Chapter 21 #2
Julian nods. “Yeah, sweetheart, go ahead.”
I set Grace down gingerly before she runs a short distance to her uncle. “Boo!” She laughs, wrapping her arms around his leg. “I got you!”
My heart melts as Christian slaps a hand over his heart and gasps. “Gracie! You scared me!”
She laughs loudly and he squats to pick her up in his big arms. I turn away and give them their quality time, and Julian sits beside me. “So? Is he still taking care of the garden?”
I snort. “That garden is his baby, Julian. I’m scared to touch it,” I say. “I’m convinced it was more for him that it was for me.”
He chuckles. “How is he?”
I shrug and hug my new giant stuffed llama. “Good, but I think you know that.”
“How would I know that?”
“He goes to the gym every morning,” I say, then shoot him a look. “And you know something I don’t.”
Julian sighs and glances over at Christian and Grace. “He still hasn’t told you?”
I shake my head. “Should I be scared?”
“No,” he says quickly, “you shouldn’t be.”
“He seems to think that whatever he has to tell me will make me hate him,” I murmur.
“Are you asking me to tell you if I think you will?”
My lips curve down, a weight pulling at the corners of my lips.
I watch him interact with his niece, a grin on his face as he makes her laugh and squeal in conversation.
I imagine how wonderful he’ll be with our own children.
He wants us to have two girls one day, and I think he’ll be the best father.
“I know I won’t hate him,” I rasp. “I just…worry.”
“I can’t tell you,” Julian says. “It’s his story to tell. But every day I see him at the gym, he asks me how to talk to you about it and I always tell him the same thing.”
“What do you tell him?”
“Talk to Lana.”
“What does that—”
“It means he needs to stop thinking he’s going to talk to a detective or a judge, and he needs to remember he’s talking to you. Someone who has loved him through everything,” he tells me. “But he’s still kind of a scaredy cat.”
I snort. “I see where Grace learned the term.”
Julian chuckles, his shoulder shaking in tandem with the deep sound. “I’m trying not to curse around her.”
“I’m surprised you’ve held out for so long.”
“I’m really trying.” He shakes his head. “It took a while for her to stop saying shit.”
I belly laugh loudly and Christian’s eyes fly over to me with a beatific smile on his face. “You taught her that.”
“Not on purpose,” he mutters. “But how are you, Lana? Really?”
“Impatient,” I whisper. “But I’m trying.”
“I’m not picking sides, you know that, but just trust him, yeah? As your best guy friend, I can promise you it’s worth it.”
“I know he is,” I say. “I just… I didn’t realize he was talking to you about how to talk to me.”
“It’s getting annoying,” Julian grumbles. “Lana this, Lana that—I love her so much. He doesn’t shut the fuck up.”
I laugh. “Thank you, Jules.”
He shrugs and I lean my head on his shoulder. “For being there for him. And for me.”
“Anytime,” he says. “But don’t let him off too easily yet.”
I huff. “I know.”
“And I’m not letting you off too easily either. I haven’t seen you at the gym all summer.”
I grimace. “Yeah, about that—”
“Daddy! Daddy!” Gracie comes running toward the picnic table with a bottle of water in her hand. “I got water.”
Julian helps her open the bottle and drink from it while Christian sets down the tray with our food. “What are you two doing here?”
Julian pulls Grace onto his lap just as Christian slides a small basket of chicken fingers in front of his niece. “Gracie, did you ask Uncle Christian for food?”
She smiles and shakes her head.
Christian chuckles. “She said she’s hungry, it’s fine.”
“Did you say thank you?” Julian scolds Grace, who is still unfazed and smiling.
“Thank you, Uncle Christian.”
“You’re welcome, princess.”
My heart melts, again. Ovaries? Obliterated. I imagine he’d call our babies princess too.
“I thought it was time to bring Grace to her first Willow Springs carnival,” Julian answers while breaking apart pieces of chicken tenders. “We went on the kiddy rides, got her to sit on a pony.”
“His name was Jeff,” Grace says, ketchup smeared at the corner of her mouth.
“And his name was Jeff,” Julian echoes.
Beneath the table, Christian’s hand wraps around my knee. I look at him and he meets my eyes with a smirk before he whispers, “We’ll bring our kids to ride Jeff.”
