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“Wasn’t necessary. I saw you coming from a mile away.” She motions to the winding driveway, which might be that long.
“Glad that’s settled.”
“Is it, though?”
“Listen, love muffin.” I wink when she rolls her eyes. “It’s okay to admit that you missed me. Feel free to stake your claim and spread the word. I won’t get scared off.”
“What?” Gemma claps her cheeks theatrically. “That’s brand-new information.”
“Oh, look who’s being silly. Auntie Gem-Gem has a sense of humor, Tiny Tot.”
Wren tilts her head to the side, glances at Gemma, and then blinks at me. Her little palms slap my cheeks to mirror her aunt’s pose. She giggles loudly when I flinch.
“You get ‘em, cutie.” Gemma gives her a thumbs-up.
Wren flubs her lips while trying to get her fine motor skills to cooperate. In the end, she manages to flip us off. I probably shouldn’t laugh, but there’s no stopping it. Gemma joins in, encouraging the innocent child to wag her middle fingers at us
“As I was saying.” A practiced, flawless upswing hoists Wren astride my shoulders. “Me and my stellar groveling got you roped into this babysitting gig. The least I can do is provide entertainment.”
The spunky toddler whips off my cowboy hat and throws it like a boomerang into the yard. She proceeds to grab two fistfuls of my hair as reins. “Giddy gup!”
I grip onto her short legs before rocking back slightly. “Hold on, kiddo! This horsey is wild.”
She squeals as I take off at a gallop. The wrap-around porch is the ideal arena for my shenanigans. It’s definitely not our first rodeo, which permits me to add a few bucks and twirls.
Wren kicks her little feet. “Fashter, fashter!”
I neigh and extend my stride. We’re rounding the final turn, about to beat our own record. Her cheerful babbling is pure joy. It’s infectious and my smile can’t be contained. Gemma catches the blissful bug, practically beaming at us when we’ve finished our lap. But Wren isn’t done with me yet.
“Go!” She tries to steer me to the barn using her hold on my hair.
“Wanna pet your real pony?”
She kicks me again. “Go!”
“He’s a bit stubborn. Allow me.” Gemma spanks my rear end.
My gaze zips to hers. “Careful.”
“Or what?”
“Nap time won’t be restful for you.”
“Promises, promises.” She flutters past us, skipping down the stairs with an extra flourish.
I’m hot on her hindquarters, which delights Wren immensely. She shrieks and flaps her arms to urge me along. My quick gait catches her aunt in three seconds flat.
“Do you have plans this weekend?”
Gemma peers up at me. “Would it matter if I do?”
“Seven-eleven is on Saturday.” It’s been a while since I’ve reminded her.
“Huh,” she mumbles.
My gut clenches at her nonchalance. “I was hoping we could reclaim that date as ours. It’s our anniversary.”
“It was,” she corrects.
