Page 47 of At Last

“What’s all this?” Her melodic voice asks. And I turn to see that sexy woman, my sexy woman, leaning against the corner of the house, watching us. A peaceful, if not tired, look crosses her face.

And in this moment, I know Brutus was right. Don’t matter we don’t got a lot ’a time under our belts. This is my family, dammit.

“What are you still doing up?” she asks Peaches.

“It’s Fwiday, Mama. I’m eating wiff you and Duke.”

“Lips.” I order her, no hello.

She smiles, shakes her head, but walks over to give me those lips. Slow and sweet. Fuck, she tastes like strawberries again. Holding my face as she brings the kiss to its conclusion and rests her forehead to mine. She breathes out. I wrap her tighter in my arms.

“Missed you today,” she says. “A patient went into labor. That’s what took me so long.”

It’s like the woman can read my mind. Though, her showing up home wearing scrubs and a lab coat, of course I’d ask.

“Why don’t you go inside and change. Then come join us.”

Doc don’t answer, but drags herself inside and closes the door.

“Okay, Peaches. Wash your hands. It’s dinner time.” She runs inside, much faster than her poor mama, to wash up.

After a few minutes, mother and daughter stroll out together, hands locked, arms swinging, matching smiles which reach a set of matching, twinkling eyes that take my breath away.

Fuck if I ain’t the luckiest son of a bitch on the planet. I shake off the thought and clap my hands together. “Alright. Let’s get this dinner started.” Then I turn to them. “Only my girls get to sit at the table, so if you’re my girl, sit.”

Both my girls race to the table, a blur ’a red hair, as each ’a their ass’s glide onto a patio chair.

I pull the bowl of salad from the outdoor fridge along with couple dressings Doc made. The creamy cucumber for Peaches and the blue cheese for us, and place ’em on the table.

Two ribeye and a filet for the squirt hit the plates. Corn next. Then I deliver three to the glass-top.

Without thinking twice about it, she proves why she’s the best mom in the world. Before ever taking a bite off her own steak. Even knowing how hungry she’s gotta be. Doc reaches over to cut up Peaches filet into tiny chunks perfect for little fingers to pick up, and dunk not in ketchup, but more ’a that creamy cucumber dressing.

Put a ring on her finger and live the good life.Fuck if that ain’t the best advice I’ve received in years.

After making sure her girl was set, only then does she saw off a hunk of ribeye and tear it from her fork. She sighs, and rightly so. I’m a man who knows how to cook a steak.

Peaches’ little legs kick back and forth underneath her chair, I know this because her foot makes contact with my shin several times.

“Boys finished your backdoor, but honey, since we brought the other families in, I need you to stay here. Now before—”

“Okay,” she cuts me off.

“Okay?” I ask. “That’s it?”

“Yeah, okay. Families are here. Houdini is a lunatic. We stay.”

We keep eating, Peaches almost has her plate cleared when she face-plants into what’s left of her dressing.

“If Peaches would be more comfortable with her room painted pink, do it. Do what you gotta do to feel comfortable.”

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