I Wet My Plants #2
“Lord, I wish I was mom of that boy. He’s the kindest, gentlest soul I know who would give anyone the shirt off his back. But no, I’m not his mom.”
She wipes at the tears in her eyes, her smile wavering a little as something dark crosses her expression. Then she waves her hand as if to brush away whatever bothered her in that moment.
“Oh dear, that robe. I’ve done talked your ear off. Let me get it for you. Watch Lottie for me, okay?” she asks, then scoots out the door and down the hall.
Watch Lottie. Watch her do what, exactly?
I sit on the barstool and stare at the toddler, and she stares back.
I realize quickly that this is the same child as the one in that photo, just a few years older.
The soft auburn spray of hair from the photo is now a full blown fluff ball, which I have to admit is kind of cute.
I mean, cute for an obnoxious, gross toddler. But cute, nonetheless.
Lottie picks up a Cheerio and holds it out to me.
“More?” she asks. I balk at the outstretched hand, then mentally chastise myself. This is a child, not a monster. I take a deep breath, then grimace into a smile—as if that will make me appear friendly instead of allergic to children.
“You want more?” I look around the kitchen, feeling out of my element until I spot the cereal box on the countertop.
I start to reach for it, but then second guess the move.
What if the amount on her tray was pre-measured?
My mom did that when I was a kid so I wouldn’t eat too much, and she went ballistic if I ate even a bite more than what was given to me. What if Bec felt the same way?
I look back at the little girl and shake my head. “You have more on your tray.”
“More?” She continues to hold out her hand, and I see the slimy Cheerio in her hand and suddenly understand.
I hesitate for a moment, then with cautious fingers, I take the Cheerio she holds out to me.
She grins, her little teeth like pearls in her mouth.
Then she gets another Cheerio off the tray and shoves it in her mouth, watching me the whole time.
I pretend to do the same, and she laughs as I make chewing noises.
The sound is like a bell, and it goes straight to my heart, sending chills through my veins on the way.
Oh, that sound. It both breaks and warms my heart. I focus on the latter, burying my pain as I grin back at her. A real smile, this time. She laughed at something I did, and it’s as if a bird flew from the sky and landed on my open palm.
Bec returns just as I take another Cheerio from Lottie’s outstretched hand.
“Ah, I see she’s included you in her little game. Sweet Lottie, you’re such a giver!” The little girl squeals as Bec bends down and peppers her with kisses. “Here’s my robe. It’s probably too big for you, but at least you’ll be warm.”
She hands over the robe and I slip it on.
It’s a little worn, but the weathered fabric feels smooth against my skin.
There’s a comforting odor to it—like laundry detergent and the faint scent of cookies.
The scent reminds me of my Grandma Dot, who used to putter around her house in the morning in her own worn robe while Nina and I took over the couch and watched cartoons.
“So, Jordy.” Bec hands me a cup of coffee, along with the creamer and sugar, both of which I wave off. “Is that short for something?”
“My full name is Jordan, but no one really calls me that.”
“I like that name,” she says, then smiles at me.
Her smile is so inviting, I feel something soften inside me.
This is the first time anyone has been welcoming to me in this town, and I haven’t realized how much I need that.
I wrap her robe around me, then with a wary glance at Lottie, I choose the furthest barstool at the kitchen island with my coffee cup in tow.
When I take a sip, I grimace at the bitterness of the black.
“Do you have almond milk?” I ask, and she shakes her head.
“No, but the cream is fresh. Straight from the cow this morning.” She nods at the carafe she’d offered earlier, and I lift it reluctantly.
I haven’t had milk in ages, mostly because I can’t stand the taste.
I sniff at it, pour a little in my cup, then I take another sip—and damn, if it’s not the smoothest, creamiest coffee I’ve had in ages.
“Pretty good, huh?”
“This is milk?”
Bec laughs, nodding. “Tastes way different than at the store, huh?” She pulls a plate from the cabinet, then the pan off the dish rack. “Can I make you some breakfast? We all ate a few hours ago, but you’re probably starving. I could make you some eggs and bacon, some hash browns, some…”
She trails off, probably noticing the green tinge to my expression. Yes, I’m starving. The little bit I ate last night was lost on the restaurant floor, and it’s now nearing noon. That means it’s been about twenty-four hours since my last decent meal.
But eating something? I can’t stomach anything right now.
“That probably sounds terrible,” Bec tuts, and I nod.
“I’m sorry. Any other day and that would be amazing, but right now, I think I just need water and nothing else.”
“Darling, you need more than water. If you don’t get something in you, you’re just going to feel sick the rest of the day. Do you trust me?”
