Page 76 of Accidental Mile High Daddy
She rolled her eyes and took my hand, using it as leverage to lower herself onto the blanket. “Don’t knock Lunchables. The nachos one is top-tier.”
“I’ve had the nachos one,” I said, sitting down beside her with the quietesthumph. “Zach went through a phase of eating them every day for about four months. They’re mediocre at best.”
Her head whipped toward me. “You, money-bags McGee, let Zach eatLunchables?”
I snorted. “Okay, firstly, you’ve seen him eat. Do you think his dinosaur nuggets aregourmet? Do you think I bring in a chef to prep them with the finest ingredients money can buy and then toss them in the freezer? Because I’ve tried it,” I laughed. “He hates it. He’d happily survive on strictly Tyson nuggets and Kraft mac and cheese if I let him. And secondly, I’m not amonster. I know they’re not nutritious, but if he likes it, he likes it.”
She shook her head as if that was somehow the most shocking sentence I’d ever said, leaning back on her hands asshe surveyed the food. “You’re a good dad, Matt.” Her eyes met mine, just briefly, before looking back out at the view.
“Wow,” I mused, picking up one of the seasoned crackers and carefully balancing a wedge of cheese on top of it before holding it out to her. “I must have done something seriously right here if you’re openly complimenting me.”
“Don’t get used to it,” she smirked. Her fingers hesitantly took the cracker from me, studying it, before levelling me with a glare. “What kind of cheese is this?”
“Brie,” I said carefully. “Triple checked it’s pasteurized. I gave the chef the list of food you can’t have.”
Her eyes widened. “You didn’t.”
I shot her a grin and cut off a slice of a different cheese for myself. “I did. I was a little paranoid,” I admitted, popping the cracker between my teeth. “Everything’s labeled. The cheese on your side is safe.”
She nearly choked on her cracker, her hand coming up to cover her mouth as she coughed. “Myside? Youzonedthe charcuterie?”
“Heaven forbid I keep you and the babies in mind,” I teased, lifting one of the glass containers on her side to reveal a“Sienna-Safe”label beneath it, a descriptor of the food under that. “In fairness, the chef did it. But it was at my request.”
She blinked at me before picking it up and reading it aloud herself. “‘Sienna-Safe. Roasted carrot with cumin and maple, served warm.’” She turned her attention back to me, her eyes narrowing. “You’ve taken me on a picnic with food made by a private chef when I was literally crying in a Wendy’s drive-through this morning. You realize I’m going to get whiplash, right?”
I huffed a laugh and popped the lid off the hot flask, picking up the two little mugs sitting empty in front of us. “Are you going to tell mewhyyou cried in a Wendy’s drive-through or…?”
She shot me a glare. “They weren’t selling Frosties yet.Obviously.”
I’ll buy you a fucking Frosty machine, I almost said. But I bit my tongue and poured her out a mug of cider before setting it down beside her like it was the most normal thing in the world. “Tragic.”
She thwacked me lightly with the back of her hand as she sat forward, picking up her mug. “This is non-alcoholic, right?”
“Yes.”
Her shoulders relaxed just a fraction.
“Did you genuinely think I’d give you alcoholic cider when you’re carrying our kids?”
She shrugged. “It’s not a comment about you,” she offered, her lips quirking up a little. “I’m just… I don’t know. I’ve been overly cautious lately. And considering you’ve got a wholeSienna-Safesection of the charcuterie, I thought maybe you’d have aSienna-Safeflask andMatt-Onlyflask.”
I nudged her shoulder with mine. “Nope. I’m not drinking.”
“Aww, you’re showing solidarity with?—”
“No,” I said, cutting her off. I reached out absentmindedly, tucking a stray hair of hers that kept blowing across her cheek behind her ear instead. “I just didn’t want to drink. That’s it.”
The temptation flared to tell her that almost every time I’d been real with her, I’d had at leastonedrink to loosen myself up. From the flight, to the dinner in Cancun, to the night of Ryan’s wedding, to the night she’d agreed to come over to hear me out. The only exception was right after the scan.
I didn’t want to drink with her.
I wanted tobewith her.
“All right, weirdo,” she huffed, but her cheeks warmed in that way that made my chest ache, her gaze darting from me to the sprawl of the trees around and below us.
We fell into a comfortable silence, her sipping at her cider with a mumbled complaint about it being the best cider she’d ever had, me plucking off bits of fruit and handing it to her so she didn’t need to reach. It was easy. So goddamn easy with her.
Her hand twitched on her stomach.
