Page 61 of Napkins and Other Distractions
“Yes, sweetie. And you’ll have a big cake.”
“I want a pink cake with pink frosting and pink sprinkles!”
“Lia, can I ask you a question?” Vincent swivels his head to face her.
“Sure!”
“Is your favorite color pink?”
I peep in the rearview and Lia’s eyes go wide, her tiny mouth dropping open.
“Yes! How did you know?”
Vincent opens his mouth, and I spy his beautiful smile when I give a quick glance. A deep guffaw rumbles from his core, spills out, and overtakes the singing children. He may not love cats or children or messes, but even he can’t deny the complete charm of Lia.
“She’s very cute,” he says through laughter.
I nod quickly in agreement and push back against the headrest, enjoying the intersection of Vincent and my granddaughter.
After four more mangled pop songs, Vincent asks, “Is she asleep?”
I glance in the rearview mirror, and as predicted, Lia is out in her seat. Her sweet face rests on the padded strap across her chest. Strawberry-blonde hair, a perfect match with her mother’s, veils most of her face.
“Yes,” I whisper. “If she were awake, we’d know. Trust me.”
“How?”
“She’d be singing. Or talking. Or asking a million questions.”
“You’re really lucky,” Vincent says, glancing back at her.
“I have no complaints,” I say, patting his knee. Being here with both of them, Lia snoozing and Vincent next to me, warms my soul.
A group of guitars fills the car, plucking and strumming the familiar opening to “Landslide.” And then the voices come in, a choir of children, harmonizing and singing about being afraid of changes and getting older.
“This is Fleetwood Mac, you know.”
Vincent cocks his head, and his beautiful lashes frame his eyes, which roll like a log down a steep hill.
“The song. Not the kids,” I say.
“Obviously,” Vincent says. I lean over and gently squeeze his thigh. My thumb rubs up and down his khakis, longing for a hint of what’s beneath.
“Where are we going anyway?” he asks. “She’s asleep. You can tell me.”
“The surprise isn’t for her, silly. It’s for you.”
“Oh.” Vincent’s voice squeaks in the most adorable way, and I tickle his knee, delighting in catching him off guard.
“This is our exit,” I say.
We pull off and drive down the ramp, heading for what I hope is a day that blows Vincent’s mind in all the best ways.
“We’re here,” I say. Pulling around the corner, I slow the car to find parking and the giant giraffe and store sign finally reveal my surprise.
I gently bring the car to a stop and steal a quick glimpse of Vincent’s face. His mouth opens slightly, and he blinks a few times, his eyelashes pulling my attention.
“What? How?”
