Page 20 of Free-Spirit

Guilt and regret instantly burst through Tucker’s gaze. “Uh…well…kind of?”

“Kind of?!” I shriek, I’m sure drawing the attention from the rest of the people in the small restaurant. “Youkind oflost our son?! How do you kind of lose our kid, Tucker?!”

“I-”

“How do you stop watching him for even a second?!”

“I-”

“How do you go from knowing where he is tonot knowing?!”

“We should’ve just pretended the trick was a success,” Claude quietly teases to his brother while both of the other women cringe behind their cocktail glasses.

His body angles itself more my direction. “Can I have a moment to explain?”

Despite the rage ready to run off my tongue, I throw a hand his direction for him to get talking.

And heabsolutelyneeds to get fucking talking.

Right. Now.

Like forty-five minutes ago when he got home!

Like twenty-two minutes ago when he was helping himself to a handful of my ass in this brightly colored maxi dress!

“We were out picking berries on the farm,” he gingerly begins, “and the Great Loudini was in full practice mode…”

“Practice,” our son smacks on the crunchy bits, “makes,” more unbecoming sounds are wedged in between words, “permanent.”

The Rich inspired phrase – one used to express why Britt and Tucker needed more time doing things in the parent and child dynamic in order to rebuild that connection – causes him to flash a prideful grin that encourages his wife to lean over and kiss him.

Well, I’m gladsomeoneis feeling all lovey dovey because I am not.

I am so far from not at this moment that even likey mighty is a fucking stretch.

“Lo was trying to make a berry disappear,” my husband cautiously continues, “and in his grandest of attempts, he accidently hit a nearby woman with the piece of fruit.”

“She could’ve ate it,” Lo grumbles on an eyeroll.

“We apologized, explained the situation, and then got to casually talking about some local spots.”

“She told us where to find my hat!”

“Her brother runs the local thrift shop.”

“She helped us pick out your tummy tea and the ginger oil for your feet.”

OhmyMonaLisa,a foot rub does sound amazing considering how sore they already are from all the activities we’ve been doing. Canoeing yesterday was followed by a hike, a family picnic, and making s’mores around the campfire with other guests. Hell, even sex last night was on our feet as we did it in the shower in hopes ofnotwaking up our little guy right after he had gone down. I wanted to tell Tucker about the baby the second we shut his door, but his mouth ran away from him over to mine. And then mine surrendered to being captive. Next thing I knew, we were having hot, cover my mouth so no one hears me scream sex and passing out the instant his head hit my shoulder. But…regardless of how incredible the idea of a foot rub is – and it isso so incredible– that doesn’t negate the fact he let the woman he was busy talking to instead of watching our son assist in its retrieval process.

It’s tainted now.

Like shitty sake.

And that’s not just the hormones talking.

Okay.

Fine.

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