Page 8 of The Solstice Additions (A Laurel Holidays Summer Romance)

Chapter Seven

A week later, I woke up and rolled over to give the lanky stud muffin beside me a smooch on his sexy shoulder and then bolted out of bed as if someone had hooked battery cables to my balls.

Kenan blinked into consciousness, pillow marks on his face as he squinted at the June sun falling through the window.

“What?” he mumbled as he knuckled his eyes.

“Time to listen,” I called out as I grabbed some shorts and dashed to the bathroom to piss.

He said something, but it was mumbled. After a fast pee and shake, I washed my hands, pulled on my old cargo shorts, and made a beeline to the back yard.

I really did love summer. The days were long and warm, the birds were up early singing a cheery good morning song, and the grass was soft and plush under my bare feet.

That lovely Seals and Crofts song played in my head as a gentle breeze tickled my face.

I could hear Fred noodling at the door of his coop. Stepping gingerly into the pen area, taking care not to step in goose poo, I tiptoed to the sturdy little building, bent over, and placed my ear to the door. Eyes closed, I listened intently for the peep of baby geese.

“It’s still a little early, isn’t it?” Kenan said from right behind me.

I startled and cussed as I straightened while tossing a sour look at my boyfriend.

He looked far too edible to be too seriously put out.

I loved him in nothing but jeans with his hair a tangled mop, his eyes sleepy, and his mouth begging to be kissed.

So I kissed him and waved him out of the pen.

“Yes, technically, we still have a few days,” I conceded as he made his way to the other side of the fence.

Once he was clear, I unlocked the door. Fred came out of the coop like a greyhound released from the starting gate.

Well, a greyhound with feathers and an attitude.

“No!” I barked at the gander as I spread my arms to look larger.

He stalled, folded his wings, and then waddled back to the coop, honking proudly as Wilma hurried to toss some hay over the eggs.

“Nice trick,” Kenan said, then passed me a pail of waterfowl pellets.

“Thanks. It works nine times out of ten.”

“Pretty good odds.” I nodded before dumping their feed into their rubber dish. Wilma stood in the coop eyeballing me as if Satan himself was doling out their grub.

“Okay, lady, I get it.” I backed out of the pen, leaving the door open so they could get a little exercise before she got back on the nest. She wouldn’t take long.

A fast nibble followed by a quick bath and a drink in the creek, then she would race back and settle back on her eggs.

Fred, as most expectant fathers do, would chill out nearby. “Let’s go eat.”

“Did you hear any peeps, Saba?” I smiled at the Hebrew word for grandpa as he wrapped his arms around me from behind. The geese exited the coop, long white wings out and beating the summer air as they stretched.

“Nary a one.” I sighed. He gave me a soft squeeze.

“You’re worse than your mother,” he teased.

I gasped. “You take that back!” I exclaimed and got a hearty chuckle. “I’m not calling Wilma every twelve hours for a cloaca report.”

Kenan snorted beside my ear. He smelled so good. Like sleepy man and lemon drops. “To be fair to Carmen, it’s not that unusual to be checking in since your sister is having some minor things taking place already.”

Yeah, I was a little concerned too. The baby wasn’t due for another two weeks, but Nora was having all kinds of cramps and light bleeding.

Mom was packing as we spoke to leave for Canada.

I was on emergency standby as I was the birthing brother.

That still freaked me out, not going to lie.

Why couldn’t my sister just lay an egg like Wilma?

“But hey, don’t get tense, babe. The odds are high that everything will be just fine.”

“Yeah, of course.” I leaned back into his embrace to watch the sun peek over the tip of the pines to fall on my two expectant feathered parents.

I would not rehash the info that I’d read online about the health complications that babies born early could have.

Nope, was not going there. It would all be fine.

Nora would rest. Mom would cook. Antoine would fret.

The baby would hang out where it was for another two weeks.

Yep. I would mentally will that scenario into existence.

“Since I have you all wrapped up like this, I came up with a few new menu ideas,” he whispered ever so sweetly in my ear.

My eyes rolled to the bluebird sky. “Just two new additions, well, plus the corn that we’re cooking this weekend for corn on the cob day.

None of the regulars remember that from years past… ”

“They’re old and drunk most of the time. Once Peterman Barnes ate a whole jar of beef jerky sticks after downing three pitchers of Bud and then showed the bar what remained of his testicles after a farming accident back in ?89. Next day he didn’t remember a thing.”

Kenan shuddered. “Okay, point made. I will have to run to the farmers market early to pick up the four bushels of corn I ordered from Lucas Montgomery. He’s going to make a run down into the Philly area to get it since the corn up here isn’t even knee high yet.”

“Sure, yeah, that’s always the case.” I was such a corn cob fibber.

“Okay, I’m not in the mood to argue against it, so whisper in my ear what you want to add, and we’ll see if it floats my boat.

” Fred, hot on his mate’s tail, followed Wilma around the coop to the creek at breakneck speed.

I found it humorous as hell watching waterfowl run.

“Perhaps we could add a lighter sandwich, something not deep fried, for those who are trying to choose a healthier lifestyle.”

“Okay, I guess so. Like what?” I ran my fingers over his forearms, enjoying how the hairs on his arm crinkled under my touch.

“Well, I was looking at something like egg salad or tuna salad.” I shrugged.

I could do that. Tuna was good. Pretty easy.

Open a can, add mayo. Viola. “Or if you wanted to get a little more adventurous, we could add some avocado to the menu as a topping. Maybe some whole wheat bread or even pita wraps.”

Yeah, that sounded okay. Nothing too far out. Simple but lighter. Living healthy. Yadda, yadda.

“I guess we could do something like that. I mean, we do serve light beer,” I commented and got a huge hug and a smooch on the neck.

“That’s great! The customers will be thrilled. Maybe we could add some sides as well, you know, a little something new to place on the plate.”

“If you say pickled eggs, I will divorce you.”

“We’re not married,” he softly reminded me.

Right. Yes, obviously I knew that. Marriage.

What a goofy concept. Me. Kenan. Married.

As if. I mean, the logistics were…well, they were out there.

We both owned our own homes for starters.

One of us would have to sell their cabin.

Sure, we spent every night with each other, usually him here, so we could tend to Fred and Wilma in the morning.

And yes, I ate many meals at his place after I shut up the geese.

And sure, we did work well together. The alehouse was doing incredibly well, his talent pulling in people from fifty miles or more away on the nights that he performed.

Seemed his fans still longed to listen to him even though he had left show business.

Other than his predilection for pickled eggs, we were really pretty simpatico.

“Hey, are you still with me here?”

His voice beside my ear pulled me from some sort of hazy what-if matrimonial daydream. “Yep, still here. Just trying to decide between wheat and pita.”

“I’m so happy you’re willing to open up for a new experience. Thank you. I love you more every day.”

“Me too,” I murmured as a robin landed in the yard to begin hunting for worms.

New experiences. That was not me at all and yet, standing here in his arms as a new day sprang to life, I found myself wondering what other new life adventures I was willing to dip my toes into. Maybe adding light mayo or a new craft beer? Hell, maybe I could ask Kenan to move in or even marry—

Whoa.

Some jets needed to be cooled right here and now.

One morning cuddle did not a proposal make.

That required at least several major film stars, a town in Alaska, and a blanket that had magical reproductive powers.

None of which were to be found here in Whiteham.

Unless the quilting club was doing some funky juju magic on their county fair entry this year.

“Get Low” by Lil Jon started jamming inside my head.

It would probably stay there for days…