Page 68 of Yuletide Acres

Funny thing, Dylan has his own response, spoken in stereo with my own. “She doesn’t believe in marriage.”

Our gazes meet, widening at the other’s admission.

“What?” we question each other, again in stereo. Much more of this and we’ll have to start a harmonizing group.

“I know you’re a free spirit, Poppy. Even if you believe in monogamous relationships, you’ve never wanted marriage or kids. I keep telling Marissa that, but she keeps asking me, regardless.” Dylan takes the list, handing it back to Marissa.

“I’m glad she does. Maybe one time you’ll give the correct answer.”

Dylan crosses his arms over his chest, his expression curious. “What are you saying?”

Here goes nothing. I’m nothing if not honest, even if I’m assured it will send Dylan scrambling for cover. “I’d love to get married. Have a gaggle of kids.”

His eyes widen, but he hasn’t fled. Yet. “A gaggle?”

“Yeah. Six.”

“You want six kids?”

“At least four,” I reply with a shrug. “People change, Dylan. I was young. Selfish.” I pat his chest, offering what little measure of comfort I can after that announcement. “Don’t worry. I’m well versed in your rules. I’m not expecting either of them from you. I would, however, like some food.”

I duck into the back, grabbing a stone cat that arrived today. It’s carved from orange calcite and bears a striking resemblance to Mr. Whiskers. Returning to the front, I hand Marissa the cat, earning a squeal of excitement and a hug about the waist. “Are we ready?”

Dylan nods, but I can tell he’s distracted. “I ordered pizza. We just have to stop and grab it.”

“I love pizza. Thank you.” I’m determined to steer our conversation to safe waters.

Come on, universe, I only got to sleep with him one night. At least grant me a few more rounds before you send him scuttling back to his waiting throng of fans.

The drive back is filled with Marissa’s chatter, as she invents stories about Mr. Whiskers and his adventures. I swear, I need to write them down and capture this child’s imagination in a book. As we pull into the garage, Marissa scrambles from the car, eager to reunite Paddington with his fur buddy.

I walk to the back of the Jeep, grabbing out the pizzas before Dylan has a chance. “Thanks for dinner.”

“Sure.”

He stops and I feel my stomach flip. Uh-oh. I know what’s coming—a reiteration of his rules. Game face on.

“Everything okay?”

“Six kids, huh? That’s a lot of sex.”

Diving right in, I see. “It would be. Hence, why I plan to adopt.”

“Or,” Dylan grabs the pizzas from my hands, “you could just adopt one. Have the others the old-fashioned way.”

“I’d be pregnant all the time.”

“True, but it would be fun as hell creating them.”

I feel like I’m circling a lava pit, uncertain which step might drop me into unfathomable heat. I don’t want to push too hard. But he started it. “Hard part is finding the man to give them to me. Hell, I’ll be happy with just one. Even that will probably not happen the old-fashioned way. Not at this point.”

Dylan pauses, balancing the pizza boxes on his hip. “Don’t settle Poppy. Never settle. You deserve a man who will give you everything.”

He captures my mouth in a quick kiss before following his daughter inside, leaving me gaping after him. Now what the hell does that mean? He’s the man? He’s not the man, but I shouldn’t settle?

I stroll into the kitchen, helping to grab some place settings. “Where’s your Grandma?”

“I’ll go get her,” Marissa states, running off toward her grandmother’s apartment.

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