Tell Me Everything

I cradle him, kissing his forehead, stopping to inhale his sweet baby scent.

It’s a feeling like no other, holding my child, as though a piece of me has been returned after a long wait.

When I gave birth – Preston at my side the whole time – it was like I was reuniting with him, rather than meeting him for the first time. It’s a sensation I never expected to feel, something completely unique.

Preston stands up and rubs a rag across his forehead, showing me the broad muscles of his back. He turns and catches me watching, a smile on his lips, reminding me of the way he beamed on our wedding day.

As I walked up the aisle, Casey at my side since my dad was no longer with us, his smile was so wide, so carefree, so content, nothing like the grim-faced Preston I first met over a year ago.

He swaggers over to the window now, sweat dripping down his naked abs, causing a shiver to slide down my spine. I thought he might want me less after I gave birth, convinced he’d find my extra curves off-putting.

I couldn’t be more wrong.

Ever since I recovered enough to be intimate, he’s like an unchained beast, his hands all over me every chance he gets. He’s always massaging my body in the most tantalizing way, causing goosebumps to rise all over my skin, making me tingly just thinking about it.

He stops at the open window, grin widening.

“Getting a good look?” he teases.

I laugh. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I don’t like being ogled, wife,” he says, with heavy irony in his voice.

I can tell he likes it, but not because he wants to show off his physique. It’s more that he wants to know how attractive I find him. He wants to know I haven’t stopped being captivated by him, and that nothing could ever come between us.

“How’s it going?” I ask.

I have to change the subject. If I don’t, I’ll end up losing control. It’s difficult to keep my cool where my husband is concerned. The lust goes both ways, a constant fireworks display, exploding again and again as I struggle to maintain my resolve.

His glinting eyes tell me he knows why I’ve moved the conversation along. My sharp husband misses nothing.

“We’re going to have a beautiful garden one day,” he says.

“You could hire somebody to do it.”

He grins. “Yes, I could. But a man needs to work with his hands. A man needs to build his home himself. And, anyway, the last thing I need is another man seeing how downright beautiful you are.”

I glow under the compliment, heartened that he’s so possessive even now after I’ve given birth and we are married.

“How’s the little guy?”

He’s too young to do it, but I’m sure Jamie makes a sound of pure love, a mumbling of joy.

“He’s better now that his daddy is here,” I say.

Preston smiles broadly. “What’s say I finish this up and then cook us some dinner, eh?”

I warm at the thought. It’s a simple everyday thing, and yet it still feels magical.

“That sounds great… husband.”

EXTENDED EPILOGUE

Preston

Ten Years Later

I walk into the living room, balancing the tray in my hand, laden with chips and dips and snacks. Jamie sits cross-legged on the floor, staring up at the TV.

Our oldest child has a mop of black hair, the same color mine was before it turned silver. He looks back at me as I walk in, a smile on his face.

I grin in return. People say he has my smile. But every time I look at him, I can’t help but see his mother, especially the glint in his eyes. It’s difficult to explain.

It’s the feeling I get when I see his eyes, the playful spark, rather than the color, rather than any physical characteristic.

Liam sits next to him, our five year old obsessed with his big brother. Liam is indisputably all Penny, with his mop of brown hair and the impishness of his smile. He sits cross-legged, as though imitating his older brother, both of them gazing up at the screen.

I set the tray on the table.

“Who wants snacks?”

The two boys immediately turn around, reaching for the food.

I share a look with Yasmin, our seven year old daughter. She sits on the armchair, her legs folded, a book balanced on her knees. She’s by far the quietest of our children. Even when she was a baby, she hardly made any noise, as though she was dreaming up future possibilities before she could speak.

She rolls her eyes as if to say, ugh, boys.

I grin and throw her a wink, making her laugh quietly, as Liam and Jamie cram as many chips as humanly possible into their mouths. Kelly pads over a moment later, our four year old tottering from side to side, hands pawing for the tray.