Page 45 of Saving Little Clark

Ah, the brattiness I'd been waiting for, right on cue.

Biting back a grin, I gentled my tone. "Wearing a bib is nothing to be ashamed of - in fact, Daddy thinks it makes you look very grown-up and responsible."

I could practically see the conflicting desires warring on his face - the urge to dig his heels in and assert his independence versus the deep-seated need to be praised, validated, seen as good.

In the end, that need won out, as it so often did with little ones. Especially the ones who'd gone so long without the affirmation they craved.

"Okay," Clark relented, shoulders slumping a bit in defeat. "I wear my bib."

I loaded up a bright green plastic plate with a veritable mountain of chicken nuggets, tater tots, and carrot sticks, and set it down on the tray of the booster seat with a flourish.

Face lit with anticipation, he bypassed the cutlery entirely, heedless of the mess dribbling down his chin. For a moment, I could only stare, torn between the urge to laugh and the need to grab my phone and preserve this moment. I found myself plucking a nugget from the rapidly dwindling pile and holding it to his ketchup-smeared lips.

"Open up, sweet pea," I sing-songed. "Here comes the airplane."

He giggled and obediently opened his mouth, allowing me to zoom the nugget in.

In the end, I surveyed the carnage with a grin, taking in the state of Clark's face and bib with a shake of my head.

"It's safe to say we've vanquished the hungry tummy monster," I declared, standing and stretching. "But now we'vegot a mess monster on our hands instead. I think somebody needs a little clean up, don't you?"

Clark blinked up at me, momentarily dazed, before a slow, sly grin unfurled across his face. "I'm not messy," he said innocently, even as a glob of ketchup dripped from his chin onto his bib. "Big boys don't get messy."

"Is that so?" I asked mildly, arching a brow. "Because it looks like a certain little boy is wearing more of his dinner than he ate."

He had the audacity to pout, lower lip jutting out. "Nuh-uh. I'm clean as a whistle. See?"

And with that, he swiped a hand across his face and held it out to me, as if to say "ta-da!". Of course, all he succeeded in doing was smearing the mess around even more, streaks of orange and red painting his cheeks like abstract art.

Shaking my head in amused resignation, I reached for a damp washcloth and gently grasped his sticky hand in mine. He squirmed and fussed, whining about being a "big boy" even as he leaned into my touch, savoring the gentle swipes of the cloth over his delicate skin. By the time I'd wiped the last traces of dinner from his face and hands, he was limp and pliant in my arms, eyelids drooping with contentment.

"There," I murmured, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "All clean. That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"No," he mumbled, nuzzling into my palm like a sleepy kitten. “It’s nice when you take care of me."

"Yeah?" I managed, voice rough with emotion. "Well I like taking care of you too, sweetheart. More than anything in the world."

Clark hummed, a drowsy little smile playing at the corners of his mouth. And then, he reached out and wound his arms around my neck.

"Thank you," he whispered, hot breath gusting over my skin. "For everything. For being here, and wanting me, and making me feel so special."

He shuddered in my arms. I simply held him close and let him feel it - the depth of my commitment, the breadth of my devotion. Let it sink into his skin and settle into his bones, undeniable as gravity.

"I've wanted this for so long," he confessed after a long moment, voice small and muffled against my neck. "Dreamed about it, even. Having someone to take care of me like this, make me feel cherished and precious."

My arms tightened around him reflexively. "And now you have it," I promised fiercely. "Now you have me.”

He sniffled, nodding jerkily. "I know," he whispered. "I trust you. With all of my heart."

With a last lingering squeeze, I straightened up and gently disentangled him from my embrace.

"Alright, my little koala," I teased, thumbing away the traces of wetness on his cheeks. "As much as I'd love to stand here and snuggle you all night, I think it's about time we got you ready for bed.”

Clark pouted, but the effect was somewhat ruined by the jaw-cracking yawn that chose that moment to escape. Chuckling, I helped him onto his feet, keeping a steadying hand on his shoulder when he wobbled a bit. He slipped his hand into mine and let me lead him down the hall to his bedroom.

Chapter 19: Brody

In minutes, I got Clark changed and zipped into his jammies. By the time I'd tucked him beneath the covers and nestled his stuffie into the crook of his arm, his eyes were mere slits.

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