been abusive and she’d had his child. She probably would’ve continued to teach rather than go to culinary school and definitely wouldn’t have moved to Sanctuary Cove.
Her expression softened. “Of course, sweetie.”
Picking up a gingerbread man, Collier bit off the head. “Please don’t eat me,” he pleaded in a plaintive cry through closed lips as if he were a ventriloquist. “But I have to eat you because you’re so good,” he said in his normal baritone. He was about to take another bite when his voice changed again, this time mimicking the iconic horror movie doll Chucky. “You’ll be sorry if you take another bite.”
“Bite him, Uncle Collier!” Layla screamed hysterically.
“Eat, eat, eat,” Iris chanted in between peals of laughter.
Collier took two bites and then collapsed to the floor, holding his stomach and writhing as if in pain. Layla joined him on the floor, tickling him as he begged her to stop.
“Come help me, Miss Iris,” Layla shouted. “We need to make Uncle Collier tap out.”
Iris joined Layla and Collier on the kitchen floor, holding on to Collier’s arm and bending it in an attempt to make him give up. They’d become combatants in a free-for-all tag team, Layla screaming for Collier to give up as Iris labored to keep him from moving. She knew he could’ve easily freed himself but he pretended to struggle. Layla’s shrieking escalated to ear-piercing screams. Collier lay partially atop her, not permitting her space to wiggle.
Iris jumped on his back, clamping his head in a sleeper hold, a move used by professional wrestlers. She felt an instant flare of desire with her body pressed so intimately against Collier’s. “Pretend you’re going to sleep,” she said in his ear. He went limp, rolling off Layla as Iris continued the pretense of applying pressure to his temples. Seconds later, he lay, eyes closed, on his back.
Layla, scrambling off the floor, twirled around and around. “We did it, Miss Iris! We are the tag-team champions of the world!”
“What’s going on here?”
Recognizing Tracy’s voice, Collier jumped to his feet. Her expression changed, going from confusion to shock as he closed the distance between them, sweeping her up in his arms. The last time he’d seen Tracy, she wore her hair in tiny twists. Now the twists were long enough to graze her jaw. Burying her face against his throat, she cried without making a sound.
“Why didn’t you let me know you were coming home?” she sobbed, shaking uncontrollably.
Collier turned around, staring directly at Iris. She’d gathered Layla close to her side. They exchanged a subtle look of understanding.
“Why don’t you guys hang out on the porch while Layla and I finish cooking? We’ll call you when everything’s ready.”
He nodded and walked Tracy out to the porch, settling her on the love seat and sitting down beside her. Reaching into the back pocket of his jeans, he took out a handkerchief and dabbed her moist face.
Stretching an arm over the back of the wicker sofa, Collier stared out at the encroaching darkness. Porch lights had come on and light shone through the windows of the six homes lining Coosaw Court. He’d learned to ride a bike and played baseball, basketball, and football in the cul-de-sac where homeowners parked their vehicles in driveways or on lawns in order to provide a safe space for their children to play.
Extending his legs, he pulled Tracy closer. “I wanted to surprise you,” he said after a comfortable silence. “I knew if I’d called you—”
“I know,” Tracy said, interrupting him. “I would’ve acted a fool like I did when you told me you were coming back from Iraq, but when I didn’t hear back from you for almost a week, I had a meltdown.”
Collier tugged on her twists. “Let the choir say amen,” he teased.
Tracy slapped at his hand. “Very funny,” she drawled. “How long are you staying this time?”
“I’ll be here through Christmas.”
Two deep lines of concern appeared between Tracy’s eyes. “Are you on medical leave? Because you’ve never come home that long. What are you hiding from me, Collier?”
Chuckles beginning in Collier’s throat bubbled up as he threw back his head and laughed loudly. “I’m not hiding anything. Do you want to conduct a strip search to check for wounds?”
Tracy punched him softly in the shoulder. “Don’t be gross.” She looped her arm through his. “I’m glad you’re home. I’ve just about worn my knees out praying for you.”
Light from the lanterns flanking the front door cast a flattering glow over Tracy’s