Page 60 of Owned By The Cowboy
“Actually,” Reggie says, coming in from the kitchen with drinks, “I was thinking something we’d all enjoy. What about that new action movie? The one with the guy from…”
“Mama, no!” All three kids protest in unison.
I chuckle. “What’s wrong with action movies?”
“She always picks the boring ones,” Nia explains, letting her head fall back on the couch arm like her mother’s alleged bad taste in movies makes her life miserable.
“I do not pick boring ones,” Regina objects with a laugh.
“Remember last time? That movie about the guy who was trying to save the world, but it was mostly just him talking to people in suits?” Jaylen argues.
“That was a very well-reviewed film,” Reggie says.
“It was two hours of meetings,” Jaylen adds. “With a few explosions.”
“There were some very good explosions,” Annalise jumps in, giving her mother a sweet, supportive smile. Reggie laughs, brushing back her daughter’s hair, before pressing a kiss to her forehead.
“Thank you, baby.”
I’m watching the entire exchange with a grin I can’t hold back. This is what family looks like.
“How about we compromise?” I suggest. “Something with action, some romance, and enough plot to keep everyone interested.”
“Like what?” Annalise asks.
“The Princess Bride,” I tell her with a wink and a tickle that has her giggling.
“What’s that?” she asks between fits of laughter.
“You’ve never seen The Princess Bride?” I look around the room in mock horror. “That’s it. We’re watching it. This is an emergency.” I turn to Regina, pointing a mock-accusatory finger at her. “Ma’am, you’ve done this kid wrong.”
She laughs, shaking her head at my antics.
“Is it scary?” Annalise wants to know, eyes widening, definitely intrigued.
“A little. But mostly it’s funny, and romantic. And has the best sword fighting ever put on film. It’s the best. Trust me.” God, I sound like Peter Falk in the movie.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, we’re all settled in for the movie. And somehow, I ended up on the other end of the couch with Reggie curled up next to me, her head on my shoulder and her hand resting on my chest.
This feels different. Domestic. Like something we do every Thursday night instead of something that just happened.
“Inconceivable!” comes from the TV, and Annalise giggles.
“He keeps saying that word,” she observes.
“I do not think it means what he thinks it means,” I quote along with the movie, and she dissolves into laughter.
“You’ve seen this before.”
“A few times.”
“How many is a few?”
“Maybe fifty.”
“Fifty?!”
