Page 17 of For the Love of Scott
He shifts slightly to avoid getting a knee to a sensitive part of his anatomy but laughs as the breath whooshes out of him. He looks up and waves at Misty’s friend’s mom, who smiles and then changes direction. “Did you have fun?”
Her exaggerated nod, sparkling eyes, and wide smile say everything she hasn’t. “Where’s Ben?”
“He went to get some hot cocoa.”
“I love hot cocoa. Is he gonna bring me some too?”
“I’m sure he will. If not, you can have mine.”
“’Kay,” she says and nestles into his lap, tugging his arms around her. Something clicks inside him, and for the first time in a long time, he thinks there just might be some happiness in his future. The fact that this little girl has accepted that her uncle has a boyfriend and not a girlfriend without missing a beat says a lot about the whole Thompson family.
“Mr. Scott, how come you and Ben didn’t sit on Santa’s lap?”
A chuckle rumbles in his chest. “We’re a little too big, don’t you think?”
She nods and yawns. “Yeah. I ‘spose so.”
“Besides, grownups can ask Santa for what they want on Santa’s website.”
“They can?”
“Sure they can.”
She yawns again and settles more snugly into his arms. Deep contentment wraps around him like the warmish breeze that whispers through the trees.
“Didja?”
“Did I what?”
“Ask Santa for something?”
At the moment, he has everything he could possibly want, with the exception of good homes for the shelter dogs in his care. “Not yet, but I will. I promise.”
“Maybe if you ask for a pirate ship tree house, too, he’ll bring one to Ten Rigs.”
Scott resists the urge to laugh too hard for fear of disturbing her. If her transition from live weight to dead weight is anything to go by, he’d say she’s falling asleep in his arms. And isn’t that amazing?
Ben comes into view, his large hands dwarfing the Styrofoam cups he carries. A smile creeps softly across his features when he spots Scott and Misty. “It’s a good look on you,” he says softly, retaking the spot to Scott’s right. After a few flicks and taps to the screen of his smart phone, ringing floats up from the device.
“Hey, sweetheart,” says Mrs. Thompson.
“Hey, Ma. Misty’s conked out.”
“Okay. Give us a few minutes to say our goodbyes and we’ll meet you at the car.”
Ben offers to take Misty, but Scott is thrilled at the feel of a sleeping child in his arms.
They sip their cool-enough-to-drink cocoa on the way to the Thompsons’ car parked on a side street a couple of blocks away.
Mrs. Thompson doesn’t bat an eyelash at the sight of Scott carrying her granddaughter. She opens the rear door and holds the front arm of Misty’s booster seat out of the way. “Nice and easy, honey,” she murmurs, and Scott isn’t sure if she’s talking to him or to Misty. A couple of clicks later, Misty is secured for the ride home.
“Thanks, Ma,” says Ben, pressing a kiss to her cheek and helping her into the front passenger seat.
“Night, boys,” she says.
“Use condoms,” calls Ben’s dad just as her door closes.
“Oh my God, Dad, really?” Ben calls after the moving vehicle and throws his arms into the air. He whirls around, bright splotches on his cheeks. “I’m so sorry.”
