Page 62 of Wild Side
But when his deep timbre responds to my nephew with “Are we doing another one about the prince named Milo?” I know the buffer is fucking useless. This man is too much for me.
“Yes!” Milo replies, his voice bursting with energy. “With dinosaurs. And excavators.”
My lips twitch as his tongue ties aroundexcavator. That one bedtime book has got him calling construction vehicles by their proper names.
“Okay,” Rhys says simply, and I can’t help but peek back over my shoulder at them.
An old sleeping bag is unzipped and folded out flat on the grass, plaid side facing up. Rhys lies stretched out on his back, one hand propped behind his head, the other ruffling Milo’s hair as he sits beside him. They both have rosy cheeks thanks to the chilly air, but warm coats and a thermos of tea have kept us comfortable for the last hour or so.
A huge yawn stretches Milo’s pink lips, and I glance down at my watch.
It’s nap o’clock, and Rhys must realize it too because he quickly adds, “Why don’t you lie back and listen? We can look at the clouds.”
I glance up at the perfectly blue sky, complete with big fluffy clouds floating on a leisurely course. When I look back over, I blink away the sting in my eyes as I watch my nephew curl up in the crook of the big man’s arm without hesitation. It makes me wonder if they’ve done this together before.
I turn back to the shrub before me, feeling the most confounding mixture of bliss and heartache. Their wholesome and sweet moment makes me wish Erika were here to see it. I think she’d love this.
Though it’s not lost on me that if Erika were here, I wouldn’t be. I’d be an interloper. My stomach plummets when I realize it. And then guilt lashes for enjoying this moment at all—a moment that should have been hers.
Maybe she wouldn’t like this? Maybe it’s just me who loves this? My quiet spot on the quiet side of the mountain. With Milo. And, well, my husband.
It’s right as Rhys speaks that I realize the only other person I’ve ever brought here is Milo. We go up the old logging road and through a gate on Crazy Clyde’s land. I drop him off tea in exchange for access to this valley. And then Milo and I spend leisurely afternoons picnicking, looking for bugs, and tending tothe wild roses. And on the mornings when I can’t get the noise of the kitchen out of my head, I’ll come here and read.
But today I brought Rhys. And I didn’t think twice about it.
I get lost in thought, picking the red fruit and placing it in the bucket wedged beneath my arm. And I listen to Rhys’s story, punctuated by Milo’s excited giggles and impressedoohsandaahs. It’s a grand adventure about a small prince who looks identical to Milo. He uses his excavator to go digging for fossils, but what he finds is a portal to another universe where dinosaurs still exist, and he faces many perils.
I wonder the same things I do when Milo watchesPaw Patrol. How the hell does a child own and operate an excavator, and where the fuck are his parents?
Eventually, the tips of my fingers feel numb, and I turn to peek back at the boys. Milo has stopped interjecting his ideas for the story because he’s passed out. He clings to Rhys like a little barnacle on a rock while the bright sun shines down on them.
Bucket in hand, I pad over to the blanket to get a closer look. Rhys is still talking, staring up at the sky and saying something about a Dilophosaurus as his thumb strokes over Milo’s shoulder.
He doesn’t stop, even when his eyes meet mine. I nod in Milo’s direction and hold a palm up to my cheek, miming sleep. Rhys stops talking and lifts his head to peer down at the little boy. And it’s the way he smiles at him—the way his eyes soften—that makes my heart skip a beat. He doesn’t look at him in a way that people who like children look at any old kid that runs past. He looks at him with pure… adoration. With a tinge of pride.
Rhys looks at Milo like he’s as good as his.
I move on instinct, without even thinking. The bucket gets left on the grass as I tiptoe to the edge of the blanket. There’s no room beside Milo, which means the only spot for me is on the other side of Rhys.
My tongue darts out over my lips as I consider what I’m about to do. Then I drop to my knees before I can talk myself out of it. I crawl up to the top and roll over onto my back, staring up at the fluffy clouds.
I can feel Rhys watching me, and his body has gone eerily still. He definitely did not expect me to march up and take the spot beside him, but I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to be part of the moment in a bone-deep way that I can’t even begin to explain.
The weight of his attention almost makes me squirm.
So, I defuse all that pressure with my signature sarcasm when I whisper, “Keep going. I’m dying to hear if Prince Milo defeats the Dilophosaurus. Actually, no. Tell me one about Princess Tabby.”
The ground rumbles with the baritone of his responding chuckle, the vibration of it rolling over my skin and hitting all the most delicious places. Then his arm moves. He lifts it over my head, accidentally bumping me, so I elevate my head and shift, trying to give him space to stretch his arm out. And in the awkward jumble, I somehow end up with my head resting on his bicep.
Wordlessly, he pulls me closer. And I let him.
Neither of us addresses the intimacy of me using his bicep as a pillow. Instead, he just carries on in a quiet voice, like nothing is out of the ordinary about this at all. “Let’s be real. She’d be Queen Tabby, who rules the kitchen with an iron fist.”
I press my lips together. “And King Rhys, who dresses up in spandex and?—”
“I don’t wear spandex.”
“You should. Those little manties can be part of your new branding.”
