Rose
My son is never quiet this early unless he’s getting into something he shouldn’t be or is sick. Both concern me.
He’s like an overexcited cat, jumping on me, crawling over my legs and my belly, demanding to know what we’re doing, where we’re going, and why I’m not moving yet. A loud, trampling, sometimes painful alarm clock I couldn’t ignore even if I wanted to.
I get up and go looking for my son.
He’s not in his bed, which brings back memories of my terror in the motel room, waking to find him gone and our door open. I swear that experience scarred me for life.
Frowning, I hurry to my room, snag a robe, and belt it as I hurry downstairs.
Halfway down, I hear his voice. When a male voice follows it, I slow down before I tumble down the stairs. He’s not alone, so he can’t be up to mischief while someone is with him. Tracking the low murmurs down the stairs and through the entryway, I peek into the kitchen.
I lean against the kitchen doorframe, smiling as I watch my son with Win. Win is dressed for the day in blue jeans and a t-shirt, his long brown hair tied back. He’s at the dining table. Ben is still in his car pajamas, hair messy, standing on a dining chair beside him.
“You wanna mix that real good,” Win says, holding the large white bowl.
Ben grabs the wooden spoon with both hands and mixes as hard as he can. “Like that?”
Win hums, then glances at Ben. “That’s it. How’d you get eggshell in your hair when I was the one doing the cracking?”
I grin.
“Mommy says whatever I touch always ends up on my face and in my hair,” Ben solemnly announces. “She says it’s like magic.”
My body trembles with barely suppressed laughter, and I bite the inside of my cheek to stop any sound from escaping.
Win chuckles. “Well, she wasn’t joking. We’ll have to get you cleaned up before we take this up to her. Don’t want her to think you’re down here rolling over food.”
Ben dissolves into giggles, and my eyes fill with tears.
God, I haven’t heard him that happy in so long.
“It’s time for me to cook this thing.” Win picks up Ben from the chair and crouches in front of him. “The stove is hot, so I’m gonna need you to sit here ready to decorate the plate with fresh strawberries so we impress the heck out of your mom. It’s a big job. Think you can handle it?”
I smile, appreciating that Win has Ben at the dining table and not beside the hot stove while he does this part. But also while making Ben’s part seem like the most important.
Ben nods firmly. “I can do that.”
Win ruffles his hair. “Good job.” He carries the bowl over to a stainless-steel skillet on the stove. After turning on the heat, he adds butter to the pan.
Ben watches Win ladle batter into the hot skillet from his chair at the dining table. “Mommy never has bananas in her pancakes. Are you sure it will help her tummy?”
“We mashed them up,” Win says. “There’s some ginger as well, and that will help her feel better. She won’t taste the ginger with the cinnamon, vanilla, and chocolate chips we put in, though.”
They are both so damn sweet.
Win flips a golden, fluffy pancake onto a white plate and then takes a small dish of thinly sliced strawberries to the dining table. “Now it’s time to work your magic,” he says dramatically.
Giggling, Ben gets to work arranging sliced strawberries around the pancake while Win returns to the stove to ladle more batter into the skillet.
When Ben starts talking about carrying it up to my room, I move away from the doorway, wanting to stay and enjoy watching them some more, but I’d ruin their surprise if they knew I was down here.
I tiptoe up the stairs, peel off my robe, and climb back into bed, pretending to be asleep when my door swings open about ten minutes later.
“Mommy?” Ben calls out.
Yawning extra loud, I sit up in bed. “Yes, baby.” I feign surprise when I see the wooden tray Win is carrying, with a short stack of pancakes topped with sliced strawberries and chocolate chips, a small white jug I’m guessing holds maple syrup, and glasses of water and orange juice. “Wow! What is all this?”
Ben walks in beside Win, looking extra proud. “We made breakfast for you.”
They must have talked about this in the diner yesterday when I was in the restroom. Ben probably told Win that he was worried about me being sick, and they planned this breakfast for me.
Win sets the tray on my lap. “How’s your stomach?”
