His cries stop and his bottom lip quivers. “I’m sorry, Mommy. I’m sorry.”
And just like that, my sweet sensitive boy is back, the one who hates to see me hurt and cries more over my scrapes than I do.
“It’s okay, baby. It was an accident.” I kiss his forehead and buckle him into his car seat.
No matter how much crap he put me through in the store, it’s all worth it for tender moments like this. That’s why we do it right? Why we put up with the long nights, no pay, and zero social life, for the opportunity to experience a love like this?
“Can I have Sweety Fish next time if I’m good?” His eyes fill with tears again and I take a deep breath.
“Yes, let’s try again next time.“ I shut the door, and start loading up the car.
“Excuse me.”
The voice startles me and I fling a bag of tampons around, nailing the “intruder” in the stomach. The handsome stranger who rescued my child stumbles back a step.
“Oh! I’m so sorry.” I say, covering my mouth and dropping the bag of tampons to the pavement.
He scoops up the bag and straightens. If he sees what’s in the bag, he gives no indication before thrusting it back to me.
“Thanks.” I snatch the bag out of his hands and drop it into the trunk. I look back to find him absently rubbing his stomach. It’s not like I could have hurt him with tampons. I suppose they were heavy-flow, but still, he probably has abs of steel under that black v-neck. Maybe somewhere just below the very alluring tattoo.
“It’s okay. I was asking for it.”
Asking for what? My number? My last name?
Wait, he didn’t actually ask for anything.
“I know you told him no,” he says, stopping my internal embarrassment and holding up the biggest bag of Swedish Fish I’ve ever seen. “But maybe you can use this as a bribe later to get a break. I don’t have kids, but my sister has four-year-old twins and swears by bribes.”
And just like that,I’m in love.
His eyebrows shoot up and I realize I’ve said that out loud.
My face is so hot it could heat the earth if the sun ever needed a break.
Now would be a convenient time.
“I mean, thank you.” I take the bag of candy and am only slightly disappointed when my fingers don’t brush his.
“I hope it works. He’s adorable, but looks like he can be quite a handful.” His shrug looks boyish despite his linebacker physique.
“If I had a dollar for every time I heard that,” I laugh awkwardly. I have no idea how to flirt, or if he is even flirting. Or what’s going on. All I know is I want whatever is happening to keep happening. The last time I talked to a man this long was in the drive-through at Wendy’s. And I had to pay for that conversation. “If he wasn’t so cute, I would have given up years ago.”
“Don’t give up. You’re doing great.” There’s an honesty in his serious eyes I want to believe.
No one but my best friend Maddie has ever given me a compliment before, and I’m not sure how to respond.
In what is probably my most unflattering moment thus far in life, I laugh. And snort. Then cover my mouth in shame. My index finger gets stuck in a patch of sticky goo on my left cheek and my eyes go wide. Syrup.
Well, that’s the last time I make my child breakfast.
He winks and walks away.
I giggle again.
If you look up pathetic in the dictionary, you’ll find me, Lyndi Hill, messy bun and syrup-stained face, wearing a grin so dopey only a clown would claim it, and mooning over a man a million miles out of my league.
I need to get out more.
