Page 23 of Dad Bods and Blizzards

“Could we respectfully ask for your help with decorating?” I add.

“Will you teach us the softer sides of life and be our nightingale?” Woody asks.

“I think we can make that work. But one question.”

“Anything.” I might literally do anything for this woman, who, if I’m lucky, is carrying my baby.

She dangles the keychain. “How did you know to get me a keychain?”

Griz takes the lead. “You saw how thick your file was compared to the others.”

She nods.

“A lot of that was for our personal research.”

She clasps the keychain in her hand. “I want to be mad at you for spying on me.”

“But you can’t because you snooped through our stuff too,” I tease. “Can we call it even?”

She grimaces. “As long as you each promise me one thing.”

“Never to snoop or spy again?” I ask eagerly.

“Never to stop giving me those amazing orgasms.”

Fourteen

Naomi

Standing beside the window where we’ve piled up our modest Christmas presents for each other, I ask the guys to sit on the living room floor while I play Santa.

The vibrant wrapping paper adds color to the otherwise still-sparse cabin.

We’ve been waiting on a decision from the government to find out if the guys can buy the cabin or if we’ll have to move, but the two weeks leading into Christmas, is not the time to ask the bureaucrats to make decisions quickly.

And since I couldn’t be without a Christmas tree, we decided to decorate one of the blue spruces outside of the window where I had sex with Tubs.

I moved in after a sketchy couple of days where the guys hid me, worked tirelessly to clear my name, and risked their own jail time to ensure I never saw the inside of a prison.

The colorful glow of the Christmas lights comes through the window, amplified by the snow. The fire crackles while I distribute the presents. It’s perfect.

Almost.

I’m still coming to grips with how my father made money, and how oblivious I was. The bits of evidence I’ve been allowed to see are shocking. I can’t thank these three cuddly guys enough for going out of their way to prove that I’m innocent. My role of passing the envelopes with meeting locations and cash was done with the trust of a child obeying a parent.

I shudder at the thought of him involving me and putting me in danger, yet it’s still hard to wrap my mind around him getting arrested. But it’s the history he chose to write.

I prefer the history I wrote for myself, and pull my thoughts back to the joyous day.

“You have to open them at the same time,” I say while handing a box to each of them, then joining them on the rug.

Paper tears and three identical boxes reveal hand-painted mugs. Griz traces his finger over the cursiveGrizon one side before turning it to findOtto. I included a silhouette of a lamb and a wolf.

“Little Lamb.” His voice is rough. “No one’s ever made a present for me.”

“Princess…” Ulysses, still Tubs to me, clutches his custom mug that includes paintings of two crowns. He’s unofficially my prince or king or whatever.

Woody studies his mug. “I love it.”

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