“A little unsettled, but I think I can manage a little breakfast this morning. If I don’t finish it, it won’t be because it isn’t delicious. It smells amazing.”
Win sticks his hands in his pockets. “It was Ben’s idea. He wanted to do something nice for you since you weren’t feeling well, and you always make sure he has all of his favorite foods when he’s sick. I was happy to help out a bit.”
As if he didn’t do the bulk of the cooking. “Thank you. I really appreciate it.”
“It’s to make you feel better.” Ben scrambles onto my bed, thankfully not moving around so much that I wind up with a mess in my lap.
“Thank you, baby.” I kiss him. “It looks delicious.”
Ben peers over at Win. “Are you going to kiss Win, too?”
I stare at Win. “Ummm…”
“He did more than me.” Ben bounces his gaze between us.
Win shifts from foot to foot, redness sweeping over the apples of his cheeks. “It’s okay, you don’t have to—”
“It’s okay,” I gently cut in. “Will you please get a little closer so I can thank you properly for making me a special breakfast that I’m not sure I deserve?” I glance at the tray in my lap. “I’d move it, but I’m almost guaranteed to make a big mess.”
Moving hesitantly despite my invitation, he pulls his hands from his pockets and sits on the edge of the bed. “Are you sure?”
“It’s okay,” I say, voice low, in case he feels like Ben is bullying me into this kiss. “Thank you for my breakfast, Win.”
Not all kisses have to mean anything. I’ll just give him a quick peck. I’ll have thanked Win for a special breakfast, Ben will be happy, and I can enjoy as much of these yummy-smelling pancakes as my stomach will let me.
His mouth on mine triggers a hot flash fire in my belly.
There’s a brief moment of shock. Of surprise.
Then pleasure. He tastes of vanilla and dark chocolate.
His fingers slide along the nape of my neck, and he angles his head.
Our lips align perfectly. A small rumble of sound, half-groan, half-sigh, sneaks into my mouth.
My toes curl, and I lean closer, craving more.
“Mommy!”
My God, Ben is right there.
I yank myself away from Win, my cheeks burning.
Ben peers up at me as I fuss with the sheets.
Win is up and off the bed in seconds, mumbling something about a mess in the kitchen. Then he’s gone.
“Is Win okay?” Ben asks me.
I can still taste Win’s kiss on my lips, and I don’t think I’ll ever forget it.
“Um. I’m sure he’s doing as well as I am, baby,” I mutter, struggling with my unexpectedly potent response to Win’s kiss. Brain-fried. From the way he was kissing me and the speed he bolted out of my room, he definitely felt something too.
“I don’t understand,” Ben says.
I shake my head. “Never mind. Wanna help Mommy eat this yummy breakfast?”
It’s a beautiful morning in Rios.
The sky is powder blue, and the sun is warming my bare legs and shoulders as I sit on the back porch step, watching Ben practice cartwheels. Ever since Win showed him what one was, he’s become obsessed with perfecting it.
He’s in shorts and a yellow t-shirt, and I’m in a knee-length purple sundress with thin straps.
We’re both barefoot. Ben hates wearing shoes unless he’s going out, a habit he likely inherited from me.
As he flings himself across the soft, green grass, I keep my cell phone on the porch instead of filling it with a thousand more photos and videos than I need.
Behind me, a door creaks, and I twist around to see who it is.
Heat licks over my cheeks as my gaze collides with Win. “Hey. I thought you left for work already.” I try to stay casual about a kiss that turned molten hot, lightning quick.
Murph and Joel had left for work by the time Ben and I finished our lazy, self-indulgent breakfast in bed.
Ben ate more pancakes than I did, but what little I had definitely helped settle my stomach.
Then I got us ready for the day and carried our empty tray down to the kitchen, loaded the dishwasher, and started it.
Win hovers near the door, avoiding my gaze. His hand grips the doorknob, a sign of his tension. “I was just leaving. I wanted to say bye to you and Ben.”
Ben is doing yet another cartwheel. We’re probably in double digits by this morning, and he’s showing no sign of stopping soon. “You created a monster. I’ve never seen him so laser-focused.”
