Page 1 of Tripped By Love
Cassidy
BREATHE
“Ninety miles an hour going fast as I can,
Trying to push a little harder trying to get the upper hand.
So much to do in so little time.”
Performed by Jonny Diaz
Written by Smith / Diaz / Wood
“Mama!” My heart leaped, and joyfilled me as Chevelle’s little voice echoed through the quiet of the restaurant’s kitchen a few seconds before chubby arms wrapped around my legs. I braced myself with a hand on the stainless-steel counter and smiled down at my gorgeous boy.Love soared through my chest, growing and expanding like it had every day since I’d found out I was pregnant, and even more since he’d been placed in my arms.
“Well, hello, Snickerdoodle.” I kept one dough-filled hand on the counter and leaned over to kiss the top of his head. The dark curls were soft against my lips as the scent of baby shampoo and apple juice filled my senses. I wanted to pull him to me in the tightest hug known to humanity, but it would have to wait until I finished the prep of the sourdough rounds.
“Sorry,” Tristan said, hurrying forward, out of breath. Her softly tanned skin was flushed from racing after my son, and she brushed at a wisp of dark-blonde hair that had escaped her bun held up by two paintbrushes she’d likely forgotten were there. “He just took off, and he’s getting fast.”
I chuckled. “The other day, he made it from the bathtub to the kitchen before I’d gotten off the floor.”
“Don’t even try to make me feel better. We both know it has more to do with my waddle-walk than his pace,” she said, putting a protective hand on the belly protruding from her soft T-shirt.
My brother’s and Tristan’s faces glowed with happiness these days after trying for two years to get pregnant. I’d watched their struggles to conceive with a guilty conscience, knowing just how easily Chevelle had come into existence. Too easily?through contraception and a spattering of sex?while they’d lived practically attached limb to limb, fighting for a baby.
I kissed Chevelle’s head one more time. “I’m almost done, buddy. Then, we can go home.”
Tristan eyed the finished bread that I’d sliced and was letting cool. I chuckled. “Go ahead. You know you want to.”
She grimaced. “Nah, I promised Hannah I’d be ready for her next pizza experiment, and if I eat now, I won’t have room for another four hours with this critter pushed up against my rib cage.”
“What’s her latest?” I asked.
“It’s pesto, apple, and smoked gouda, I think?” Tristan said, nose squishing together.
I couldn’t have hid my smile if I tried. Even though Hannah?at the mere age of seven?was almost as good on the piano as my country-rock legend of a brother, Brady O’Neil, she hadn’t let it consume her. Instead, she divided her time, spending almost as many hours in my kitchen as she did in Brady’s studio next door.
Chevelle tugged on my leg one more time before sitting down on my feet and holding on for dear life. I knew exactly what he wanted, and it made me hurry through my last task. I placed the last of the bread in the proofing containers before attempting a monster walk toward the sink with Chevelle riding on my foot. I pretended to groan. “Tristan. Help. I have a gremlin attached to me. It’s going to eat me.”
Chevelle giggled?a boyish, baby giggle that made me smile.
I was almost to the faucet when he tugged at my knees with just enough force to send me careening sideways toward the sink. I hadn’t expected it, and with nothing to grab onto, I landed on the rubber mat placed over the sealed concrete flooring, bringing Chevelle down on top of me. He laughed, thinking it was all part of the game. I gasped as pain shot through my elbow and shoulder.
“Cass!” Tristan was at my side, pulling Chevelle off of me in a heartbeat.
“I’m fine,” I told her. I inched my way toward the counter and pulled myself up before turning to Chevelle, who was wiggling in Tristan’s arms. His dark-brown eyes were full of laughter, and his cheeks pushed up into his eyes from the width of his smile—a smile that reminded me of my brother’s much more than his father’s.
“You are quite strong, monster,” I teased, tickling his stomach and leaving a trail of flour on his dark-blue shirt covered with his favorite animal?dogs.
I turned and washed my hands.
“You sure you’re okay,” Tristan asked, brow furrowing.
“Only my pride got wounded,” I told her.
I was resigned to it?the hits to my ego that came from being so weak. I was leaps and bounds stronger now than I’d ever been in my life, but I was still one of the frailest twenty-five-year-olds around. I had my extra X-chromosome to thank for it.
But I wouldn’t let the poor-me feeling overtake me today. I had a good life. Not only did I have my precious little boy, but I also had Brady, Tristan, and my parents, who’d all give a right arm for me. Or a left. Or both arms. Brady had already proven it by giving up an enormous chunk of change to help me start my restaurant.