I do not know this woman. But I nod anyway, because yes, I trust her.
I’ve known her all of ten minutes, and she’s already the motherliest woman I know.
Of course, my own mom doesn’t have a motherly bone in her body, so this isn’t exactly a fair assessment.
But Bec is made of mom material. She’s housing me in her home, a total stranger.
She’s feeding me. She trusts me around her granddaughter, even if I don’t trust myself.
Still, it doesn’t stop my curiosity about the girl—partly because she’s Ashton’s daughter, but also because my horror around kids is a like train wreck. They terrify me, and I also can’t focus on anything else when they’re around.
“Is Lottie her full name? Or is short for something?” I ask.
“Charlotte Rebecca Felix. Named after my mother, who was also named Charlotte, and me. Though I’m pretty sure Sasha was actually naming her after that sweet spider in Charlotte’s Web . She used to love that book when she was little, and made me read it to her every night.”
Sasha. This must be Lottie’ mother. Bec’s daughter, maybe?
“Does Sasha read it to Lottie now?”
Bec’s smile freezes. She turns quickly back to the counter where she’s preparing food, but not before I see her smile drop.
“No, but I do. This girl loves to be read to. She just turned two over the summer, and she got piles of books from her Papa and me. She makes me read her exactly three books before every nap. Any less, and she throws a fit. Maybe it’s the reading, or maybe because she’s this big two-year-old now, but it’s like this little light bulb went off.
She’s growing like a weed and trying out new words.
But mostly she just babbles at us and expects us to understand.
Which we do sometimes, right sweet girl? ”
Lottie looks up, and it’s apparent that “Sweet Girl” is as familiar a name to her as her own given name.
“You are obviously so proud of her.”
Bec blushes, waving her hand. “I’m sorry. I’m gushing too much, aren’t I? She’s our first grandbaby, and we just love her to pieces. We’re so lucky that Ashton has remained close with our family and lets us be such a huge part of her life.”
She doesn’t have to say it, but it confirms what I’ve started to suspect.
Sasha is not part of the picture anymore.
Ashton tromps through the front door at that moment, followed by an older man with a large grey mustache and a wide-brimmed hat, both of them covered head to toe in dirt as if they’ve rolled in mud.
The dirt doesn’t distract me from Ashton, however.
I hold my breath as my eyes take him in, dazzled by his grin as he goes straight for Lottie.
Goddamn, that man is gorgeous. He’s wearing a flannel shirt, rolled up to reveal dark forearms, one of which sports a black and white lion tattoo.
Even with the shirt on, I can’t get over the size of his arms, the way his muscles strain against the fabric, the broadness of his shoulders as if he were a football player instead of a farmer working the field.
He is so beautiful, I have to tear my eyes away.
Even then, I’m overwhelmed by his scent—a mixture of intoxicating, woody sweat mingling with the smell of grass and gasoline—all testosterone and male—leaving me breathless.
What the hell is wrong with me?
“Bob, this is Jordy,” Bec says, interrupting my inner turmoil as she introduces her husband. I look up, hoping my smile hides the fact that I cannot breathe while Ashton is in the room.
“Ma’am,” the older man says, nodding his head before kissing Bec on the cheek. She leans away from him in an effort to not get dirty, even as her eyes crinkle with affection. He gives me another nod, then disappears around the corner towards the bedrooms.
“And you know Ashton,” she continues.
“That might be too familiar a term, but she did throw up on my shoes, so I guess we’re friends now.”
I feel my face burn, but I stay silent as I narrow my eyes at him, even as my heart is still recovering from the way his presence takes up the whole room.
The corner of his mouth twitches, and then he winks at me—a move so unexpected that I don’t anticipate the way my heart flutters, or the way I have to avert my eyes to keep from staring at the easy way he smiles at me.
Get a grip, Jordy . He’s a stranger in enemy territory.
And he has a kid. When I look back, the expression on his face is only more amused.
“I see you survived the night,” he teases. “I thought you could handle your Manhattans, New York.”
“Ha ha.” But I’m mortified, especially as I remember heaving my dinner all over my shoes.
“Enough,” Bec orders. “You, in the shower,” she says to Ashton. Then she turns to me, “and you, get some food in that belly of yours.”
She sets a bowl of applesauce in front of me, some rice, a half bananas, a piece of toast, and a large glass of cloudy water. “That’s electrolyte water, with lemon juice and salt. I expect you to drink all of that.”
“You better listen,” Ashton mocks, then leaps out of the way when Bec snaps a towel at him.