Page 22 of Ransom

"Your period is late." As expected, as I hoped, her cheeks blaze. "Janey. I'm a grown-ass man. I understand how women's bodies work. It's okay to say the word 'period.'"

She presses her palms into her eyes and groans. "I didn't grow up that way."

"I know." She grew up with a fucktard of a brother and a drunk of a dad who made her feel bad about everything that makes her a wonderful woman. Though her dad's shaping up to be an okay guy. If I concentrate, I can just pick out his laughter from upstairs. "So your period is late. Is that a good thing?"

It's slow to start, but her lips curve, and her smile, when it finally appears, is blinding. "Yeah. I think it's a really good thing."

“So do I.”

There's a rustling at the box, and we both watch as Mia crawls out. John's groan of pain makes me smile. It's the sound of Mia's knee firmly lodging itself in his balls. It's a sound, and a feeling, I know well.

She couldn't have hit him too badly though, since the low snores pick right back up. I can't blame the man. He woke up at the buttcrack of dawn to start cooking. He's earned that nap.

Toys still clutched in her hands, she comes over, resting her cheek on my shoulder and gazing at Noah. We're all a little nuts for him. "Uncle Ransom?" she mumbles.

"Yeah, kiddo?"

"Is it time for more presents?"

I chuckle. "I think you've opened them all, sweetheart. How about some hot chocolate instead?"

She perks up at that, eyes rounding. "With marshmallows?"

"Of course. Hot chocolate without marshmallows is just gross."

Balancing Noah in one arm, I lead Mia to the kitchen. "Alright, munchkin, let's see if we can whip up some hot chocolate without waking the whole house."

I flick on the lights, open the cupboard, and immediately groan. Everything's different. Again. "Dammit, John," I mutter under my breath.

"What's wrong?" Mia asks, climbing onto a stool at the island.

"Nothing, sweetheart. Your Uncle John just likes to play hide and seek with the kitchen stuff." It's annoying as fuck. Apparently, the places I keep things are 'fucking insane,' and while I might not agree, there's no fucking way I'm going to risk upsetting him.

The man's got mad skills in the kitchen, and I don't want to risk missing out.

I start opening other cabinets, searching for mugs and cocoa mix. Noah snuffles against my chest, and I adjust him slightly.

"Are you sure you know how to make hot chocolate?" Mia's voice is skeptical.

"Of course I do," I reply, more confidently than I feel. "It's just... a little tricky with only one hand."

She watches me fumble through drawers. "Maybe we should wake up Uncle John?"

"Nah, we got this. It'll be our secret mission."

After what feels like an eternity, I finally locate the cocoa mix. "Aha! Victory!"

Mia giggles, but her eyes narrow as I struggle to open the container one-handed. "Uncle Ransom..."

"I've got it, I've got it," I insist, finally popping the lid off. I grab a mug—thankfully, those were where I expected—and start spooning in the mix.

"Now, for the milk," I mutter, heading to the fridge. I open it with my elbow, nearly knocking over a jar of pickles in the process.

"Are you sure you don't want help?" Mia asks, her little face scrunched with concern.

I pour the milk into the mug, miraculously not spilling a drop. "See? Uncle Ransom's got skills."

I pop the mug into the microwave, hit the buttons with my elbow, and turn back to Mia with a triumphant grin. "And now we wait."