirror and take in the expression on her face, wishing I could touch her. “Very much so,” I assure her. “The kind of pretty I know will blossom into beautiful.”
She turns her face to the window and a little smile tugs at her mouth. She’s quiet again the rest of the way home, but the smile stays.
“Okay, guys. Everyone grab a few bags and bring them straight through to the kitchen, please.”
The kids are waiting for me to unlock the front door and barge right through inside, only to freeze a few steps in.
“What’s going—” I don’t get any farther as I freeze right behind them and take in the devastation that was the living room. “Sofie? I thought you said you locked the dogs’ crate.”
“I did,” she whispers. “I’m sure I did.”
We were gone for maybe an hour—tops—and the living room looks like a bomb exploded. Stuffing bulging out of the couch, torn pillows strewn about, their contents spilling everywhere. Snippets of paper, old coffee grounds, ripped plastic bags, and God knows what else. And in the middle of it all, two exhausted pups sleeping right through our return.
“Kids, take the dogs out.”
I wait for the kids to hustle the dogs outside and then I sink down on the bottom step of the stairs and drop my head in my hands. Of course this has to happen only a few hours before my parents get here.
I could cry, but that’s not going to solve anything. Instead, I take a deep breath in, grab the grocery bags that were dropped by the front door, and proceed to put the stuff away.
An hour later the kids are in their rooms, the dogs in their crate—properly locked this time—and I am tying up the last garbage bag. I open the door to toss it with the other five bags already stacked outside, as Rafe’s truck pulls up.
Shit. I’d so hoped to have the worst of it taken care of before he got home.
“What are you up to?”
He walks up in that casual stride, unaware of the destruction still waiting inside. I sure hope we have duct tape, we’re gonna need quite a bit of it to temporarily patch things up inside.
“I’m, uh, cleaning up. We had a bit of an incident here.”
Rafe looks instantly alarmed. “Kids okay?”
I have to grab his arm to stop him from barging inside without warning.
“Kids are fine. Dogs are fine, although I’m not sure for how long. They got out and…rearranged the furniture.”
He pulls up his eyebrow. “Rearranged? How badly.”
“Oh, pretty badly. We’re gonna need to do some furniture shopping.”
“You’re shitting me,” he mutters, as he walks in the door.
I expect a series of expletives, some yelling maybe, but instead it stays silent, and finally I follow him inside. He has his back to me—beside the couch—standing stock-still. Then his shoulders start shaking.
“Rafe?” I rush up behind him and put my hand on his back, which is when he throws his head back and starts laughing.
Not the reaction I was expecting.
I look at what’s left of the living room and back at Rafe, trying to figure out what is so funny.
“Don’t look so worried,” he finally says, humor still shining in his eyes as he hooks an arm around my waist. “I don’t care. My whole life I’ve cared. Put too much importance on stuff. Even growing up I held on to what little was mine thinking it would make me happy.”
“Rafe…” I slide my hand up his chest and look up in his face.
He tugs me closer, smiling down. “Now I know stuff is just that; stuff. It doesn’t make you happy—people do. My kids do. You do. I lo—”
“Hello! We’re a little early. Why is the front door open?”
Rafe
Taz jumps back like she’s hit with ten thousand volts.
It doesn’t go unnoticed. Sarah glares sharply at Taz, before her eyes come to me.
“What’s going on here?”
“Grandma!” Spencer comes running downstairs and barrels straight into her legs, wrapping his arms around. Sarah’s eyes drop down as her hand automatically goes to his floppy hair.
“Hey, little man.”
“Where’s Grandpa?”
“Right here, little buddy.” I hadn’t even noticed Ed coming in behind his wife.
Taz is still standing frozen and I give her a little nudge when I pass. “Let me find you a place to sit, Dad.”
“Lilo and Stitch were bad,” my son volunteers. “They ate the living room.”
“I can see that,” Ed says dryly, taking a look around.
“Why would you leave the dogs alone?