Chapter 3
CANE
“Wow.” I don’t look over my shoulder at the sound of Archie’s voice, but it makes me smile all the same. “This is incredible.”
I step back to admire my own work and feel a deep sense of pride rush through me, looking at the small vanity I refurbished for Gabe’s little girl, Amber.
The kid is cute as hell, and while she loves helping her dad work on things around the house, apparently, she’s in a makeup phase and is obsessed with the stuff.
So when I saw this old wooden desk for sale on Facebook Marketplace for pennies, I knew exactly what to do with it. Sanded it down and painted it her favorite color—hot pink, not light pink because she hates that. I found a mirror to attach to it and built a matching stool.
“I’m jealous.”
“Why?” I turn around to face my boyfriend, smiling at his flannel shirt and jeans. That’s exactly what I’m planning to wear to the holiday party tonight too. We’re going to catch so much hell for matching, but I can’t be bothered to care. “You want a pink vanity?”
“Hell yes,” he says with that confident, sexy grin on his handsome face. He steps forward and smooths his hand over the thankfully now-dry paint. “But that’s not what I meant.” His eyes meet mine, flickering with fuckery. “You’re now going to be Amber’s favorite uncle, and I can’t have that.”
“You’re making her cookies,” I say, wrapping my arms around him and smacking his lips with mine. I sniff the air, and my nose wrinkles. “Or burning her some cookies?” I ask, my eyebrow raised.
“Shit!” He pushes away from me and runs toward the kitchen. I follow, laughing at the comical scene. He pulls open the oven door, and smoke bellows out, setting off the smoke alarm and sending Archie into a panic. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”
I can’t help chuckling as I reach for an oven mitt and pull the poor, black, peanut butter cookies from the stove, waving the mitt over the top and trying to clear the smoke.
“Damn it,” he pouts.
I turn off the oven and wave the mitt over my head until the smoke detector stops screaming, then wrap my arms back around Archie and kiss his adorable little nose. “Maybe you should stick to landscaping.”
His bottom lip only pokes out further. “I can bake. You’re a distraction.”
I toss my head back and laugh. “I didn’t do anything.”
“You did.” He wraps his arms around my neck and leans in. “How am I supposed to concentrate when you’re over there in these tight jeans and a tank top . . .” His voice drops low, and I feel that familiar tingle of desire I always do with him. He’s a little distracting himself.
“We have a party to get to,” I say with a grin, then look over my shoulder at the crispy cookies. “And we have cookies to bake.”
“Please tell me that’s a metaphor,” he says, shamelessly grinding against me. But nope, I won’t allow this to be a Christmas fail. What would my mother say?
“Come on,” I say, tugging him toward the refrigerator, where thankfully more cookie dough resides. I may be able to put it on a cookie sheet and follow the directions to bake it, but that’s as far as my cookie-making expertise goes.
I grab the dough and two new pans, directing Archie to try again with his new clean pan, and I do the same with my own, dropping the same-size dollops of dough an inch apart.
“I think maybe your cookies were a little on the small side,” I say, pointing to the pan of discarded burned cookies. “Maybe double up.”
“Size has never been my issue,” he says grumpily, and I can’t help laughing as I pinch his ass playfully.
“You don’t hear me complaining.”
That earns a smirk as he takes his time doubling the size of each cookie, his tongue actually poking out from his mouth as he concentrates. Goddamn, he’s fucking cute. He turns his head to look at me, and I’m totally busted, staring at him like a love-drunk fool. “What?”
I look away, trying to play it cool as I finish putting the cookie dough on my pan. “Just thinking you’d be really good with kids someday.”
The spoon he was using clatters when he drops it, and I look over at him now, seeing he’s gone even paler than normal, and his eyes are bugging out of his head.
Okay, so that didn’t go as planned. I have to admit, I’ve been thinking about it more and more—having kids.
But I wasn’t sure how to approach it with Archie.
It’s not something we’ve talked about or something I ever really thought I needed in my life.
And I’m still not totally sure I do. But I think I might be starting to think I want that—with this man.
I’m not under any delusions that someone needs a child to feel complete.
Lots of things can make you feel complete in life, but if I want them and Archie did too—well, I’m apparently open to it.
But I don’t think we’re on the same page.
