Wish Come True (The Blogger Diaries Trilogy Book 3) (30 page)

But then he came back, and he was carrying a tray. There were two steaming washcloths rolled up next to a big glass of ‘red stuff’, our codename for Fruit Punch flavored Crystal Light, which we’d been drinking for months like it was water from the Fountain of Youth. There had been nights during my pregnancy when we’d go on ‘Wal-Mart dates’, when we’d walk the aisles of the superstore late at night when I couldn’t sleep or just needed to get out of the house. We came home several times with party trays full of pepperoni, salami, cheese, and crackers, and make a fresh two-liter jug of our red stuff, and we’d sit in the middle of the bed just the two of us and finish off the entire snack tray and the whole container of drink.
 

When he sat the tray next to me on the nightstand, I saw he had also brought me two Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, and my emotions seesawed between loving him with every fiber of my being and hating myself for being such a psycho bitch.
 

Seeing Avary was now asleep, but just using my poor boob as a pacifier, he gently picked her up out of my lap after I unlatched her, swaddled her like a pro, and then put her back in her soft, white bassinet beside our bed. He then unrolled the two washcloths, squeezed them to make sure they wouldn’t burn my skin, and then as I leaned back on my pillow, covered my aching breasts with their soothing heat. He sat on the edge of the bed next to me and unwrapped my Reese’s Cups, handing me one like he would a painkiller, and after I ate it in one bite, he gave me the glass of red stuff to wash it down with. After doing the same with the second, he removed the now-cool washcloths and handed me the lanolin cream out of my nightstand drawer so I could slather on a much-needed coat to my nipples.
 

He got back into bed after helping me get my arms back through my sports bra and giving me two fresh breast pads out of the bathroom, and then pulled me to him to rest my head on his chest, his arm securely around my back.

“I’m so sor—” I tried to apologize, but he cut me off.

“Don’t even worry about it, baby. I love you. Get some sleep.”

One day, I will write a romance novel, and the hero I create will be based solely on him. My real-life book boyfriend.

Even if he is being a dick today.

September and October were hectic. A lot of schoolwork for me, and Jason going to work during the day and a class at night at our school. His parents, now both retired, didn’t mind watching our girls one bit while I went to my classes during the day. There was a lot of playing and taking care of our kids, but the biggest event is after a couple of months of searching for the perfect one, we finally found a house of our own. Obviously, we couldn’t afford it ourselves, but his parents had been toying with the idea of buying a house and renting it out. We went to what had to be thirty different houses in Friendswood, but everything was either too much work as a fixer-upper, which was the only thing that fit into our price range for a home in the coveted suburb, too small, or in an area that was prone to flooding.
 

Finally, our real estate agent talked us into looking at a house in the next suburb over, Pearland, literally ten minutes from the Robichauxs’ house.
 

It. Was. Perfect.

Three bedrooms. Two bathrooms. And extra room off the living room I could turn into my library. I felt it was the one as soon as we walked in the door.
 

The paperwork and everything took about four weeks to go through, and we moved in last month. It feels like we’re a real family now, just the four of us and our yappy little dog. Life is good.

November:

We got settled into our house before piling into my minivan—yup, I traded in my Malibu for a Family Assault Vehicle, in which Jason made me a baby pink box for my twelve-inch subwoofer so I could bass out (no judging)—and driving to North Carolina for Thanksgiving. It was a wonderful trip, and a much-needed vacation.
 

Which brings us to now. Jason’s parents are making the forty-five minute trek to Kingwood tonight too. I think it was so sweet of Buffy to invite them along. The woman has five brothers and sisters, and now four kids of her own, so it’s understandable she loves to be surrounded by a big family during this time of year, especially with her own family scattered states away.
 

My dad has flown in to spend Christmas in Texas, while Mom stayed behind to be with Granny and the rest of her side of the clan, so I’m thrilled to see him when we get there tonight. Add them to my nieces Aspen, Amanda, and Abigail, and my nephew, Alex, and it’ll be a very loud, boisterous, and fun-filled evening with the Greenwoods. I hope Jason’s parents, Steve and Barbara, are prepared!
 

