view of the sky.
“This might be the coolest thing I’ve ever done,” she said with awe as he handed her a nearly full glass of wine.
“I was hoping so,” he said. He pulled a dessert tray from the basket and leaned back, closing the few inches between them so they were pressed into each other. He laid the tray on his lap and took a sip of wine.
“Have you done this often?” she asked. She was trying desperately not to sound jealous, but the thought of him doing this with other women took some of the magic of the moment away.
“Yep,” he said with a grin. Of course he had. “My brothers and I used to find construction sites and climb into the buckets with beer and chips. We never brought cushions . . . or women,” he finished, making her feel so much better. Her heart beat a little faster at his words. This was a first for him too. She was very pleased to hear it.
“Is that what made you want to build things?” she asked. She sipped on her wine as the color faded from the sky, their world growing darker. She searched for the first stars. She loved to find them, then watch in fascination as the sky slowly filled.
“No, I wanted to build from the time I was two or three. I got a set of those Lincoln Logs for Christmas and wouldn’t share them with my brothers. We always shared everything, but I was seriously territorial over those logs. I’d make cabins, and fireplaces, and different styles of houses. Then, when I got a little older, I’d look for scrap pieces of wood and put things together like birdhouses and miniature silos. Noah grew interested in architecture pretty young too, and he started drawing things up. I’d find materials and bring the drawings to life — in miniature scale of course.”
“Wow, do you still have the things you made?” she asked. “What a treasure.”
He shook his head. “No, I’d create something, and then tear it apart so I could reuse the material.”
“That’s tragic,” she told him.
“I wish I did have them,” he admitted. “Then when I have kids someday I could’ve lined them all up to see which little ones took an interest . . . which kids wanted to tear things up, and which ones wanted to rebuild. Now I might have to try to recreate them just so I can do that.”
“I’m never having kids,” she said. Her glass was empty, and she looked at it with a frown. He laughed as he grabbed the bottle and refilled.
“Why aren’t you having kids?” he asked.
“I know, I know, it seems so odd for a woman to say she doesn’t want to procreate. But seriously, I’ve never been one who looks at children and feels a skip in my heart and a clutch in my stomach. I see dirty faces, snotty noses, and hissy fits. I see mothers who can barely keep their eyes open and have mismatched socks because they’re so flustered. As the kids get older, all of that mellows. But then I see the worst in humanity: teenagers who are horrible pains in the butt, in my opinion. They are rude, ungrateful, messy, and demanding. If a person’s lucky, they make it through all of that, and then it’s a fifty-fifty chance they have a relationship with that kid. Tons of them hate their parents, tons never come home, and a lot fall off the deep end, getting into drugs or a life of crime. I’d rather not take the risk.”
When she looked at Hudson, his eyes were wide, his mouth open. Then he laughed. “Wow, I’ve never heard someone describe children like that. Everyone I know always says they’re the future, and we’d be empty without them. I’ve always planned on having kids, but after that speech, I might have to change my mind,” he said, his laughter growing.
“I’m just saying what I’ve witnessed. I also know people who truly enjoy their kids. But I figure I’d be on the losing end of the deal. My parents were good people, but they didn’t want to be parents. I was lucky and had gramps. He loved me, and I was a little jerk to him a lot of the time. I’m glad he didn’t give up on me, but that doesn’t excuse the way I treated him.”
“You aren’t exactly responsible for how you treat others as a child,” he said.
“I fully