All three children stopped moving, stopped yelling, and their father’s jaw dropped.
“This is why we don’t run in public.” I gestured at the streaks of jellybean speckled soda decorating the store, smiling at each child in turn. “We need to fix this mess, now don’t we?”
The boys nodded while the little girl bit her lip. “I’m real sorry I tripped you.”
“Don’t you worry your little head about it. Just promise me you’ll fill it with good thoughts, so you’ll attract good things.”
Izzy arrived with a mop and a trashcan and the rest of us gathered the jellybeans off the floor. The candy coating painted our fingers in bright colors and by the smell of it, I really would like the elderflower and rose soda. Every time I looked up, I found a pair of dazzling blue eyes staring me down. I checked for a wedding ring and found nothing but beautifully masculine and definitely naked fingers. My ‘Welcome to Wildrose’ sign was getting better by the minute!
I offered a smile, but that only made him frown and look away.
Hello, mixed signals.
As we cleaned, the kids started to argue. “You shouldn’t have been running, Connor,” shouted the tallest boy.
“You ran first.”
“That’s because I’m older.”
The little girl put her hands on her hips and blew a curl out of her eyes. “You always say that, Garrett. It doesn’t mean anything. I’m older,” she said in a mocking voice, then rolled her eyes.
“I say it ‘cause it’s true and it does mean something. Tell her, Dad.”
Voices escalated. Tempers rose. The smokin’ hot man with strong hands and dazzling eyes added a pulsing jaw muscle to the list of things I couldn’t stop staring at. Why’d he have to give in to the angry energy? The kids were just being kids and were probably mirroring the way he handled problems.
Eager to diffuse the situation, I straightened, stepping over the mess to crouch in front of the trio. “Maybe we’re all a little bit at fault here.”
The little girl wrinkled her nose. “Why do you smell like dirt?”
“Charlotte Anne Cooper!” Her father stood, looking mortified, and started the beginnings of another apology.
I didn’t need him to make amends for his daughter. Kids hadn’t learned to install a filter and I loved it. In a world where everything was filtered into perfection, the honesty was refreshing.
“It’s probably my essential oil.” I held out my diffuser necklace for the girl to smell. “It’s vetiver and it’s my favorite. Surrounding myself with things I like makes it easy to stay happy.”
All three children leaned in to get a whiff.
“It does smell a little bit like dirt, but it also smells like a good memory and it always calms me down when I’m feeling stressed.” I gave the necklace a sniff as the kids nodded.
“Yeah,” said the tallest—Garrett, I thought. “I can see that.”
“Me too.” The middle child beamed at his older brother.
Charlie blew another curl out of her eyes. “It still smells like dirt to me.”
Their father appeared beside me and apologized profusely, but I didn’t hear a word of what he was saying over my spirit guides and higher self yammering at me. This guy, whoever he was, needed help. His beautiful eyes looked so tired. The slump of his shoulders spoke of exhaustion and fatigue, while the sadness in his voice as he asked his kids to apologize made me want to hug him—and the fact that he was dead sexy didn’t help.
But the cincher? The dealmaker? It was this sense of strength oozing under it all. That this man, though beaten down and struggling, had energy…vitality…
Whatever it was, it meant something. I just knew it.
“It’s okay.” I put a hand on his arm and tried not to react to the surge of YES PLEASE OMG HE’S SO TASTY zooming through my body. He offered to replace my things, but Izzy wouldn’t hear of either of us spending more money. As I walked to the car, my arms once again filled with candy and soda, my head was stuck on a single thought repeating over and over. “Who was that?”
Chapter Three
Jack
The door closed behind the blonde beauty in the flowing skirt and tank top, and I stared at my children in shock. Never, in the history of coming to Sweet Stuff post Natalie, had they stood in one place for so long. Dare I say it, as they spoke in appropriate indoor voices and kept their hands to themselves, they almost reminded me of the Cooper kids from before.
“She was nice.” Connor peered through the window as Charlie nodded.
“Even if she did smell like dirt.”
Connor wrinkled his nose in what I recognized as his thinking face and turned to me. “What’s a bit chin?”
Between the deep thought furrowing his brows and the ridiculous question, it was all I could do not to laugh at my middle child. “A bit chin?”
“Her shirt said ‘bit chin’ on it.”
I grimaced. The woman’s tank top had proudly declared her a Bitchin’ Warrior, Not a Bitching Worrier.
Garrett smirked. “It’s a bad word.”
“How do you know?” Connor asked.
I eyed my eldest. “Yeah. How do you know?”
“You always say it when you’re mad at something.” Garret put his hands on his hips and imitated my angry face. “Son of a—”
I held up my hands. “That’s enough. I think we all get the picture.”
“That’s a great imitation of you.” Izzy laughed, shaking her head as her eyes danced with a smile. I’d known Isabelle Prescott since middle school. As the younger sister of one of my best friends, she’d always inserted herself into our plans until she felt like one of the guys—even after she’d grown out of her ugly duckling phase.
“That’s a sad truth, isn’t it? Makes me afraid I’ve lost my cool more than I thought.” I ran a hand through my hair as guilt set in.
Shit, man…
I was running at max capacity and still failing my kids.
“Which makes you just like any parent out there.” Izzy made a face I’d seen way too often in the last year and a half. A blend of pity and judgement, mixed with some overly positive platitude designed to make me feel better about whatever crises I was wading through at the moment.
Time to divert the conversation. Thankfully, a much more interesting topic had just made an introduction. Kind of. I hadn’t exactly caught her name, though the fact that I didn’t recognize her face said everything I needed to know.
I jerked my head toward the door. “Is that—”
“Evie’s friend? That’s her. Amelia Brown. A bit chin warrior.” The kids guffawed as Izzy gave me a shit eating grin. “Sorry. Couldn’t resist.”
“Amelia. That’s a pretty name.” Charlie slowly wandered over to stare at the wall of gummy bears while the boys checked out a table of chocolate bars. No bickering. No running. No machine gun sounds blasting past my sons’ lips.
I blinked, then rubbed my face, before leaning in to whisper, “Maybe I’ve been wrong to dismiss essential oils as pseudoscience weirdness.”