Win chuckles. “He’s improving so fast. I can come out with him when I get back from work.”
“He’d like that. Thanks.”
Win turns to leave.
“Um, Win. Are you sure I can’t do something around the house? Maybe I could start dinner? Y’all have been doing so much for Ben and me. I’d like to help out.”
A line forms between his brows. “None of us expects you to clean or cook for us while we’re at work, Rose. And you’re having a baby. You need—”
Ben sucks in a breath. “A baby?”
Win blanches, and I wince, briefly closing my eyes before looking down, already knowing what I’ll find.
Ben peers up at me from the bottom of the porch, his eyes enormous.
Yep. He definitely heard that, and there is no way to convince him that he didn’t.
“Uh, sorry, Rose,” Win apologizes.
I hadn’t worked out how I would tell him, but maybe this isn’t a bad time to tell him after all. He’s been worried that I’m sick and he’ll lose me. This way, I can reassure him that this is a good kind of sickness, one that comes with a new friend for him to play with.
“It’s okay, Win. Really, it’s fine,” I reassure him when he doesn’t seem to believe me. “Why don’t you go to work? I don't know how long this conversation will take, but please don’t feel bad. Ben’s like me.” I hug Ben and kiss the top of his head. “Big ears and way too curious.”
Win nods, though he still looks guilty. “If you need anything…”
“We know where to find you, and I have your number.” I smile. “Thanks again for the breakfast. It felt amazing to be spoiled like that.”
He leaves with a nod for me and a smile for Ben.
I look at Ben and try to decide how to tell him about the baby in a way he will understand. He likes being around people and can never have enough friends, so I don’t anticipate him hating the idea of being a big brother.
“Mommy has a little brother or sister growing in my tummy,” I say.
He looks so disbelievingly at my flat stomach that I laugh.
“You won’t see them growing yet, Ben.” He has a basic idea of where babies come from. He’s always been a curious child, so Simon and I told him in vague terms that he came from inside me. “But Mommy’s tummy will get bigger. It’ll be a boy or a girl.”
He squints at me. “I want a brother more. Can I choose?”
I grin. “It doesn’t work like that, baby. When he or she comes along, I might need your help to show them how to play with their toys and put them away neatly.”
Maybe we’ll have figured out how to put away the toys neatly by then. One can hope.
“So you don’t step on Lego again?” he asks.
I nod at a surprisingly painful experience I’ve endured more than I’d like. “Yes, so Mommy doesn’t step on Lego.”
“I guess I could do that.” He looks at my stomach again.
“You won’t see anything yet, but there’s a teeny-tiny baby growing inside me. Maybe it’s the size of a peanut or even smaller. Just like you were once.”
He wrinkles his nose. “Even smaller than a peanut?”
“Yes, a peanut.” I hug him. “But everyone grows. You remember those light-up sneakers you loved so much you’d cry if you couldn’t wear them every day?”
“Yeah.”
“And what happened to them?”
“They shrunk.”
I tickle his side until he laughs and twists away. “They did not shrink, Ben Hayes, and you know that for a fact. You got bigger, and you’ll keep on getting bigger. Just like your little brother or sister will.”
He looks at me, then my belly again, and this time it’s not so disbelieving. “Are you sure I can’t choose? A boy would be more fun than a girl.”
“Positive. And girls can be very fun. How about we head downtown and look around?”
He perks up. “The firehouse?”
“Not today, but I promise that day is coming soon.” I’ve been hoping my morning sickness won’t be so bad that I can stick around for however long the visit lasts.
I don’t want to end it early or worry Ben by rushing off to throw up.
“I noticed an ice cream parlor yesterday. We can go for a walk in town and get an ice cream cone. Maybe we can see where Murph works.” The ice cream parlor hadn’t been too far away from Lucky’s Toy Shop, and a sign in the window showed it only opens in spring and summer, probably because it’s so small with not even space to sit inside.
Hopefully Murph’s bosses won’t mind us stopping by.
Ben jumps up and down. “Can we get him an ice cream cone?”
I kiss his hair. “You are a very sweet boy, and yes, maybe we could.”