Page 16 of A Miracle for the Reserved Flyboy

“Well, I have added it to my mental list of things I’m never doing to my own children.”

“Ahhh, you have a mental list, too, eh?”

“Oh yes,” she chuckled shyly, smiling at him as he scooted his chair a little closer to hers before leaning in and whispering to her. “Tell me one of your things that’s on your mental list.”

“Let’s see,” she began and felt him playfully bump his shoulder into hers. “I refuse to bring my daughter maxi pads to school in the container they come in. Instead, I’ll put it in a brown lunch baggie and play it off.”

“I refuse to tell my son to wear ChapStick in front of his friends, because it was always followed by a comment like‘someday when you get a little girlfriend she’ll be grateful for your hygiene.’”

“Oh gosh,” she chuckled, shaking her head.

“ChapStick all the time now,” he admitted, sliding a small tube out of his shirt pocket before tucking it back in. “No little girlfriend, but I do get chapped lips easily.”

“Tell me another,” she encouraged quickly. “And I’m glad it’s not just me.”

“Nope, it’s not. I refuse to ask my son if he’s wearing clean underwear before he goes out with his friends.”

Krista instantly laughed, nearly choking on her coffee. She was snorting indelicately, guffawing and wheezing, while Gary patted her on the back before rubbing it gently.

“It’s not that funny, you know,” he chuckled as she wiped the tears from her eyes and met his smile.

“It’s hysterical.”

“True.”

“And are you wearing clean undies?”

“Absolutely,” he grinned. “If I got in a car wreck, it would be the first thing they looked for at the scene. Now, you have to tell me another one – an embarrassing one.”

“Aren’t they all embarrassing?”

“Yeah.”

“Um, let’s see,” Krista began, realizing that Gary’s hand had been resting on her back, fingers tracing soothing circles in a way that sent warmth up her spine. She liked it more than she’d expected, and it made her smile. “I refuse to lick my thumb to wipe a smudge off my child’s face.”

“But just your child, right?” he teased in a low, mischievous tone that made her heartbeat hitch. “You’d still do it to your husband, though – or would you deny the poor man that universal mom privilege?”

“Oh, he’s not going to want that,” she laughed, shaking her head.

“Don’t be so sure,” he murmured, his voice rich and warm, his gaze holding hers for a lingering moment.

She rolled her eyes. “I’m positive. No man wants me to lick my thumb and wipe a smudge off his face. Haven’t you ever heard of germs?”

He grinned. “If you’re married to a guy and have kids with him, trust me, he’s already swimming in ‘cooties’ and germs. So, no excuses.”

“It’s still gross.”

“Says who?”

She looked up, ready with a retort, only to see a smudge of foam clinging to the side of his smiling mouth. His eyes danced with mischief as he pointed to the spot, clearly inviting her to take him up on his dare.

She shook her head, laughing. “You’re weird.”

“No, you’re scared,” he taunted, smirking.

“I am not!” She laughed again, feeling the laughter bubble up to disguise the nerves suddenly fluttering in her stomach. “It’s just… it’s my thumb. And your mouth.”

“See? Scared.”

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