I giggle, grateful that Julian and Grace are preoccupied with chicken tenders and fries. I reach over my hotdog to whisper in Christian’s ear, “Later, I’ll ride you.”
A deep rumbling comes from his chest as I sit back down and drizzle ketchup on my hotdog.
“I don’t think I can take it anymore,” Christian groans, leaning against the back of the donut truck.
I laugh. “What happened to you? We used to go on all these rides, multiple times.”
Somehow, he turns green and I hear a quiet gag. He begins to shake his head, emphasizing the end of our night at the carnival. “Nope—Nope, we’re done for the night.”
“Party pooper.” I pout. “Come, sit. I’ll get us some water.”
I grab onto his arm and bring him with me to one of the empty picnic tables. He plops down, hugging our stuffed llama, his other hand cradling his stomach. “I’ll be right back. Try not to throw up on anyone.”
“Wait. Here.” Groaning, he reaches in his pocket.
“I can buy a bottle of water, Christian. Just relax.”
At the donut truck, I buy both of us bottles of water. Back at the picnic table, Christian has his head down using the llama as a pillow on the table. “Baby.” I straddle the bench and open a bottle. “Baby, drink some.”
Of all the times we’ve come to this carnival, I have never seen Christian as sick as he is right now—even as he drinks half the bottle of water. “I’m getting old,” he rasps.
I chuckle, rubbing circles on his back. “Let’s go home. I’ll make us tea to settle your stomach or something.”
“No, no, baby,” he husks, grimacing. “No, just give me a minute and we’ll get on the pirate ship.”
“No, we’re done with the rides tonight,” I say.
“I’ll bring you back tomorrow, Lana, I promise.” Christian frowns. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Christian.” I hold his gorgeous face in my hands. “You’re sick, we’re going home. And yes, we can come back tomorrow.”
He smiles, which always makes me smile. His hands come to my face and his thumbs press into my dimples. “I love these.”
“I love you,” I murmur.
“I know.” Christian pulls me in, crashing his lips on mine. “There is somewhere we haven’t been yet.”
Christian stands and takes our llama with us. “Grab on,” he says and squats.
“What?” I stand.
“Hop on, Lana!”
“Okay, okay!” I wrap my arms around his neck and jump, my legs wrapping around his waist, and his hands catch me under my knees. “Where are we—”
Christian is jogging, and I finally see where we’re going.
The same photobooth we always visited during each carnival visit.
Right in front of it, he squats and sets me down carefully.
He opens the curtain and sits, putting the llama between his knees.
I wait for him to find a comfortable position, even though he takes up the entire bench and his long legs are bent awkwardly in the small space.
Christian pulls me across his lap without hesitation. “Black and white or color?”
I adjust myself on his lap, wrapping an arm around his neck. “You already know the answer to that.”
He presses the button for black and white and the timer begins counting down from five.
Our first photo: our cheeks pressed together with a smile on both of our faces.
Our second photo: Christian licking my cheek and my face is contorted, mid laugh, as I try to push him away.
Our third photo: Smiling with our tongues out and touching.
Our fourth photo: I’m kissing Christian’s cheek, my hand on his other to hold him close, and a smile on his handsome face.
Our final photo: his hand comes around my jaw and he presses his lips to mine softly, kissing me even after the flash goes off.
His hand on my throat tightens slightly and I moan, his tongue grazing mine as my hand at his nape pulls him in harder. “I love you,” I breathe against his lips.
“I love you.” Christian pulls back slowly.
“Feeling better?” I tease.
His cheeks go pink. “A bit.”
I kiss him one more time.
He smiles, his cheeks burning brighter, and I know… “Lana?”
“Yeah?” He isn’t going to say it, so I will. I slide off his lap and open the curtain. Outside, I look at him suffering in the confined space and smirk. “Christian?”
“Yeah?”
“Wanna make out on the ferris wheel?” I ask. I take a few steps back, hoping he’ll follow.
His tiny smile transforms into a grin as he slides out of the booth with our llama. “Lana Aurora Gomez,” he gasps mockingly. “Are you trying to scandalize me?”
I laugh, my hands fisting his t-shirt and pulling him forward. “Maybe,” I say, smiling against his lips.
“Scandalize me, baby.”
“My pleasure.”