Cruz (Hot Shots 2)

“Shit, don’t give Taylor any ideas. She may never want to leave. I’ll let you know if we take you up on that offer though. The sooner you get that info to me, the sooner we’ll find your girl.” I didn’t go into detail, but he’s reading between the lines.

“I’ll talk to you later. Some of us have to work,” I joke, because he probably does more work than I do. Though, if I’m feeling like getting lost in my work, it’s nothing for me to go behind the building to the detached garage and start forming a new surfboard. That’s not in the cards today though. I was lucky enough to have Seth open up the shop. Now he’s gone, so I need to get my ass up and work instead of dicking around. There’s no telling how long Luna has been in the same area as me. A few more hours won’t kill me, as long as I can tell my traitorous dick that, at least.

6

Luna

Sailor finally woke up, looking so much like his father with his arms above his head, legs spread out as he arches his little body, lightly tanned skin, dirty blond hair, and eyes that are the deepest and warmest brown that only one other person I know has them—Cruz.

“Hello, baby boy,” I say to his smiling face. He has a few teeth that have popped up lately, but for the most part it’s still mostly gums. He coos back at me, melting my heart with every movement he makes. It sucked leaving him on my day off, but sometimes it’s nice to have lunch with an adult. Once Sailor is done stretching, something he always makes a production out of—and God forbid you interrupt, well, he’ll let you know exactly how he feels, grumpy isn’t even the half of it. I scoop him up in my arms, kissing him all over his cute face, causing him to giggle.

“Are you ready for a snack?” Sailor calms down when I take my mouth away from his neck. I breathe him in one last time, looking around his room. It was the first room that was painted, of course. I was pregnant, so I spent the extra money to get the non-toxic kind and still had all the windows open. It’s a soft cream color with pops of blue, green, and yellows throughout with a coastal theme. I even found a vintage surfboard that hangs on the opposite side of his crib above his dresser that’s also his changing table. Though that hardly gets used anymore because my little man is always on the move these days.

Sailor doesn’t respond, but when he pulls away, ready to get down to scoot his little body around, I let him, knowing we’ll be in the living room with all of his toys.

“You want to walk with mommy?” He looks up from where I set him down, attempts to stand up, but then falls down on his bottom. I help him this time, both of us with our arms stretched out as I help him walk, my face on his as he smiles and makes noise. Sailor hasn’t said very many words yet, besides ma-ma, up, and a few other words that are sometimes as clear as day and others that leave me guessing. The two of us waddle to the living room until Sailor sees his toys, lets me go, goes to his hands and knees moving as fast as he can to his stuffed dog that sings nursery rhymes. Damn thing, it scares me more times than not. It goes off in the middle of the night, jarring me awake.

“Alright, you go play. I’m going to figure out something for dinner.” He’s too busy playing. I walk into the kitchen, kind of hating that it’s not an open floor plan when Sailor is in the living room and I can’t keep a watchful eye on him, but I know as soon as I start cooking, he’ll be in the Tupperware cabinet tearing it apart. It creates a mess. I give him a spoon, and he makes our music while I cook my dinner and his. Sometimes we have the same thing, his just mashed up, and mine, well, whole.

“Well, Sailor, I think it’s going to be an order dinner night out, kiddo,” I say while looking into my bare refrigerator and freezer. I really need to make it a point to grocery shop tomorrow or order groceries. One or the other. I blow out a breath of air, annoyed because I had this big idea to make dinner tonight for Sailor and me, so I had a light lunch. Clearly, I didn’t think things through. I don’t struggle in a lot of aspects at this single mom stuff, but grocery shopping is the one thing I fail at. It’s probably because I loathe it. I would literally rather clean toilets than grocery shop.