A Dash of Spice
They were both quiet a few moments. Then Scout said, “We always did like it at Tilda’s. All that space to play in. The backyard. The—”
“Cornbread and cookies,” they said in unison.
Ciara smiled. “Just one of those places destined for greatness, I suppose.”
Scout didn’t say anything for a while. She settled into him with her cheek pressed to his chest.
Eventually, he said, “Great house for an entire hockey team to gather after games.”
Without even thinking about it, Ciara added, “Pee-wees, too. Little Scout Winchester Mini-Me’s.”
“Hmm.”
“Yeah. Hmm.”
They fell silent again.
She had no idea how much time passed. Then he asked, “How many Scout Winchester Mini Me’s were you considering?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she playfully mused. “We need three forwards. Two defensemen. A goalie…”
“Ha, ha.”
She laughed along. “I never really thought about any of this until the dedication. It was all just so perfect.”
He kissed her softly. Said, “That’s when it all started to fall into place for me, too. I just have a few things to square up first.”
“You need to tell your family about the full extent of your injuries.”
“Yes.” He kissed her again. “That’s second on my list.”
“The first is?”
“Oh, shit.” He shook his head. “I can’t possibly be having this much trouble counting. I meant that was third on my list.”
“Scout.” She nudged him. “Don’t leave me in suspense…”
“First order of business,” he clarified, “is telling you I love you.”
Her heart melted. She smiled. “Oh, well. That’s fantastic.” She kissed him. A slow, sexy one. Then said, “Please continue.”
“Second order of business,” he told her as he stood, with her curled in his arms, and walked them over to the bed. “Is to make love to you. Though… Damn. There my counting abilities go to hell in a handbasket again. Numbers three, four and five should be solely dedicated to making you come.”
“As if I’d complain about that,” she muttered under her breath.
“Then, priority number six will be to share my entire new existence with my family.”
“Just don’t tick off anything numerically to them. Your mother will be incensed she’s low-woman on the totem pole and you will never be forgiven—nor will I.”
“Something tells me she’ll understand.”
They snuggled close. Scout twined the fingers of one of her hands with his. He kissed her knuckles and then asked, “Really, how cool would it be if we got married and lived in Plymouth Rock?”
Her stomach fluttered. “Scout…” She couldn’t hold back the wide grin. “So very, very cool.”
“All right, then.”
Ciara felt a warm, mystical aura surround her. From Grandpa Win? Tilda? The cosmic forces? Who knew?