Page 28 of Claiming His Wife

I close the distance between us and take her into my arms, holding her close. “Didn’t you hear? I’m no longer an obsessive workaholic. I’ve got more important things to obsess over—you.”

Epilogue

Mallory — Five years later

Today is Twilla’s birthday.It’s hard to believe my little girl is four years old. Time has flown by… I swipe at my tears as I put the finishing touches on the last cupcake. I hate pregnancy hormones.

“Moooommmy, Bubba pulled my hair!!” Twilla screeches at the top of her lungs running into the kitchen and colliding with my legs. I brace myself on the counter to keep my balance. My center of gravity is beyond skewed, being eight months pregnant is no joke. “He messed up my piggytail!”

I can’t help but smile at her antics. Everything is life or death for a toddler, and my girl is quite the drama queen. “Honey, Bubs is still a baby, I doubt he did it on purpose.”

She stomps her little foot and crosses her arms over her chest in a way-to-grown-up move. Lord, she’s going to be a handful as a teenager. “Look at it,” she says waving her arms about, “it’s a tisasder.”

“It is not adisaster,” I correct, “And this isn’t a tragedy.” I quickly pull the ponytail holder out of her hair and fix the wayward pigtail. “See, all fixed.”

Twilla rewards me with the biggest, cheesiest smile and runs off to play.

The doorbell rings and I look at the clock—party time.

“Holy shitballs, you look like you’re about to pop,” Jen says as she walks into the room, my daughter in her arms.

“What are shitballs?” Twilla so innocently asks.

“Jesus, Jen, language!”

Jen bursts out in laughter which only encourages Twilla to say the word again thinking it’s something funny.

“Twilla, baby, that’s a very grown-up word, Aunt Jen shouldn’t have said it in front of you. Please don’t repeat it.”

She looks at me with knowing eyes. “Like when daddy says the fuck word?”

Lord have mercy.

“Exactly like that,” I agree with Twilla trying to not make a big deal over her saying yet another word she shouldn’t.

“Okay, I won’t say shitballs anymore.”

The doorbell rings again, and she runs off to greet her next visitor. Meanwhile, Jen is practically doubled over laughing.

“Oh, just you wait, when your little bun in the oven comes out paybacks are a—female dog.”

She snorts at my PG alternate curse. She’ll learn soon enough. Kids repeateverything.

“Where is Davy?” I ask.

“He’s in the living room with Scott and Adam. Probably whipping out their tools and comparing notes… you know, manly things.”

Falling in love didn’t change my friend in the slightest. She’s still as crude as ever and tends to threaten violence anytime anyone crosses her or one of her friends. Fingers crossed motherhood can soften what marriage didn’t.

“Oh, Zack called and said he’ll be a little late. Apparently, the baby had a blowout, and it was a level five. Whatever that means,” Jen says with a shrug.

I laugh because I know exactly what a level five blowout is—not just a whole box of wipes and new outfit, but a full-on bath. Nothing else will fix a blowout that bad. “You’ll figure it out soon enough.”

The baby picks that moment to kick me in the bladder, and I wince. I rub my belly because he doesn’t seem satisfied with just kicking me, he stretches, and it looks like something out of a horror movie. “Whew, that was a big one.” I pat my bump. “He’s running out of room.”

Jen looks at me with something like horror. “I thought you were about to pull a Ripley from Aliens. That was horrific… please tell me that’s not normal.”

“Oh, it’s normal… and something else you have to look forward to in a few months.”

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