Page 16 of Hampton Holiday Collective
Maddie humphs in protest. “Oh no. I’m not giving up this tradition for these little goobers.” She rubs her belly with both hands. “Uncle Dumpy and your dad can handle the twins,” she tells Winnie with a wink. “We’re definitely going Black Friday shopping next year.”
I remind my daughter for the dozenth time to keep her brothers’ presents a secret as we drive up the ridiculously long driveway. Once we park, we unload several bags from the trunk, but I end up leaving half of them in the car in case the boys get any bright ideas and try to snoop.
The house is surprisingly quiet when we push through the garage door. Fielding is standing at the kitchen sink, already wearing his scrubs, chopping up cabbage and cauliflower to take with him to work. Dempsey has Wyatt in his lap and is helping him play a game on the iPad.
“Where’s Wes?” I ask, slightly breathless.
Fielding glances up from the chopping board and gives me one of his famous mega-watt smiles. Electricity passes between us, just like it always does, as I remember all the ways he made love to me last night. I squeeze my thighs together, the coarse fabric of my mom jeans doing nothing to tamp the arousal rising up inside me.
My husband knows the effect he has on me. Always has. With a knowing, cheeky smirk, he walks over, grips the back of my neck, and kisses me. Hard.
I would push him away if I wasn’t so surprised. Or so turned on.
“Hi, angel,” he murmurs against my lips, keeping a firm hold on my neck but pecking me with soft, reverent kisses when I try to pull away and stop the show he’s putting on. “It was devastating to wake up and not still be inside you this morning,” he whispers seductively into my ear.
“I’m sure it was,” I taunt, my cheeks going warm as I recall how we fell asleep. I had to shower far too early this morning. There was no way I could have gotten away with just throwing on clothes and heading out the door after our escapades.
Fielding turns to Winnie then, peppering her hair with kisses and wrapping her in a hug before asking about her big adventure.
“Mommy!”
No longer absorbed in his game, Wyatt leaps off Dempsey’s lap and takes a running start before slamming into my legs and almost taking me down.
“Easy, little devil,” Fielding chastises softly, picking him up and carrying him back into the kitchen.
“Wait, whereisWesley?” I call after my husband.
It’s Dempsey who answers instead.
“He’s in the living room, on the couch. He hasn’t felt good all day, and he’s napped more than he’s been awake.”
My heart squeezes in concern for my sweet, serious guy, but Fielding’s already easing my worries before I can ask follow-up questions.
“He’s fine,” he assures me. “I think he ate too much sugar this morning. Or maybe Uncle Dumpy’s grumpiness is wearing off on his mini-me.”
Dempsey rolls his eyes, then turns back to me. “He’s been really out of it,” he adds half-heartedly before turning his attention to Maddie.
“I’ve gotta go in twenty minutes,” Fielding reminds me when I join him in the kitchen.
Wyatt is perched on the counter, trying to open one of the cabinets overhead that, thankfully, is childproofed. Leave it to this kid to climb up to the highest cupboard and pry it open before he was eighteen months old. I swear we’re the only people I know who have to baby-proof cabinets that are six feet off the ground.
Fielding zips up his lunchbox, then scoops Wyatt into his arms. “The kids’ pajamas are set out for tonight, and Wesley and Winnie both have bookmarks in the books we’re reading. Want me to start heating up leftovers before I leave or get something else started for you?”
I slide in under his free arm and hug him around the waist, tipping my head up to give him a small smile. “No, I’ve got it covered. We’ll do leftovers tonight, then early bedtimes for everyone. Have a good night at work.”
“I’ll try my best,” he concedes with a dramatic sigh. “But you know it won’t hold a candle to last night,” he adds with a wink.
“What happened last night?” Winnie asks as she breezes through the kitchen.
“Say good night to your daddy, kids,” I announce louder than necessary, giving my husband a pointed look.
My eyes shoot open, while my body remains completely still. Although I hold my breath and listen to the quiet of the night, I’m certain it wasn’t a noise that woke me.
It was a knowing.
Call it intuition, or just the sixth sense I’ve developed as a mom. But something isn’t right.
I lie quietly, listening, trying to pinpoint what—who—needs my attention.