“You want kids?” he asks, his voice a little shaky, and I’m kicking myself for even bringing it up. We were having a great time. We have a great life. I shouldn’t have said anything.
“No,” I say, my voice not at all convincing and a little squeaky. I preheat the oven and grab the pans with the burned cookies, scraping them off into the trash. Then I grab a pot holder because the pan is still a little hot, but really, I need something to do.
“Cane,” I hear from behind me, but I don’t look at him.
“I shouldn’t have said that. I’m happy.” I put the pans in the sink and force myself to turn to look at Archie, who looks more perplexed than upset, his arms crossed and his red brows lifted. “I’m really happy.”
“I am too,” he says, and I think that’s going to be the end of it.
He said it—he’s happy with the way things are now.
And so am I. We shouldn’t mess with that.
I mean, we have a mini donkey and a few goats now.
And we’re picking up a little mini cow next week.
We have it made. Why shake things up by adding a kid?
“But I didn’t know you wanted to have kids. ”
“I didn’t say I did.” The oven beeps to let me know it’s preheated, and I put the cookies inside and set the timer, grateful to have something to keep me occupied. I want to be anywhere but here, if I’m being honest.
“You said I’d be good with kids.”
“I think you would be,” I say, walking out of the kitchen and into the living room, looking for my escape.
“Where are you going?” Archie asks, his tone sounding a little amused, so that’s good at least. Though Archie doesn’t ever really get mad or upset often.
He’s an easygoing guy. Something I’ve been in awe of since we met.
He never really worries, while I worry all the time.
I’m high-strung and a mess, so how I think I could make a good father, I’m not really sure.
“Just stay in here and listen for the kitchen timer. Don’t want to distract you,” I say, trying to sound playful.
I sit down on the couch, and he follows, sitting right next to me. “Talk to me.”
Ohhhh, serious Archie. I don’t like it. “What do you want to talk about?” I ask nonchalantly, picking up the remote and flicking through movies until I settle on the super-old Rudolf movie I remember watching when I was a kid.
“You know what I want to talk about. Why are you being so weird about it?”
“Weird? I’m not being weird.” I so am, and my voice sounds really high right now. Squeaky. I don’t like it. “Talk about weird,” I say, nodding toward the television screen. “Can’t believe they let us watch this creepy shit.”
Archie takes the remote from me and turns the TV off, turning to face me. “I like kids. And I can see having them someday,” he says very firmly and calmly.
“But you looked pale and shaky when I mentioned you being good with kids.”
“I didn’t think you wanted them, and I’d be okay with not having any and just being the fun uncle. But if it’s something you want, I think it would be great.”
“Really?” I ask carefully.
“Really,” he says, sweeping his hand through my hair and moving closer to me. “I’m all-in, Cane. Whatever adventure you want to go on, I’m right there with you.”
“Having kids isn’t something you do because your partner wants a kid.”
“You really think I’d suggest having kids if I didn’t want them? That I’d just go along with it?”
I think that over for half a second and then chuckle. “Hell no. You don’t do anything you don’t want to do.”
“True, and I wouldn’t expect you to either. I didn’t think you wanted kids, but seeing how good you are with Amber and how much you cared about making that vanity for her . . .” His hand moves to my cheek, and his eyes hold me in a trance. “You’d be incredible.”
“I don’t know when we’ll actually be ready for a kid or if it will even be possible for us.”
“Maybe we could start by fostering.” Archie actually looks a little nervous putting that out there, and it’s my turn to comfort him, placing my hand on the soft scruff covering his cheek. Archie didn’t grow up with parents. He was in the system.
“That would be incredible.”
“Yeah?” He sounds excited now, his eyes lighting up.
“Yeah.” I look around the large living room and open floor plan of our house. “There are so many kids who need a good home, and we have a good home.”
“We do.” I feel his cheek twitch with a smile underneath my palm. “We really do.”
He leans in to kiss me softly, and the kiss quickly turns heated as I tuck his body under mine.
“We’re going to burn the cookies again, aren’t we?” he asks, his lips still attacking mine but neither of us bothering to move from this couch.
“It’s fine. There’ll be plenty of treats at the party,” I say, kissing the hell out of him, my hands roaming over his hard body.
I don’t know when we’ll take that step to foster, but thinking about the possibilities—about having a family with this man—is exciting and terrifying, but mostly exciting.
I can’t wait for all the things.