Page 73 of The Fast Lane
THIRTY
Note to self:
Don’t get jealous;
get even.
Monday, six days until the wedding
Denver
A finger poked my cheek, then my closed eye, and from there, my mouth. I held perfectly still, listening to the soft giggles.
“Auntie Ali,” Hallie whispered in a voice that could probably be heard three counties over. “Are you awake? Daddy said you can get me ice cream for breakfast.”
I cracked open an eye and stared up at Hallie, her hair wild around her face like she’d walked through a wind tunnel at some point last night. “Your daddy said you could have ice cream for breakfast?”
She nodded. “Uh-huh. Daddy said ice cream is made of milk and that’s what we put on cereal. Plus, it had fuut in it and Daddy said fuut is good for you. What’s your favorite fuut?”
I squinted. I should remind Abe that ice cream was not its own food group. “That was a lot of words all at once, missy.”
“What’s your favorite fuut?” she asked again.
“Fuut?”
She nodded her head, her big brown eyes watching me expectantly. “Your favorite fuut.”
What in the world was this child saying? “I-I don’t…”
“Her favorite fruit is watermelon,” a gravelly, low voice said from the direction of the couch.
“Oh, fruit. Yes, what he said. Watermelon is my favorite.” I smiled, pleased Theo knew my favorite fruit, which was a pretty weird thing to be pleased about.
“Auntie.” Hallie tugged on my arm. “Is that boy your boyfwiend?”
“Theo? Nope, not my boyfriend.”
“Could he be my boyfriend then?” she asked.
I sat up and Hallie climbed onto my lap. “What kinds of things would you do with a boyfriend?”
“He could take me to the park and make me cookies with the sprinkles on top and watch all the princess movies with me, and I could paint his nails all kinds of colors and then we could sing songs together and he would always give me all the red M&Ms ’cause they’re the best M&Ms.”
“I like your priorities,” I said, trying and failing to hold in a smile. “I think Theo would love to do all those things.”
“I’m taken,” Theo said, his voice muffled, and I thought he might be laughing. “Aunt Ali is my girlfriend.”
I threw a pillow at him.
His head shot up and he shoved his hair out of his face. It looked like it had grown three sizes overnight.
Save me, please, he mouthed.
I rolled my eyes.
With his hands pressed together, he shot me sad puppy dog eyes that made all my inside parts squeal. Why was he so damn adorable? It wasn’t fair.
“Fine. I guess he’s my boyfriend.” I can just imagine that conversation with Abe. No, not a real girlfriend. It’s pretend. We’re fake-dating to trick a four-year-old. Very mature. “But you know what? I’ll let you share him with me.”