Page 1 of They Found Us (Found #5)

Leo

“Good morning, handsome.” Katie lies facing me, her hand between her face and the pillow. God, she’s beautiful.

“I’ve been thinking,” she starts as soon as she sees me awake, “there are still a few things we need to get for the baby. Nappies, some formula just in case I need help feeding, more clothes, bibs—definitely bibs.” Katie continues to chatter on, more to herself than me.

Her voice is soft but raspy, as she’s just woken up. I could listen to her talk for hours.

“We will go today and get whatever you need.” I know we don’t really need anything, as there’s a wardrobe full of clothes and drawers packed with nappies.

But if that’s what my wife wants to do today, then who am I to argue.

She is carrying my second child. Her beauty and voice have my morning wood pulsing.

I disappear under the covers and nestle between her legs.

I’m just about to work my magic when a whack to the back has me faceplanting the mattress.

“Papa, are you hiding from me?” Mark continues to jump on my back.

“That’s enough now. Let’s leave Papa to rest for a few minutes while we go and get the breakfast ready.”

Katie lifts the covers and climbs out of bed.

“Sorry,” she whispers. “Come down when you’re ready.” She looks at my crotch area covered by the duvet.

Definitely best to stay here. I don’t fancy having that conversation with my three-year-old son. Once I have thought of everything under the sun other than my wife, I’m ready to go downstairs.

“Your coffee is ready, Leo,” Katie shouts up.

“Thanks. On my way now.”

I throw on some sweatpants and meet my family in the kitchen. Katie stands at the sink, her back to me, I take a moment to enjoy the sight of her perfectly round ass bursting to get out of her tiny shorts. She is quietly narrating what she is doing and what her next plans are for the day.

“I’ll just finish these pots, then I’ll collect the eggs for breakfast, and then we can all go to the baby shop…”

It’s like she has her own personal podcast and I’m her number one listener. My hands are on her ass before I even know what I am doing, my face in the side of her neck, breathing in her scent.

“Hey.” She spins around, kisses me, then pushes me away with her wet hands.

I just can’t help myself. When I’m around her, all I want to do is touch her.

“Mark and I are going to collect the eggs. You put the pan on with boiling water and slice some bread for toast. Mark has requested egg in a cup for us all this morning.”

“Yes, egg in a cup, egg in a cup!” He jumps about excitedly.

They both go out into the garden and collect today’s eggs from the chicken coop.

I do as I am asked, slicing the bread and get the pan ready.

Egg in a cup is something I had never had before meeting Katie.

It’s a boiled egg, or two, mashed up in a cup with butter and it bit of salt and pepper.

We have it on toast. Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.

It’s one of my favourite breakfasts now.

I watch from the back door as my wife feeds the chickens and Mark the billy goats.

They both talk to them like they are people but in funny, squeaky voices.

Mark just copies everything Katie says. They return with the eggs, wash their hands, and we all work together to set the table and prepare the food.

Katie

When we arrive at the baby shop, Mark gets instantly distracted by some sort of toy and runs in that direction.

Leo insisted he didn’t need his reins on for the shopping trip even though Mark has started to be a little unpredictable.

“I’ll be there” was his reasoning as if he has some magical powers to control children.

“You keep an eye on him while I get what we need,” I say sarcastically, giving him a “I told you so” look.

I grab a trolley and make my way around the shop.

My eyes dart over the pastel-coloured baby clothes, tiny hats, and booties.

The air smells of baby powder and excitement while nursery rhymes play quietly in the background.

I can’t help but smile as I imagine my newborn.

I load up the trolley with neutral baby outfits, nappies, and toiletries.

I think I am just about done when Leo appears in front of me.

“We have to get these,” he says excitedly holding two matching outfits.

“Absolutely not. Why would a newborn and a three-year-old need a black three-piece suit, shirt, and tie?”

“You never know. We might get invited to an occasion.”

“By who?” I ask, but then notice that the excitement that was there a moment ago has started to fade. “Put them in the trolley. They are very cute.”

Then I ask, “Leo. Where is Mark?” My eyes dart frantically around us.

“Mark!” my voice comes out strangled as I call his name.

I force myself to breathe and think. “You go and alert the staff. Get them to make an announcement.” Leo marches off to the customer service desk while I rush up and down each aisle.

“Have you seen a dark-haired three-year-old boy?” I ask the unfamiliar faces of each shopper I pass.

“No, sorry,” they all reply.

Continuing to shout his name over the noise of the shop that now seems ten times louder, my heart slams against my ribs.

“He’s here somewhere,” I tell myself. “He will be near the toys.”

“Mark Smith. Your parents are looking for you. Please shout, ‘I’m here’ as loud as you can. Mark Smith, please shout, ‘I’m here’ as loud as you can.”

I stop, keeping as still as I can to listen for my son. But all I can hear are those stupid nursery rhymes and people talking.

When I get to the toys, I know he’s here. Call it a mothers’ intuition, but I feel calmer. “Mark, where are you? We need to get going now, and you haven’t chosen what toy you would like yet.”

Immediately the pile of soft toys beside me falls, and out jumps Mark.

“Boo!” He laughs. “Did I scare you, Mummy? Did I scare you?”

My knees buckle in relief. I hold on to the shelf at the side of me for a second to stop me from falling. “Oh yes, you definitely scared me, baby.” I scoop him up and swallow back tears.

Leo appears and looks instantly relieved when his eyes land on Mark. “You two get in the car. I’ll pay for the shopping.”

When we get home, I still can’t shift the uneasy feeling in my stomach.

It’s like a sense of dread, but I don’t know what for.

We found Mark, and he is perfectly fine.

I put all the shopping away in the nursery.

Everything has its place and is organised and tidy.

Not that it will stay like this for long once the baby is here.

Once that was done, Leo insisted I sit with my feet up.

At first I refused, but I must have been tired, as Leo and Mark have just woken me up by bursting in through the back door, carrying a ball.

“Mummy, have you had a good nap?” Mark climbs on me, being careful not to stand on my bump.

“I did, thank you. And where have you two been?”

“To the beach to play football.”

“I’ll make dinner tonight. Spaghetti bolognese?” Leo wiggles his eyebrows at me, making me laugh.

He knows I can’t resist him when he cooks Italian food.

There’s just something about an Italian man, especially a very attractive Italian man serving you delicious Italian food.

My mouth waters already. Spag bol, as I used to call it and am banned from calling it now, used to be such a boring dish to me.

But I had never tasted a real bolognese made by an Italian.

The recipe Leo follows is one he got from Sergio and Alga, our chef and housekeeper from Italy.

They said the recipe had been in their family for years.

I often think about Alga and Sergio. They were more like family to us. I miss them.

Mark sits and colours at the table beside me while I watch Leo begin to work his magic in the kitchen.

He puts on his apron and rolls up his sleeves, showing off his olive-toned forearms. As he chops and dices the ingredients, the kitchen is soon filled with the scent of sizzling onions, garlic, and herbs.

He puts the beef into the pan next, then the tomatoes.

As he stirs, he coaxes out more delicious flavours.

Then he opens a bottle of red wine, pours himself a glass, and the rest goes into the pan.

Turning down the heat, he says “Low and slow. That’s what Sergio always said. ”

Once it’s ready, we sit around the table.

Leo sprinkles our bowls with freshly grated parmesan, and steam curls up from our forks when we dig in.

The first mouthful is always the best, warm, rich, and familiar.

The kitchen is silent while each of us enjoys our food.

But the silence is soon disturbed by a ringing noise that will change our lives forever.