Page 79 of One Bride for Three Single Dads

Six hours later, itisa lot like magic.

Actually, in about three hours, I begin to smell it. When I first catch that whiff of delicious, pungent spices, I just stare at Alexis until she glances at me.

Then I don’t say anything. I just wait for her to smell it too.

Then I silently mouth the word: magic.

She rolls her eyes.

It becomes a joke that I will not let go of. The rest of the afternoon, I interrupt her at every opportunity and remind her that the air is currently filled with meaty, salty, tangy goodness.

That we made!

At first she thinks it’s funny. Then she thinks it’s annoying. Then she thinks I am tiresome and terrible and old. Then she starts to think it’s funny again. That is the natural lifecycle of jokes.

I remember when I first heard about her, I thought that seven years old—practically eight, now—sounded slightly awful. Seven-year-olds are still grubby like toddlers, but bratty like tweens. They barely know how to control their bodies, but they sure do know how to run off at the mouth.

That’s what I thought, anyway.

And Alexis is not like that at all. She’s like a fifteen-year-old, but smaller. Like a Shrinky Dink version of the teenager she will be.

I can see why sometimes her parents look at her with terror in their eyes. They know they are already intellectually outmatched.

As the afternoon wanes, I see Alexis check the clock over and over again. The big, carved grandfather clock in the corner. The one with the pendulum. It took some explaining to convince Alexis and Cole that that was a real clock. That the pendulum was part of the operation. That was a fun conversation.

“Daddy is going to be home soon,” she observes, mostly to herself.

“That’s true…” I reply carefully as I watch her. “Do you want to set the table?”

She brightens considerably. “Good idea,” she agrees.

I know she is just trying to distract herself until Harrison gets home. It’s not the same as having Amber here. But it is still pretty good.

Once Alexis is out of the room, Cole picks up his sketchbook and comes over, dropping himself right into my lap and opening his book again. He is not always an avid talker, but he makes his desires clear.

Sitting on my lap means he doesn’t want me to leave the room.

“Hey there, what are you drawing?” I ask him gently as I stroke the top of his head, stealing a whiff of his toddler scent.

He taps the page with his pudgy fingers, from one spindly legged character to another, demonstrating that they are related to each other.

“Is this you?” I ask, indicating a yellow-haired figure. “And who’s this?”

He tips his head back, practically lying down in my lap as he raises his hand to touch my cheek.

“That’s me? You drew a picture of me?” I ask, smiling down on him fondly.

I inspect the drawing a little closer. That’s Cole… That’s me… So that is Boone right there, with the short hair.

And right next to him, another figure the same size but with scribbly long hair. That’s Harrison.

And right next to him, another figure the same size but with shorter hair. That’s got to be Ambrose.

Cole continues to play with my cheek as I look at this family portrait that he’s put together here. It’s sweet. So sweet it makes my heart hurt a little bit.

“Daddy!” Alexis calls suddenly from the kitchen. “They’re home!”

I open my eyes and gasp theatrically at Cole, who wriggles away from me and lunges for the door.

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