Page 188 of Small Town Firsts

Natalie doesn’t have the chance to finish her sentence because a very impatient Tatum bursts through the doorway, joining us.

“I want ice cre—you have a pool!”

We both snicker at her abrupt subject change. “Yes, I do.”

“I lub swimming!”

“Tater Tot, you don’t know how to swim.”

Totally undeterred, she stomps her little foot. “So! I still lub it! It’s like a really super big bathtub, and baths are da best!”

I wink at Natalie. “Girl’s got a point. Y’all will have to come over and swim soon before the temperature drops.”

“Yes! Please, Mama! Please, can we?”

“Of course, baby. Alden—your dad and I will figure out a date, okay?”

“Okay! Now we can has ice cream?”

“No,” I gently correct her, “we canhaveice cream. Not has.”

Tatum gives her mama an eye roll worthy of a teenager. “Fine. Can we have ice cream? I fink I might die without it!”

I snort at her antics. If she’s this dramatic now, I can only imagine her at thirteen. “Yeah, kiddo, let’s head inside. I have chocolate, vanilla, and chocolate chip cookie dough.”

“Dat one! I want dat one!”

CHAPTER 32

NATALIE

The past twoweeks have been nothing short of pure bliss. Thanks to Alden hanging out with Tatum on the days I do my classes, my grades are top notch. They’ve also had several solo outings. I’m so totally impressed with the way Alden makes Tatum his number one priority, even over the café.

One day last week, she was sick, and the preschool called me to come get her. My section was crazy busy. Even though things with my parents are still rocky, I tried calling them, but they didn’t pick up. Alden, though—he rearranged a whole day of vendor meetings and picked her up. He stopped by my place and grabbed her blankie and her Poppy Troll, and set her up with his tablet on the couch in his office.

Hell, he even had Darren whip up some chicken noodle soup for her and sat on the edge of the couch where he fed it to her—when I walked in and saw that, swear to God, my ovaries exploded.Ka-boom.

As promised, Alden has kept me off the schedule on the third Saturday of every month. And on this particular Saturday, we’re headed to his house to swim. To say that Tatum is over the moon would be an understatement.

Me, on the other hand? I’m a too-deep-in-my-own-thoughts mess. After the handful of heated kisses we’ve shared, the silly teen inside of me wants to look good for him…she wants him to notice me as more than the mother of his child.

Pathetic, right?

Even knowing what a sap I’m being, here I am, standing at the foot of my bed looking at every swimsuit I own. Do I play it safe and go with my black one-piece that screamsI am mom, hear me roar!, ordo I walk on the wild side and don my sexy, rust-red bikini with cheeky bottoms? Maybe I should just split the difference and go with my high-waisted bottoms that hide—as Tatum calls them—my tiger stripes?

I blanch at the thought of Alden seeing my stretch marks. High-waisted it is. The bottoms are a gray-ish blue, and even though they don’t match, I pair them with my rust-red top. It pushes my boobs together, and Lord knows, after nursing, they need all the help they can get. I toss on a simple black cover-up and grab some towels, Tatum’s floaties, sunblock, and some after-sun lotion; and toss it all into a bag along with a change of clothes for each of us.

Just like every time we go to Alden’s, Tatum is ready and waiting at the door. “Are you fine-ah-wee ready?”

This girl…she loves her daddy. “Yes, Tater Tot. I’mfinallyready. Let’s go!”

The entire drive is spent with Tatum chattering excitedly to her Poppy Troll and me worrying about how I look in my swimsuit—especially after eating a heavy lunch. Oh, God, I should have gone with my mom-suit.

My worry stays with me right up the walkway and to the front door…where Alden is waiting, clad in only his swim trunks. Oh, Jesus. This man is the perfect male specimen. With his smooth, tanned skin stretched taut over his lean muscles, he looks morelike a sculpture you’d find in a fine art museum than standing here in nowhere Alabama.

Behind the safety of my sunglasses, I stare at him without any shame. At least, until he says, “You’re drooling a little, Nat.”

Mortified, I rush past him and into his house, straight through to the backyard.Strike me down now, God!

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