Page 38 of Hot Momosa

“Are you serious?”

Out of the three choices Gunnar had given me, I’d pick a fish over a drum or snake any freaking day of the year. “The little one asked for a fish for Christmas.”

Dante groaned. “Anything else while I’m playing personal shopper?”

“Just the tree, the fish, and whatever else I need to keep it alive.” I disconnected the call and walked back into the kitchen.

“Mamma, look.” Gunnar held up a stack of papers, each with one or two scribbled crayon marks.

“Wow, those are beautiful.” Dahlia smiled, but between her tight jaw and stiff posture, I had a feeling brunch hadn’t gone well.

The little guy placed the pages side by side on the table. “This one is a drum. This one is a snake. This one is a fish.”

“Interesting choices.” She glanced at me for the first time since she’d returned.

“He’s writing his letter to Santa.” I rested my hip against the counter and folded my arms.

Beth gave Stuart a longing look that had the big guy shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

He cleared his throat. “We should get going. Dahlia, call me if you need to go out.”

“I will and thanks again.” She all but collapsed into the chair beside Gunnar.

I walked the couple to the front door, gave Stuart a sympathetic smile, and Beth a quick hug. “Next time, I’ll throw some steaks on the grill and make a party out of it.”

Stuart glanced past me to Dahlia, pressed his lips into a thin line, and shook his head.

Not that I had any doubt about her mental state, but his gesture confirmed my suspicions. I wanted to know what the hell had happened more than I wanted my next breath, but it wasn’t the time to ask.

Suddenly, a day full of Christmas traditions seemed like a very bad idea.

“Mamma. Look.” Gunnar waved a drawing that resembled an ink-blot test in front of Dahlia’s face.

Once again, she smiled. “That’s great, baby.”

“I not a baby!” He slammed his hands on the table and sent the crayons flying.

Dahlia closed her eyes and pressed her hand to her temple.

“Okay, little man. That’s enough.” I’d never sounded so much like my dad, and I didn’t quite know how I felt about it.

Gunnar narrowed his eyes, and I found myself in an old-west style stare-down, each of us waiting to see what the other would do.

Screw this. I’m his father, not his best friend.

I lifted him from the chair. “We have a big day ahead of us, but first, it’s nap time.”

“No nap!” He flung his head back against my cheek hard enough I saw stars.

Tucking him under my arm like a sack of kicking screaming potatoes, I headed down the hall.

As if by magic, Gunnar calmed when we reached the bedroom. He rubbed his eyes and climbed into the queen-sized bed without prompting. “Shiny blanket.”

I didn’t get his fascination with the sleeping bag, but he loved the slick fabric. “Have a good nap.”

He held his arms out to me. “Hugs.”

How a tiny human could go from raging lunatic to the cutest thing in the world in a matter of seconds was beyond me. I gave him a quick kiss on the brow and a gentle squeeze. “Sweet dreams.”

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