Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 82756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
“Nope. We’ll do it together.”
“We will.” Cal nodded decisively, money as good as spent. When that man made a promise, he kept it, and Charlie better learn to love swimming because I was going to hold Cal to however many years of lessons kept him right where he belonged. Cal dropped a kiss on the top of my head, a rare tender moment from him, and I tipped my head back, trying to catch a kiss.
Baawaaaah. Charlie took that moment to register his profound disapproval of romance.
“Need me?” Mom called.
“Nope.” I waved her away, then thrust Charlie at Cal, careful to keep supporting the baby’s head. “Quick. You try.”
“Me?” Cal looked like I was offering him overcooked brussels sprouts. “Lord, I don’t know…” Not taking no for an answer, I transferred over my squirming burden, and Cal instinctively cradled him in both big hands. “Oh hey, little angry sailor. You need to sleep now.”
“Negotiation hasn’t worked so far.” I laughed because Charlie really did look a bit like a new recruit in a fuzzy white and blue sleeper with a little ship anchor detail.
“Who said negotiate? When cranky recruits mouth off, we march them around.” Cal started a deliberate pace with the baby, who, miraculously, stopped crying. Smiling softly, Cal put more effort into marching, singing a jaunty tune. “I don’t know, but it’s been said, air force wings are made of lead. I don’t know, but I’ve been told, navy wings are made of gold…”
“You can’t sing him a navy cadence as a lullaby.” I knew better than to whip out my phone, but this seriously was the cutest thing I’d ever seen.
“Says who?” Cal scoffed and kept right on singing. “He-ey Coast Guard. Pud-dle pirate Coast Guard. Get in your boats and follow me.”
“Oh my God, it might be working,” I whispered as Charlie shut his eyes and relaxed into Cal’s chest. He let out a baby snuffle as Cal finished the cadence and moved to humming something I couldn’t quite place.
“That’s not a navy tune.”
“Smart man, your uncle,” Cal whispered to the baby before turning back my way. “It’s a hymn.”
“Sam’s going to make a choir boy of you yet.”
“They can stick me in back.” Cal yawned, but he kept on marching the baby around.
“That wasn’t a no.”
“Nope.” Cal’s grin was a thing of absolute beauty. “But don’t tell Sam that. He thinks we gotta win the summer trivia-night league to get my ass in a pew.”
“You bet Sam church attendance?” I blinked. And blinked again. Maybe Cal really was thinking of sticking around a good long time. Forever might be a decent start.
“Was I supposed to bet cash?” Cal teased, then glanced at the baby snoring softly against his chest. “Well, would you look at that? Charlie’s all tuckered out. Guess I can set him down—”
“The he—heck you can.” I raised a hand before Cal could set him in the portable bassinet. “You know what happened last time we tried.”
“Fine.” Continuing to hold the baby, Cal plopped down on the sofa and put his feet up on the padded ottoman, arranging himself and Charlie into a comfortable recline before reaching for the remote. “Junior’s gonna chill to the History channel.”
A scant five minutes later, both Charlie and Cal were dozing, Cal’s exhales matching Charlie’s little huffs. Rolling as quietly as I could, I made my way into the kitchen to check on Mom. I put a finger to my lips as she turned around, eyes narrowing.
“Where’d you leave Cal and the baby?” she whispered.
“Look.” I pointed back at the living room, smiling along with her as she took in the photography contest-worthy picture the two of them made.
“Oh my word. That’s adorable.” She chuckled quietly. “He’s so darn cute.”
“Yeah, he’s a good baby.”
“I meant Cal.” Gaze fond, she waved a spatula at me. “You really do know how to pick them.”
“More like he picked me.” I wheeled to the table, where a cutting board and some broccoli awaited me.
“As long as he makes you happy.”
“He does.” Keeping my voice low, I beckoned her closer. “I’m going to marry him someday. He doesn’t know, of course. But someday.”
Her eyes went wider than the dish of cheese on the counter. She opened her mouth, closed it, then nodded. “Good plan. I’ll da—be at your wedding. With bells on.”
“You can say dance, Mom. Really.” Tilting my head, I gave her a pointed look. It had been years, but she could still be overly cautious about my disability. A counselor I’d had after my injury had explained that my family had their own journey of grief and acceptance and changed expectations. And she would always be such a mom, trying to spare my feelings, even when it did the opposite.
“I know.” Reaching down, she patted my face. “Love you so much. Yes, I’ll dance.”