I have no real answers. The letter she left behind gave me nothing more than a weak apology and a half-assed rant about needing her freedom to explore life as she wished to experience it. I gave her my heart and in return, she gave me three children, a Dear Jane letter, and a lifetime of embarrassment over being jilted.
Never again.
Chapter one
Liv
The chiming of my phone pulls me from sleep. I hit the silence button, roll onto my back and stare up at the familiar robin's blue ceiling. Today’s a bittersweet moment, the first day of kindergarten. My little lifesaving miracles are growing up too fast. I slide from beneath the gray flannel sheets and sit up, stretching my arms over my head. The memory foam mattress puts my queen sized pillow top at home to shame.
Maybe that’s the reason I’ve been spending more and more nights over here. I zombie walk to the on suite, shed my thin white cotton nightgown, and get into the shower. Mornings here are early ones because I’ have to cook for a tiny army. Houston knows his way around a stove, but I want to give my best friend a break.
Between running the business, and taking care of the triplets, he hardly has time to breathe. Many People can’t understand my devotion to the family. The fact is, the four of them saved me. Times were dark after Anthony’s treachery. I’d been expecting an engagement ring. After five years of living together, paying bills, and helping him get to where he needed to be I took his odd behavior as a sign of an impending proposal.
I thought the extra hours and whispered phone conversations with my best friend were planning sessions. I was right in a way. Heat fills my face as I scowl. Even now, the event makes me feel like a complete idiotic. I learned the hard way, not to put all that time, energy, and emotion into a man who hasn’t made a substantial commitment.
Not that I’m worried about relationships. It’s clear I have a bad picker.
I'm getting what I need with the triplets and Houston. I have companionship, unconditional love, and loyalty. The only two men who’ve proved I can depend on them were my father and presently, Houston. I move away from the disagreeable memories and focus on the hot water beating down on my skin. I want to make this day as special as possible.
More awake, I slip into a comfortable pair of jean shorts, and an Our Lady of Angels parent T-shirt. I pad to the stainless steel appliance kitchen any cook would kill for. The butcher block counters, white subway tiles, and matching Island were an upgrade over the years. He’d put sweat, tears, and love into this fixer-upper. Like cars, he turned what was once old and worn into a new and personalized item. I wash my hands, pull out the waffle iron, and move to the kitchen to pull out the turquoise Tupperware bowls full of batter I made the night before. I pop the lids revealing the bright pink and light blue mixtures. Some families like pancakes, we like waffles. It’s a tradition to make them for any special event.
The light on the iron blinks green, and I start up the process. The scent of vanilla and something firmly in the funnel cake family fills the air. The shuffle of feet brings my attention behind me.
“Smells good Livy.” Houston’s ruffled in an adorable manner with his dark hair all over his head and a crooked beard. It’s all too easy to picture the almost forty-year-old as a child. His light grayish blue eyes stand out against his tan coloring and the short chocolate-brown hair that falls over his forehead. I want to smooth down his thick mustache. Curled up at the ends, it makes him look like a cartoon villain. I smile at the vulnerability he’s displaying.
Outside of the home, he’s always so serious, polished, and put together.
“Thanks, are the kiddos up, yet?”
He scratches his chest. My eyes are drawn to the broad chest that fills out the white t-shirt. I lick my lips. The man is like a fine wine. He gets better with time.
“Not yet. I’m going to get dressed and then go wake them.”
“You know you have to wear the shirt I got you right?” I cross my arms under my breasts and narrow my gaze.
“Seriously?”
“Yes. You’ll ruin the pictures if you don’t,” I say.
He sighs. “Alright.” Pleased, I grin.“I swear, you’re just as bad as Deja and Echo. They’ve learned this sass from you,” Houston says.
I snicker. “I think that’s Daddy’s DNA manifesting. But nice try.”
I bump his hip with my own. He kisses my cheek. His soft hair tickles my skin, and I giggle.
“Thank you, Liv.”
“Nowhere else I’d rather be,” I reply honestly.
He moves away. Immediately I miss his heat and the comforting scent of wood and pine as he walks strides away. His long legs eat up the distance. I can’t help admiring the view. The flannel pants flow over his firm, taut rump. My best friend is a total hottie. I'm not ashamed to say a part of me wants to sample his Dad bod. Lean and broad shouldered, he has the hussy inside me eager to grind on him shamelessly.
I clear my throat and return my attention to my task. My hormones are surges through me hot and powerful like lightning. What they say about women hitting their peak in their thirties is true. I’m pushing thirty-five and wearing out Bobs left and right. My sexual frustration makes me wish I were the one-night stand type. I’ve never been able to manage it. Sex and emotion remain irrevocably linked for me.
Since the thought of getting serious with a man makes my anxiety flare, it’s been a three-year dry spell. I place the plates on the large table in front of the French doors that lead out onto a deck along with the silverware and make a serving line. The kids have whipped cream, rainbow sprinkles, apples, and strawberries for toppings. A turquoise pitcher of milk sits on the table.
“Look who's ready for their big day,” Houston says.
I step away from the table as Echo, Phoenix, and Deja enter the room. The sight of the munchkins in their blue and white plaid jumpers with crisp white shirts, and high ponytails held up by the matching patterned ponytail holder melts my heart.