Page 69 of Ugly Duckling
“It be like that sometimes.” I jerked up my chin. “I’m headed to bring my girls some dinner.”
Trig’s eyebrows lifted to his hairline. “Girls? As in girl, plural?”
I smiled. “Yep. Girls.”
Seventeen
Sneezes are face farts.
—Sutton to Gunner
SUTTON
Nothing, and I do mean nothing, had gone as planned today.
My cancelation from yesterday had begged and pleaded for me to come today, so I’d taken a three-year-old with me to the funeral home.
Luckily, the elderly client’s daughter had been there to help me.
When I’d said that I wasn’t going to be able to come because of my newest gal pal, she’d volunteered herself to watch Lottie while I got her mom’s nails done.
After that, we’d stopped for a late breakfast because I’d been a negligent babysitter and hadn’t brought Lottie any food.
After that, I’d gotten sucked over to the mall because Creole had begged me for my help finding a new date night dress to wear out this weekend.
I hadn’t worn a damn dress since my wedding, so I wasn’t sure that it made me super qualified to help her find something appropriate, but I went anyway.
Luckily, I had a feeling Gunner wouldn’t take me anywhere where I’d have to wear one.
Unluckily, the skies had opened up from the moment we’d left the mall to now, giving me until right at seven at night to finally get my workout in.
Lottie proved that she was resilient, and right as I set her on her feet to do her thing, she’d gone wild.
I’d brought a soccer ball for her to kick around, as well as a small catcher’s mitt, ball, and glove.
I’d also brought a glove for myself—a glove so dang stiff that it was hard to close the leather with my puny little hands—but was pink with purple flowers and was so beautiful that I wished I played baseball or softball.
I was stretching out while simultaneously catching the ball and rolling it back to Lottie—she was not like her father, and definitely couldn’t catch a ball to save her life.
But boy, could she throw it.
“Wow!” I caught the ball, then promptly dropped it because I couldn’t close the mitt.
Weak.
“Yes!” she cried, picking the ball up and tossing it back at me.
I reached high over my head, but missed it.
Luckily, there was a man who knew how to catch behind me, and he caught it before it could hit the ground behind me and roll.
I looked up and smiled. “Well hello there, Dad.”
“Daddy!” The ear-piercing screech hit a new octave. “Hi!”
“Hi, baby.” Gunner’s smile was so damn wide and pure that it made my heart ache. “Whatcha got there?”
“A gwove!” She slapped it into her hands, then threw it down onto the floor and stomped on it.
