Page 181 of Small Town Firsts

Pulling out my phone, I snap a few pictures of Tatum as she darts off. “You don’t have to thank me for that.”

I swipe up my text thread with my parents—yes, we have a group text—and attach the pictures of Tatum. They aren’t the first ones I’ve sent, and even though they haven’t met her yet, I know Mom and Dad will both gush like the proud grandparents they are. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if they print them out and hang them on the fridge.

She lets out a sigh far too weary for someone her age. “Yeah, Alden, I really do. You’ve been so great and far more forgivingthan I deserve. So, like I said, thank you for your willingness to compromise.”

I offer her a boyish grin. “That’s part of co-parenting, right?”

She laughs and we fall into a companionable silence while we watch Tatum flit around the playground.

Tatum plays and plays, like she has all the energy in the world. But, I guess at three, she does. She’s a red-cheeked, sweaty mess when she runs back to our bench. “Mama, I wanna do the big swide! I wanna show Alden how brave I am!”

I glance toward Natalie, and she gives me a subtle nod. “The big slide, huh?”

Tatum’s head moves up and down so rapidly she resembles a bobblehead.

“How about I help you up the ladder and Alden can catch you at the bottom?”

“Yes!” Tatum cries before running to the slide. I swear, this kid only has one speed—and it’sfast.

Natalie climbs up the ladder with Tatum and helps her get situated properly before sending her down the chute to me. The sound of my girl squealing in delight and screaming, “Again!” is the best sound I’ve ever heard.

On her second go, I tell her to wait a minute before sliding and snap a few more pics of her. She looks so carefree and innocent, and I want to remember this moment always.

We’re on our fourth slide trip when an elderly woman lays her hand on Natalie’s arm. Without meaning to, I overhear her say, “Your family’s beautiful, dear. Especially that husband of yours.”

Natalie’s cheeks go so crimson it’s almost comical. I wait for her to rebut the woman, but she merely smiles and thanks her. My initial reaction is to correct her…to tell her we’re not married or a family. But my second, and far stronger, reaction is one that truly throws me for a loop—longing.

What the hell…

About thirty minutes later,the three of us walk to the parking lot. Tatum whines in her mom’s arms. “I not wanna go home!”

“Then I’ve got good news,” Natalie soothes, ruffling her hair. “Alden is gonna take you to lunch.”

“For reals? Just da two of us?”

“Yes, ma’am. Doesn’t that sound fun?”

“Yes! Dis is da best day ever!”

Tatum’s excitement over spending time with me warms my heart. Natalie passes Tatum to me. “Let me grab Tatum’s car seat and we?—”

“I bought one!” I interrupt her, sheepishly nodding toward my car. “You can check it out first if you want. I, uh, researched the best ones and took it down to the fire department to have them check the install.”

Natalie’s eyes go glassy, and I worry I’ve done something to upset her. But then she wraps her arms around my middle, hugging me to her. “You are such a good father. Tatum’s a lucky girl.” Her words are a whisper meant only for me, but they resonate like a cymbal clanging in my ear.

We walk the few steps to my car and Nat helps show me how to properly secure the five-point harness. “I packed a little bag for y’all.”

I take it from her and place it on the floorboard at Tatum’s feet. She leans in to kiss her—our—daughter and like the pervert I am, I use the opportunity to once again check out her fine ass. High, firm, and juicy…a work of art. I’m so lost in imagining all the things I could do to that ass that I fail to realize that she’s speaking to me, not to mention she’s no longer bent over.

“Alden…hello! Earth to Alden!”

I snap my eyes up to hers, willing myself to look innocent. After all, there’s no need to complicate things between us further.

“Yeah?”

“I was saying she’s not allergic to anything, but can sometimes be picky. Well, not normal kid picky. Maybe…persnicketyis a better word. Oh, and she’ll try and weasel you into dessert no matter where you eat.”

A strand of hair blows across her face, and I fight the urge to brush it back. “Sounds great. We won’t be late.”

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