Falling For Dad's College Rival

Unanimous.

“We’ll get both.” We say in unison, and Lois claps her tiny hands together with excitement.

“We’ll have somewhere to stay while we build,” I reason aloud.

“And we can add to the house plans if we need to,” Trent says, a matter of fact.

“Add to them?” I ask. “We haven’t even got any.” I remind him.

“Oh, I know. But I’m just thinking, being a family house, we might not want to limit ourselves to having just the three of us?” he asks, cocking a brow.

“And I don’t mean just Grandpa, either,” he adds with a wink in Lois’ direction.

I let my hand stray down to my belly, rubbing it gently.

Wondering if now’s the best time to tell him?

Maybe I’ll wait. Wait until we’re choosing paint colors, then we can decide.

Pink or blue?

I guess we’ll wait and see.

Extended Epilogue

Three Years Later

Trent

“It’s not a handout or a free ride,” I remind Mike, getting more than a little grumpy about how he somehow manages to try and drag up the past whenever it suits him.

“I’m offering you the job because you’re the best engineer I know, take it or leave it,” I tell him point-blank.

He’s worked with us on several projects, but the upcoming development of the college housing complex Brooke has put together will be our biggest yet.

Mike flips and flops, being his usual pain in the ass self, but I have to remind him of something else too.

“There won’t be any conflict of interest, I’m stepping back from the whole thing. Brooke’s only the designer and face of the project. You’re the boss from now on, Mike. How can I make it any clearer?”

I don’t have time to hang with bated breath on the phone either, the twins need changing again and it’s time for Lois’ lunch.

“Well, call me when you have an answer,” is all I manage before hanging up, growling through my teeth before I have to laugh.

All three babies lined up, looking up at me like I must be crazy for talking instead of feeding and changing them all.

“Where’s mommy?” I ask Anders, or thing one. Something we call the twins, got it from a story Lois likes. Jaxon is thing two, and they’re identical, so thing one and thing two just makes it easier with a corresponding number on each of their outfits, bottles, and cribs.

Lois rolls her eyes, just like her mommy, holding her hands up in an over-exaggerated shrug, suggesting maybe she has to go get her own lunch herself.

“I free,” she reminds me, a matter of fact. The space where two front teeth should be giving all her ‘Th’ sounds a sharp ‘F’ sound.

“I know you are, baby girl, but daddy will get your lunch, we’ll all have lunch.

Hearing a car honk, Lois squeals, turning on her heel and making a dash for the back door, which is always locked.

Building away from the suburbs was a great idea, more of a ranch or farmhouse we’ve made out here.

But these kids. They want outside all the time, and we can’t be everywhere at once.

When they’re older, fine. But trying to explain things to ‘Free’ year old Lois is like arguing with her mommy.

It’s just not worth doing, so until she’s old enough and big enough, it’s only outside when Brooke or I can be with her.

She honks the horn again, meaning she has stuff she needs a hand with.

I puff my cheeks with air and open my eyes wide, making the twins giggle as I scoop all three of our babies up to go see what all the fuss is about.

I unlatch the door and stepping out onto the porch, I can see Brooke balancing a stack of takeout containers and a huge pizza box.

“I passed the old restaurant on the way home…” she shrugs, explaining the huge amount of food I know they would have made her take.

They miss us, and although their business thrives on our own staff going there three times a day, we both miss going there too.

“Make two trips, my darling wife,” I suggest, using my head to point out my own hands are filled to the brim right now.

“Did you call dad yet?” she asks, pecking my cheek as she breezes past, setting down the pizza box and grabbing Lois, slotting her into a high chair and serving her up a slice, all in one movement. Waiting for my reply.

“Well?” she asks, hijacking thing one and thing two, moving to change them again before I go over to her, laughing to myself.

“Mommy? Stop,” I plead with her, noticing she’s in work mode still, doing a dozen things at a million miles a minute.

“Come sit down, have a slice of pie and I’ll tell you all about it once I go get the other stuff, okay?” I suggest, creasing my nose at her when she makes a face, sticking her tongue out.