The Truest Thing - Hart's Boardwalk

Burying her face in my throat, she kissed me and whispered, “Morning, Mommy.”

Love, the kind of love I didn’t even know I was capable of or existed in this world, filled me. I loved Jack. I knew without shame in admitting it that I’d lose something essential to my very existence if I lost him. But the love I had for our daughter was so mammoth, so consuming, there were no words for it. Or the way it filled my entire being to the point it was painful. Like I was incapable of containing the size of it. I lived in this constant and indescribable place of pure joy that she existed and pure terror that something might one day harm her.

I knew Jack felt the same way because we’d spoken about it since the moment she’d entered this world.

“Morning, baby,” I replied as I carried her downstairs. “What do you want for breakfast?”

Thus began the usual twenty-minute conversation in which Tabby couldn’t make up her mind.

We’d finally decided on blueberry pancakes when Jack strode into the room. He’d thrown on a T-shirt with his pajama bottoms, but he still had sex hair. I shivered, wishing we’d had time for more.

“Morning, Daddy!” Tabby yelled from her seat at the table. She loved sitting with the grown-ups, so we’d put a booster seat on one of the dining room chairs for her.

Jack grinned and lifted her into his arms for a cuddle and a kiss. “Is that how you’re wearing your hair for Ty’s party?” he teased her.

Her white-blond hair was a tangled cloud of silk around her face.

She wrinkled her nose. “No!”

Jack chuckled. “Why not? It’s cute.”

“Do I have to go?” Tabby pouted.

Seriously. Those kids. Jack and I shared a look before he gave Tabby a squeeze and returned her to her chair. “Tyler’s important to us. To you too. Even if you don’t get along all the time. Would you want him to miss your birthday?”

“Uh … yeah.”

She said it like she was forty, forcing me to choke back my laughter.

Poor Jack struggled not to laugh too. “Baby girl, that’s not nice. It’s Ty-Ty. We love Ty.”

“I told him I didn’t want to give him a present for his birfday and he told me”—Tabby turned in her seat to aim the conversation at me too—“he told me that he’s gonna wrap Louis’s dog poop up and give it to me for my birfday.”

Wow. Their mini war was getting colorful.

“I told him,” she said, panting now, her voice getting louder, “I told him, I told him that he’s stupid because I would do the same but wouldn’t tell him! He ruined poop surprise!” She gesticulated her exasperation with a pointed outstretching of her arms.

“As true as that is, we don’t call people stupid.” Jack stood from his haunches and ruffled her hair before he wandered into the kitchen toward me.

He was wearing a sexy, lazy smirk that widened when we heard Tabby mutter, “Then stupid people shouldn’t be stupid if they don’t wanna be called stupid.”

I rolled my eyes as Jack wrapped his arms around me, pulling me away from the pancakes. “She has a point,” he muttered against my mouth before he took it in a very, very nice good-morning kiss.

“Ugh.” Tabby’s voice cut through it.

I laughed against Jack’s mouth and pulled away. “I think it’s safe to say she didn’t inherit my romantic nature.”

My husband chuckled before pressing a sweet kiss to my nose. He released me and then gently nudged me toward the table. “Go, I’ll finish up.” He moved to the pancake that was seconds from burning and flipped it expertly.

I grumbled under my breath because I couldn’t do the flippy thing but made my way over to Tabby to explain what a stalemate was and why she needed to enact one with Tyler today.

* * *

“I still think they’ll grow up and fall in love,” Bailey offered.

Jess and I cut her a disbelieving look before returning our attention to our kids.

Tyler’s birthday party was underway in Jess and Cooper’s substantial backyard. They’d hired a magician dressed as Iron Man. Jess and Cooper had spoken to Tyler about being on his best behavior with Tabby, and there had been no fights when the kids congregated around the performer.

They were, however, wearing grumpy faces and shooting each other death stares now and then.

“I’m telling you,” Bailey insisted. “They’re like a kid version of me and Vaughn when we first met.”

“We’ll see,” I muttered uncertainly. I still had that worrying poop-gift story on my mind.

“Where is Vaughn?” Ivy asked, her eyes searching the backyard.

“He and Michael are putting Lily and Jenna down for a nap.” She jerked her head to the house.

Lillian Tremaine, or Lily, was Bailey and Vaughn’s thirteen-month-old daughter. They named her after Vaughn’s beloved mom who died when he was young. Jenna was Dahlia and Michael’s sixteen-month-old daughter. For now, we were surrounded by girls.