Page 21 of Hot Chicken
I snorted. Webb was hotalways, but when he gave me that wolfish grin and let me see the goofy side of himself he hid from most people? I was a goner.
He was right, too, that it had been a week since we’d gotten any action. Of course, the reasons for this were less about us finding time alone and more about Webb avoiding The Big Conversation… but when that teasing smile was shining down on me, making my heart race, I didn’t want to quibble.
“Well, you’re in luck, Mr. Sunday. I happen to find myself in a bugle-blowing mood.” I knew I sounded utterly besotted, and I didn’t care one bit. I rubbed a smudge of dirt off Webb’s cheek with my thumb. “Have you been wrestling the tomato vines in my garden with your bare hands again?”
“Not today. I was down with the sheep most of the afternoon. I’d planned to get cleaned up and start a seductive dinner before you got back, but Tater rolled herself straight into a thistle patch again, and Prissy decided to use my distraction to cover her jailbreak.”
I groaned. This was all too familiar. “Please tell me you caught her before she got to the road.”
“Caught herinthe orchard, actually. I assume she was excited to check the Black Oxford grafts.” He winked. “But it took a while to get her back in her pen, so I only got back a minute before you did.”
“Just in time to help me put the groceries away.” I tilted my head toward the open trunk and fluttered my eyelashes. “You know, it’s a scientific fact that grocery carrying begets bugle blowing, husband. In case that matters at all.”
“That so?” Webb looked like he was fighting laughter. “And all this time, I thought old Ernie Spencer at the grocery store was just beingnicewhen he asked if I needed help with my bags.”
I poked my husband in the ribs, then grabbed his hand and towed him, laughing, toward the trunk. But the grocery explosion waiting there sobered him up real quick. “Jesus fuck, baby. I thought we were having just afamilycookout tomorrow night, not inviting half the town.”
“Yeah, well. It feels like our familyishalf the town.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “Besides, it’s not all ours. You know how it is. You tell one person in the Hollow you’re going to the big store, and suddenly, sixteen other folks are texting to ask if you could grab them justone tiny thingthat Peebles Market doesn’t carry. Before you know it, you’re filling two carts, and most of it isn’t even yours.”
“You say that, but I know these industrial-sized boxes of granola bars have Aiden’s name all over them.” Webb hefted a double stack of groceries, including the bars.
“True.” I laughed as I picked up the cooler of frozen stuff and followed Webb around back to the kitchen door. “Along with the dozen frozen pizzas and the high-protein oatmeal he asked me to get.”
“High protein? Since when? Doesn’t he like the kind with high-sugar and candy pieces in it?”
“Seems our boy’s got his sights set on making the travel baseball team next spring. I got a whole earful about it on our drive to Porter’s today. And I’m not saying that’s directly related to Hannah Melo thinking baseball players are the coolest… but I’m also not saying it’sunrelated.”
Webb stopped walking and turned to blink at me. “No way. Aiden doesn’t have crushes. He’s still a little kid. He’s only?—”
“Ten?” I said, mock sadly. “Yes, with the appetite of three grown Sundays, a snarky preteen attitude courtesy of his Uncle Gage, and a penchant for calling both of usbruh. He’sgrowing up whether we like it or not.” I summoned a smile. “But, hey, no need for us to get nostalgic just yet, right? Not when we’ll be drowning in diapers by the time baseball season starts.”
Webb resumed his walk with a grunting noise that could have meant anything. Possibly,I stubbed my toe. Potentially,Yes, but Aiden’s relentless progress toward adulthood is a reminder of my own advancing age, and I’m having an existential crisis.
But since I knew my husband, knew all his best and worst traits, knew every freckle on his shoulders and every worry in his heart, I knew this grunt meantI’m terrified we’ll be disappointed by our most recent attempt at surrogacy again, so I get weird every time the subject comes up.
My chest squeezed a little.
Because I was ever hopeful, though, I kept my smile firmly in place as I followed him up the porch stairs. “Speaking of our babies,” I said brightly. “Did you see the ultrasound pics Josie sent yet? The twins don’t look like blobs anymore. They look like actual, miniature humans with these tiny little fingers and noses. And I know we decided, before we started surrogacy, that we weren’t going to find out who fathered each of them, but I swear to God, Baby A has your exact profile. Wait until you see the pic?—”
“Fucking Christ!” Webb exploded.
I stopped in my tracks, my smile fading. “Webb?—”
“Sorry, baby. That wasn’t about you or… anything,” Webb said, instantly contrite. “I can’t see around these boxes, and I nearly tripped over a—” He lifted the groceries higher so he could peer down at the spot beside his boots. “Ceramic chicken?”
I set the cooler down on the porch and found that there was, indeed, a white ceramic chicken blocking the door, with a bright pink sticky note stuck to its head.
As Webb went inside, I grabbed the note and read aloud. “Dear Webb and Luke. Congratulations! You are now the proudowners of Sir Pecksworth, aka Pecky, aka the Cock of Good Fortune (though Knox says not to call it that where he can hear you). Hawk passed this magical cock to us, and we gotverylucky as a result—” I glanced up. “The, ah,veryis underlined. Twice.”
“Jesus,” Webb muttered, lip curling.
“We gotverylucky as a result,” I repeated, “which we’ll tell you all about tomorrow night at dinner?—”
“They fucking will not.”
“—so we’re passing him on to you. Give Pecky a good home, and his luck will be yours. Love, Gage and Knox.”
Webb shook his head. “My brothers get weirder with each passing day.”