Now if only my Grinch of a baby daddy would perk the hell up.

“Do you want me to go now to the grocery store to get the crab, or do you want to just grab it on our way up to Kingwood?” I ask Jason, who is zeroed in on TruTV at the moment, lying on his stomach in the middle of our two-year-old’s bed at MiMi and Papa’s house, while Josalyn straddles his butt and brushes his dark hair. The image they make is adorable, but he’s pissing me the hell off with his bad attitude today. We came over to his parents’ house about an hour ago so they could follow us up to my brother’s later.

He sighs like I’m asking him to get up and run a marathon, making my blood pressure rise. I can’t fucking stand it when he sighs. It’s an instant way to make me go from happy to stabby in zero minutes flat. He sits up on his elbows and runs a hand over his sexy scruff before looking up at me, where I’m leaning against the bedroom’s doorjamb. He’s lucky he’s so freakin’ hot.

“I guess go get it now, since they’ll probably close early on Christmas Eve. Grab a bottle of your wine too to take with us. And a bottle of my shiraz,” he says then turns his attention back to the TV, basically dismissing me.

“Oh, yes, Master. Anything you like,” I huff out, turning on my heel and exiting the room. I grab my purse from the couch, where it was sitting next to Mom, and open it to make sure my wallet is inside, sticking my phone in after turning the ringer on.

“Avary is napping in her crib. Jason wants me to go ahead and get our crab from the grocery store. Do y’all need anything while I’m there?” I ask the Robichauxs. Steve sits up in his dark green recliner, the leather squeaking under his weight as he shifts to pull his wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans.
 

Handing me a twenty, he asks, “Yeah, honey, will you grab me a tub of their fresh guacamole? Will you look on top of the fridge and see if we still have tortilla chips? If we’re running low, a bag of those too, please.”

“Sure, Daddyo. You need anything, Momma?” I turn to Barbara, seeing she’s trying to think of something she’s missing for tonight.
 

“Oh, pecans. I got everything to make the sweet potato casserole, but forgot to grab the pecans to go on top. That should do it,” she replies.

“Alrighty, I’ll be right back. And if you can, see what’s got Jason in such a pissy mood. Maybe he’ll tell his momma, ‘cause he’s certainly not telling me.” Receiving a nod accompanied by a look I can’t decipher, I head to the kitchen to check on Dad’s chips. Seeing he’s almost out, I add them to my mental checklist of stuff to buy at the store.

I walk out to Jason’s green Altima, half expecting him to run out to kiss me goodbye and apologize for being a dick, but he doesn’t. So, I hop in the car and drive to HEB, my favorite grocery store. It’s way different than the Food Lions I grew up shopping at. It’s like the mothership of all food shopping establishments. It has absolutely everything under the sun, even a self-service olive bar. I can’t stand olives, but it’s pretty freakin’ cool it has a whole buffet designated to every olive under the sun, prepared in just as many different ways.

I grab a shopping cart and head into the store, grabbing a tub of Dad’s guacamole, snatching a bag of his tortilla chips off the end cap as I make my way to the enormous wine section. I find my bottle of moscato quickly, knowing exactly where it is, and then spend the next ten minutes trying to find a bottle of Jason’s shiraz. Heaven forbid I choose the wrong one. I don’t want to put him in an even fouler mood.
 

I have no idea what’s gotten into him. We were absolutely great last night, after he’d gotten home from work. We had cuddled up to watch a movie after eating dinner and putting the girls to bed. After a typical Avary-disturbed night of sleep, I woke up super excited about getting to spend a four-day weekend with my man, and he woke up acting like someone had peed in his Cheerios. I honestly have no clue what could’ve happened to make him so grouchy.
 

