The Godparent Trap

EIGHTEEN

Colby

Dinner was a bit tense as I attempted to make something that resembled actual food without burning the house down. I was still thinking about the kiss, about what all these feelings and moments between us meant. The only answer I’d landed on was that all this thinking was not improving my cooking skills. I’d been trying my ass off, but I still trusted DoorDash more than my own cooking, and by the looks on the kids’ faces, so did they. I’d spent my adult life going to fancy restaurants, writing about the food, the resort or hotel experience, the nightlife, rooms, amenities. My job was to travel and comment on all of it, so in that time, I’d never had the desire to cook since my job was to literally eat, drink, and be merry before lying down in a fluffy clean bed with chocolate on my pillow.

I sighed. That was nice. Or had been nice.

And now this. I looked down at the chicken that the kids were attempting to chew.

It was kind of dry.

The potatoes needed ketchup.

And the green beans were… well, green beans.

The sound of utensils scraping plates put me on edge, as I had my laptop open in a vain attempt to get my next article done. But after more commentary on my cooking, where Rip said yum and the kids said yuck, I finally decided to take some pictures of them instead of working on my post.

I’d do that later.

At least I’d have content for my Instagram.

I took a shot of Viera making a face. Then Ben holding up a green bean with his fork and frowning as if he were confused about whether it was a vegetable or unsafe to eat.

I laughed.

Rip joined in, and by the time I was done, I had an entire quick little photo post that still met my quota for the week even though I still had to work on my other assignment for the blog.

Maybe reality would be better for my followers anyway. I had barely been posting this month on my own personal accounts, but maybe if they saw what I was working with they’d take pity or at least laugh at the messiness of my life, which used to look so perfect and amazing. Sipping martinis by the pool, eating Wagyu steak on the weekly, and working on my tan.

Why did this life suddenly feel more fulfilling, even though it was chaotic? I cleared my throat and tried not to stare stupidly at Rip and beg him with my eyes to help me overanalyze our relationship.

“Those will be good,” Rip said, digging into his chicken like it didn’t taste like death. I tried not to focus on his mouth or the way his lips curled into a genuine smile. I wanted so badly to ask about the kiss. About all the things that had happened this last week when it seemed like both of us had waved the white flag. But how did a person even begin to have that conversation with two sets of little ears perking up every time adult topics were introduced?

It didn’t help that Ben was a wizard with words and spelling, so even if I did spell out conversations, he’d know exactly what I was talking about.

“How was your day, Viera?” Rip asked. “I saw you made some slime…”

I clutched my fork like a weapon.

“Yes! We’s had so fun!” Viera laughed. “And Aunt Colby got messy!”

“Shocker,” I said mostly to myself with a laugh.

“Sometimes messy is good,” Rip said softly, looking over at me before looking back at Viera. “Especially when it puts that smile on your face, sweetheart.”

“Then I so messy too!” Viera started laughing and then took a bite of chicken. “So good, Aunt Colby!” She swallowed and then shoved her chair back. “All done.”

“Viera.” I crossed my arms. “Two more bites.”

She pouted and then shoved them into her mouth and tried through chews to say, “Can, I watch, PAW Patrol? Pweeeeease!”

“Ask Uncle Rip.” Ha ha, sucker.

He gave me a nice-one look and pulled Viera into his lap. Her little arms wrapped around his neck, and then he was whispering something into her ear. She perked up, and he put her on her feet.

She came sprinting toward me, jumped into my arms, and whispered, “I love you mostest. Thank yous for dinner.”

And then she was running up the stairs. Meanwhile, Ben was eating another piece of chicken and groaning as he shoved more food into his mouth. “I think I’m full.”