Miss Fix-It

Brantley shoved the box into Ellie’s room and, then, very slowly, turned to me with one eyebrow raised. “Yes. I figured that out last night. Right about the time I was eight inches deep inside you.”

I coughed on thin air. My cheeks burned again, and his lips formed a smirk.

“What’s that? Three times today? I’m on fire. Like your cheeks.”

“Oh my god!” I took the last two steps and smacked my hand against his chest. “You infuriating man.”

He grinned, leaning against the doorframe as I passed him. “If I kissed you right now, would you slap me again? It was kind of hot.”

“Now, I know you’re messing with me.” I pointed my finger at him. “Stop it. You have children to take out and I have a huge-ass, flatpack closet to build. There’s no time for your bullshit.”

He laughed as I passed him, once again, but this time, I left the room. I couldn’t build it without my tools which were downstairs. I ran down, poked my head in the living room to see the miracle of the twins still sitting nicely together, and grabbed my toolbox.

Brantley was still leaning against the doorframe when I got back upstairs. His arms were folded across his chest, and his gaze followed me as I eked past him into the room.

“Are you just going to stand there and stare at me?” I set the toolbox down next to the giant box.

“Do you mind if I do?”

“Yes. If you’re not going to go out, help me open this box.”

“Are you this bossy to all your clients?”

“No. You should know by now you get special privileges.” I pulled a pocketknife from my toolbox and sliced open the tape holding one side of the box together. “And not all of them are enjoyable for you.”

“I don’t know…” he trailed off. “It is quite enjoyable when you tell me what to do.”

“It’s a shame you don’t ever do it.”

He grinned. “I was only going to the store. Not some wondrous day out where they get to run around like hellions. At a push, I was going to take them to the beach tonight.”

“All I hear from this is your opinion that they need to go somewhere to run around like hellions.” I paused, and a shout came from downstairs.

“Daddy! Daaaadddyyyy!” Ellie’s shriek got louder, and stomps on the stairs echoed. “Ewi hit me!”

Without blinking, he replied, “What did you do to him?”

“Nuffink!”

“What did you do to him?”

She mumbled something under her breath, dipping her head.

“Eleanor.”

“Pushed him off the sofa.”

I coughed to hide my laugh.

“Then the lesson here is, don’t push your brother and he won’t hit you, isn’t it?” Brantley sighed. “We’ve covered this a hundred times.”

“But it hurted me.” She sniffed, giving him puppy dog eyes.

“Okay? So, let’s go downstairs. I’ll push you off the sofa and you can see if it hurts, too.”

Her eyes widened, from puppy dog to deer in headlights. “No. I’m okay. I go say sowwy now.”

Brantley nodded, watching her go.

“I can’t decide if that parenting technique is brilliant or…well, brilliant,” I admitted.

“Thank you.” His lips twitched. “It’s simple. If she didn’t push him, he wouldn’t hit her. After the paint fiasco, you’d think she’d know that. The stuff she does always gets a reaction.”

“What about Eli? Will you tell him not to hit her?”

“No. If she pushed him, she deserved it. Eventually, she’ll get the message.”

“So, basically, what you’re saying is that you’re raising both the kid who throws the first punch and the one who always punches back?”

He paused. “That’s the most accurate description of my children I’ve ever heard.”

I laughed, opening the box fully and picking up the instructions.

At least this wasn’t Ikea furniture.

I liked my patience, and I wanted to keep it today.

“That’s a lot of pieces,” he muttered, looking at the box.

“About normal.” I paused, then looked from the box to him. “You sounded…weary. Like this is terrifying.”

“I don’t build flat-pack furniture,” he admitted, dropping his arms and stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I can’t build it, actually.”

I looked at him for a moment. “Not even, like, a table? Or a bookshelf?”

Grimacing, he shook his head. “My father always used to do it. For whatever reason, I just can’t do it.”

I blinked. Several times. “You can’t build flat-pack furniture?”

“Nope. It doesn’t matter where it’s from. Whether it’s a local store or Ikea…”

“First, nobody can build Ikea furniture. Well, I can, but I don’t like to.” I put down the instructions. “But, this? Easy. I might need some help to hold some pieces together, but honestly, it’s like stacking Lego.”

“More like stepping on Lego,” he muttered.

“I can’t believe you can’t build flat-pack furniture.”

“Here we go. I never should have told you that.”

“I’m going to bring it up every single time you mention me blushing. I promise you that.” I laughed, sweeping the instructions to the side and pulling out the first bit of solid wood. “Every. Single. Time.”