Page 18 of My Wife
The kid moves his hands around and starts laughing. There’s no mistaking it. My chest gets warm and does a weird, melty thing. Maybe I’m allergic to honey. They put it in the coffee here instead of sugar.
Giving my head a shake, it’s time to leave. “Come on, kid. Let’s go.”
He remains still except for his hands.
Meanwhile, the short woman with curves and a dimple in one cheek beams. She looks to be about my age, mid-twenties. Her lips are peachy and plump with a little line through the lower one. Not that I’m paying attention.
Through jovial laughter, she says, “He asked if I’m a princess.”
“He did not.”
She moves her hands. “Uh, yeah. He did. Even asked where my crown is.” She sighs.
“All right. Enough of?—”
“He told me he’s a king, so what would that make you?” she asks with a laugh as if this is all some big joke.
Then my thoughts sharpen. “What did you say?”
She yawns. “I should get going too. It’s been a long drive.”
I look from her to the kid who moves his hands in a distinct way.
“What were you saying about a king?” I ask, my tone sharp.
Her eyes brighten. “Ah, I know. You’d be a knight. Is that what the K on your hat stands for?”
I lengthen my spine.
Her jaw lowers. “Are you on the hockey team? My grandmother is a huge fan. Oh my goodness. Could you sign something for me? A napkin? The gown?” While she speaks her hands move simultaneously.
It’s one thing to use your hands while talking to emphasize a point, but this is something else. Then it clicks.
“Wait, did you saysign?”
She nods.
I point to the kid and then to her. “Are you two signing?”
“Obviously. Also, you can’t give a tiny guy a cookie for breakfast.” Notably, she doesn’t wave her hands around.
“No one asked you.”
“No one consulted me about the last twenty-four hours, yet here I am.” Blocking our exit from the hallway, she leans her head against the wall as if about to take a nap.
I’ll have to mention to the bakery owner or law enforcement that there’s a deranged reprobate disguised as a witch bride loose in Cobbiton.
My phone beeps and I grumble. I’m late because of the kid and now this lady.
“Could you please move?” I gesture to her gown that takes up half the hallway.
She seems to surface from her dip into La La Land and says, “Gosh. Yes. Of course. I am so sorry. Forgot where I was for a moment. I should go.”
“Finally, you speak some reason.”
With a huff, she plants her hands on her hips. “I’m reasonable. You’re the one who’s on the verge of an adult temper tantrum.”
“Am not.”
