Page 20 of Big Timber

“Well, they weren’t ever featured in any ofmyfantasies,” he smarts back, leaning down to kiss my temple. “Until now.”

*

At Declan’s, Tarak doesn’t pause to knock, he simply opens the door and walks right into chaos.

There’s a toddler who’s scaling a baby-gate, and he freezes until he sees who it is before proceeding to throw himself over the top. Landing on all fours, he goes scurrying behind one of the sofas.

A pregnant lady comes scrambling down the stairs, her hair tied up in a towel and she starts talking to us while wrestling with a different baby-gate.

“You must be Talia, I’m Jenna. It’s so nice to meet you,” she says in a soothing, sweet voice before turning to look over her shoulder and bellowing, “Justin! Where’s Cullen? Timber’s here!”

“I don’t know,” a boy’s voice calls from somewhere on this level. “Where’d you leave him?”

“With you!” she sounds panicked now but turns back to me with another smile. At least she’s smiling until she reaches her hand up, suddenly realizing her hair is still wrapped in a towel. “I’m so sorry.”

“Is Cullen a little boy?” I ask her, ignoring her distress over her wet hair as I peek behind the sofa that I saw the child dodge behind. Just as I lean in and try to grab the little rascal, he shoots out on the other side and into the kitchen.

“Got him!”

A boy who’s probably about ten years old emerges, carrying the screaming child under his arm like a sack of potatoes. “Timber! I missed you. I worked on the drawings we talked about the other day and I think …”

“Justin, please just give him a minute,” Jenna pleads with him as she accepts the flowers I hold out to her with a smile. “And you haven’t introduced yourself to Talia yet.”

“Are you the one who kidnapped him?” Justin asks me, continuing to talk without missing a beat. “Declan said he ran away, but he can’t exactly run right now, can he?”

“I got dinner.” Declan’s deep voice comes from directly behind me and I almost jump out of my skin.

And just like that, there’s silence. The baby stops hollering, Justin’s mouth snaps shut as he slowly lowers the child, and Jenna turns to smile at the man just behind me like he’s a glass of ice water on a hot day.

“How are you feeling, baby?” he asks her, sliding around me to greet her with a kiss before turning back to Tarak and me. “I grabbed Thai for us since Jenna has her hands full without me adding to the dinner tally. Justin, can you run out to the truck and get the other bag?”

“Here, let me help with that,” I say, stepping forward to relieve him of the two bags he’s already carrying. “Jenna, what do you need me to do?”

Joining her in the kitchen, I help her get the food laid out as Declan wrangles Cullen into a highchair. As nervous as I was coming here, the initial craziness—reminding me so much of my family, immediately sets me at ease.

Jenna was entertaining, keeping everyone talking or gently redirecting the conversation when her brother would let his excitement get the best of him.

It was hard to remember that Declan was the one who set this meal up. Although incredibly attentive to Jenna, he was quiet and only rarely joined in the conversation. Even his young son seemed to realize something was bothering him and after he was released from his highchair, he curled up on his dad’s lap.

“Is everything alright?” I ask Tarak on our way home.

“Declan’s dealing with a lot right now,” he says after a moment, reaching out to squeeze my thigh. “What did you think of Jenna?”

“She’s great. Not at all what I expected, I guess,” I admit. “Justin just adores you, y’know?”

“Yeah, he’s a good kid,” he replies after letting out a heavy sigh when I stop at a yellow light.

I know Tarak hates being in the passenger seat, but he’s not on my insurance, so I haven’t let him drive my truck yet.

“How are things at the clubhouse?” Even knowing he was there today; I haven’t wanted to bring it up.

“Most of the damage has been removed, now it’s just up to Declan to figure out the materials he wants to use, I guess.” Turning onto my street, I reach up to click the garage door opener and he lets out a little laugh. “Handy thing, isn’t it?”

“Shush. I would have gotten the batteries replaced eventually,” I insist with a grin. “At least by the end of the year.”

“You’re good with me living with you, right?”

It’s not that the question comes out of nowhere. Honestly, considering the late-night conversations we’ve had, we should have discussed it already—but I still get a little anxious.

---