Page 25 of Merrily Yours
“Me?!” I ask, incredulous. “You’re the one with the stronger DNA!”
She steps in, wrapping her arms around my waist before laying her chin on my chest. “You know I only married you so we could have red-headed children.” She raises an eyebrow and looks pointedly at Elodie, not a red hair in sight.
“Yes, darling. I’m so sorry to have failed you so egregiously. However can I make it up to you?” I tease.
“I’m sure I can think of a few ways.” She kisses my nose and then turns toward Elodie. “Okay, my cabbage. Let’s go ice skating!”
“Damn! Skate-ing!” Elodie says.
My arm shoots out, holding Bex back from pummeling Gabe. “I’ll take care of it,” I say. “You get loaded into the car.”
“Fine. But make sure to rip him a new one!” She shakes her fist for emphasis. Indignant Bex is fucking adorable.
I salute her and then start looking for Gabe.
I find him poking at the presents that are already under the Christmas tree. “Gabriel,” I chide, laughing as he nearly jumps out of his skin.
“Santa’s Snowballs!” he exclaims.
“Much better. Stop teaching my daughter bad words,” I say. “And if Bex asks, I really messed you up, okay?”
“Yeah, okay. Sorry about that. She’s talking so much more than the last time I saw her,” Gabe muses.
“She is half Bardot. You are a chatty bunch.”
Gabe huffs. “Don’t even think about blaming us—you’re the one who never shuts up.”
“Let's just say she comes by it honestly. You ready?”
He takes a deep breath, stretching side to side. “As I’ll ever be.”
Gabe seems a little solemn today so I ask, “Everything okay? Did you and Luci stay much later at Louie’s last night?”
“I don’t know man, I think?—”
“Anders!” Bex calls from the front door. “Grab some snacks, please! I’m already hungry!”
I slap Gabe on the shoulder. “I want to hear about it later, yeah?”
“Yeah.” He nods, sighing. “Yeah, let’s talk later.”
Bex has had a bag of goldfish, nachos, and hot chocolate from the concession stand, and half of my churro. I can see she’s fading fast, and both my girls are going to need a nap soon.
I skate over to the edge of the rink where Bex is leaning up against the boards. Planting a kiss on her forehead, I ask, “You still grumpy, Baby Bardot?”
Her brows furrow. “I’m not grumpy,” she protests. She’s so cute when she’s a little pissed. I take my glove off and push her pout up into a smile.
“You’re pouting.”
She pouts even more, which I didn’t know was possible.
“I just want to be out there with you and El! This is the first winter she’s been skating, and I can’t even go with you guys,” she moans.
I tuck a curl behind her ear. “It’s for your safety, baby.” I reach over and rub her belly. “For the safety of the baby, too. You’re like bambi on skates.”
“If you’re trying to make me feel better, it’s not working.”
“Okay, grumpy. I’m going to do one more lap with our daughter—you stay here and try not to make it obvious that you’re staring at my ass the whole time.”
