Page 12 of Headed for Home

“And how’s that going for her?”

“Not well. They won’t sit or roll over.” His expression turns solemn on his twin’s behalf.

“Bummer.” I snap my fingers.

A sideways glance finds Drake practically vibrating in place. Freaking goofball. I’ve never met a guy this excited to meet a child that didn’t belong behind bars. Maybe I should be more concerned, but my heart clenches at his eager expression. This man is too genuine to have a predatory bone in his body.

He’s been patiently waiting for his intro, but my tongue ties over what to call him. Hesitation must pinch on my face because he takes the opportunity to let his personality shine.

Drake squats. “Hey, dude. It’s nice to meet you.”

My son squints at the proffered high-five, making no move to accept the gesture. “Who are you?”

I glance at Drake, allowing him to fill in the gap. It’ll be entertaining to hear how he labels us when he’s ready to race down the aisle.

The guy doesn’t skip a beat. “I’m Drake. Your mom and I go way back. We’re old friends.”

The suspicious kiddo narrows his eyes further. “You don’t look very old.”

Drake chuckles. “What I meant is that we’ve known each other a long time.”

He doesn’t appear convinced. “My mom doesn’t have many friends.”

“Ouch,” I complain.

My son gasps. “Did you hurt yourself?”

“You hurt my feelings. I have plenty of friends,” I tell him.

Drake cups a hand around one side of his mouth to aim a stage-whisper at the little boy. “She’s sensitive about her social life.”

His freckled nose crinkles. “What’s sensateve mean?”

The charmer rubs his stubbled chin. “It’s like being soft or delicate. Touchy. We need to be really nice to your mom or she gets sad.”

A shrill giggle rips from my sweet boy. “Uh-huh. Mommy has lotsa emotionals.”

“And that’s not a bad thing. It’s good to express ourselves,” Drake boasts.

My son’s expression screws into a twist. “Um, okay.”

“What’s your name, big guy?”

The little kid puffs out his chest. “Charlie like my Grandpa Charles.”

“Awesome!” My old friend holds up his palm again.

Charlie lunges to complete the high-five. “You’re kinda cool, Rake.”

I snort a laugh. “Totally tracks.”

Drake ignores me, too focused on his new bestie. “How old are you, buddy?”

“This many!” He sticks out his hand.

“Wow, that’s a lot of fingers.”

“You’ve gotta count,” my son insists.

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