“Ryla. You know it won’t hurt as much if we brush it every night. New rule, we have to brush your hair after your nighttime snack, just like with your teeth.”
Ryla merely harrumphed.
“I guess you don’t like eating chocolate then,” I replied.
“THAT MAKES ME EVEN MADDER!”
I sighed, turning quiet as my emotionally reactive volcano erupted. I knew better than to threaten her. Even if it was in a teasing way, it never worked. She always exploded. I knew the best thing would be to let her calm down first. Or make her laugh, because there would be no brushing her hair until that tiny Tasmanian devil inside of her calmed down.
But, today, I was on a time crunch.
“Please sit back and let me brush your hair.” I tried to keep my tone soothing. “Mr. Jace will be here soon, and we need to make sure you and Max look nice when he gets here.”
“Why? He knows what I look like.” Ryla’s tone was still angry, but she did scoot back.
“It never hurts to make a good impression,” I said as I resumed the painstaking task of brushing her hair and shouted for my son.
“Max? Did you get dressed, yet? Mr. Jace will be here soon!”
I heard a muffled shout from Max’s room next door, which I took as tacit agreement.
“Mom?” Ryla piped up a few minutes later.
“Yeah?”
“Is Mr. Jace really gonna, like, live here and take care of us like Giselle did?”
“Yes, just like we talked about last night. You and Max were all for it. Remember?”
“Do I have to call him Mr. Jace?”
“We can ask him when he gets here.” I looked at my watch. Never has an hour passed so quickly. Jace would be here any minute. I’d been madly picking up around the house for the last hour, only to realize that Ryla’s hair was a snarly mess and Max had never changed out of his pajamas.
“There! Done,” I said after another minute, giving the back of her head a kiss. “Now, I need to go change.”
I bolted across the hall to my room, quickly changing out of my leggings and tank top and into more appropriate white capris. I grabbed a black T-shirt from the top of my dresser and started slipping it on when the doorbell rang. As I dashed down the stairs, I vaguely registered that the shirt was tighter than I’d remembered. The hem barely reached the top of my pants. I made a mental note to start drying our clothes on low heat.
Pausing for a brief moment, I inhaled quickly, then opened the front door to reveal Jace, sans rash. He wore a soft looking navy T-shirt and easygoing smile—a stark difference from yesterday, when he’d come to the door wearing his Kent the Clown costume. The memory made a smile play on my lips and as if reading my mind, he smiled knowingly back at me.
“Hi,” I breathed out. My breath stuttered as I watched a few curly strands of his chocolate brown hair catch in the breeze.
I wanted to run my hands through it.
Inwardly, I winced.
Involuntary Biologically Programmed Response: 1
Polly: 0
“Hiya, little miss,” Jace greeted Ryla as she skipped up next to me.
“Do I have to call you Mr. Jace?” Ryla blurted.
“Most of my friends call me Jace. Why don’t we go with that?” He turned his cute, dimpled smile back to me. “Hiya, Polly.”
Nodding, I averted my eyes from the dimples, but that meant I was now staring at his chest, which of course made me think about his abs.
Don’t think about his washboard abs under that shirt!