I weave through the crowded aisle of last-minute Christmas shoppers to find Momma’s pecans and then to the fresh seafood section to get our crab legs. Seeing they’re on sale for six bucks a pound, I grab us ten, knowing we can put away at least that between the two of us, check out, and hustle to my car to head back to the Robichauxs’. When I pull in, Jason is in the driveway, waiting to help me bring in the groceries. Before I can even open the door myself, he’s there, looming over me in the driver’s seat.
 

I don’t have time to ask him what he’s doing before he seals his perfect lips with mine, taking my breath away when he dips his tongue inside. My every sense is filled with all things Jason—the smell of his deliciously masculine cologne, the sound of his ragged breaths, the now familiar and comforting taste of his irresistible mouth, and, when I open my eyes as the kiss slows, the sight of his ridiculously long eyelashes that splay nearly to his cheekbones.
 

When I can finally speak, my voice is breathless. “Well, hello to you too.”

“I don’t like you leaving me in a bad mood. I’m sorry I’ve been a dick today. I’ve got… a lot on my mind,” he says gruffly, still leaning over me inside the car, his chocolate brown eyes twinkling with an emotion I can’t quite place.

“Whatever it is, baby, you can talk to me about it. You don’t have to bottle it up inside,” I prompt, but he just shakes his dark head.

“Nah, I’m sure I’ll be fine tomorrow,” he tells me vaguely, and then disappears from in front of me as I hear him pop my trunk.
 

I grab my purse out of the passenger seat and get out of the car, and when I shut the door, he’s there beside me, holding the plastic bags and peeking into the one with the wine bottles. I hold my breath until he looks up at me with a small smile.

“You always know exactly what to get me.” He leans down and places a quick kiss on my lips, making my heart thump in my chest at his approval.

“I hope you think the same thing when you open your Christmas presents tomorrow,” I say and he nods.
 

“Ditto, babe. Fucking ditto.”

Despite the brief reprieve in the driveway from his foul mood, shortly after loading up into his Altima for the drive to Kingwood, Jason returned to his grumpy state. Before we could back all the way out of the driveway, his parents waiting to back out after us from the garage to follow us up in their red Toyota Highlander, Jason slammed on the brakes and threw the car in park with a curse. He opened his door and was jogging toward the house before I even had a chance to ask what he’d forgotten.
 

After a moment, I saw him exit the house and turn to lock the door again, walking over to where his dad sat in the driver’s seat of the SUV, his window now rolled down. A few quick words I couldn’t make out and a nod from Jason later, his dad reached out the window to pat his shoulder, and then Jason made his way back to the car.

I didn’t bother asking what that was all about, knowing I’d just be brushed off, so for the entire drive to my brother's, I let him be, trying my best to let the radio pass the time.
 

By the time we get to Tony and Buffy's house, I nearly explode from the car, trying to escape the suffocating tension. God, I love this man, but his mood swings give me fucking whiplash. I hope once we get inside and he hangs out with Tony for a while, he'll lighten up some. My big brother is quite a moody guy himself, but for some reason when the two get together and start talking guns and History Channel shows, they are as happy as clams.

I let Josalyn out of her car seat, while Jason detaches Avary’s carrier from its strapped-in cradle, and his parents’ Highlander pulls in behind us. I keep an eye on Josalyn as she runs up to the door, stands on her little tiptoes, and rings the bell, and then I grab the plastic grocery bags, plus the gift bags for my nieces and nephew, out of Jason’s trunk.
 

I hear the door open and Buffy’s sweetly lilted voice as she says to Josalyn, “Well, hello there, sweet girl! Merry Christmas, baby!” and my daughter’s giggle as she throws herself into my sister-in-law’s arms. And then I wait for it… aaand there it is. Buffy’s laugh is still so infectious. You’d never imagine such a boisterous sound would come out of such a tiny, pretty thing. It’s loud and full of uninhibited joy, and immediately puts me in a lighter mood, the tension easing from my tightly strung body.