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“Nope, the other thing.”
“Keep it up, and I’ll cancel your birth certificate.”
I snort, choking down my laugh because when kids have three Southern parents, they say the darnedest things because we do, too.
“No, Azora.” I hold my coffee like a chalice. Like I’m a queen on a throne, not a folding chair. Like I’m teaching our pissed-off princess how to rule the world. “I told you if you’re going to be a smartass, young lady, then do it right and look the person in the eye.”
Our daughter doesn’t want to, but she smirks.
I swear, she looks like Beau, all brown hair and blue eyes, but she has my sass and Colt’s big heart. She’s a good big sister. Her little brother just tests her.
Because Will? Our five year old? He has my black hair and Colt’s speed. But damn if he’s not like Beau, always planning a prank, always trying to annoy her.
Hell, Beau still does it to me.
Last week, he left me a sweet note by the coffee pot to check under his pillow. I thought I’d find his usual gift, a paper rose made from our books. But no. It was another note that read,
“Touchdown. I farted on this pillow. Love you!” Xo, Willuf
Don’t worry.
I got him back.
I wrote on his truck’s bumper,
“Please honk & wave. Annoy me like I annoy my beautiful wife.”
But Val? Our nine month old? She has Colt’s brown eyes, tracking him like a hawk. If I’m not holding her, she reaches for him. But then she’s always smiling for Beau and has his brown hair. Either way, she’s got their grip. She’s already yanked out three pairs of my earrings.
“Come on, pumpkin.” Carefully, Colt rises from his chair beside me, one hand cupping Val in her carrier, the other reaching for Azora’s hand. “I’m an NFL Hall of Famer. I think I can manage throwing a ball with our daughter whileholding the other one.”
I swoon, warmth flooding my heart for the umpteenth time at the sight before me. Every day, I fall more in love with my husbands and our kids.
Ultimately, whose child is whose?
The answer: they’re ours. Beau is Papa, Colt is Dad, I’m Mama, and… I’m done.
No more kids.
Azora came fast. We had our lavish wedding at The Mercier in Charleston, and I swear they got me pregnant that night.
Will was a surprise. I think he was our treat after the tricks we enjoyed at the annual Halloween party hosted by Silas & Eily Van de May.
Damn, those parties are worth waiting for. And damn, like every mom, I need a break sometimes. Give me some shameless holiday sex to keep me sane.
But Val? I think she was my birthday baby, and we had to fight for her. The doctors put me on bed rest for the last three months. Of course, my husbands took care of me and our kids. And yeah, I wrote two books while I was stuck in bed, but still.
We didn’t want to lose her, and I can’t go through that fear again.
Besides, forty is around the corner for us, and our life is full.
Beau’s a leading NFL game analyst for ESPN. He’s a fixture on Monday Night Football.
Colt retired a few years after Beau and then got busy expanding our restaurants into almost every Mercier hotel property worldwide. He’s also become quite a chef.
And me?
I’m on book number thirty-eight. I even have another pen name—Raven Hawk—for my kids’ books. They’re about a flock of young birds with rainbow feathers who make a pact. They learn if they fly together, they’re safer and stronger.
