Molly purses out her lips. Knowing what she wants, Gemma leans over and offers her cheek. Molly gets a kiss on her cheek in return.
A moment later, a sleep-eyed Gray enters the room. He yawns as he takes in the three of us on the bed.
“Morning, baby.”
“Morning, Mom. What’s for breakfast?”
“I was thinking chocolate chip pancakes. That sound good?”
“Yeah.”
“You wanna help me make breakfast for the boys?” Molly asks Gemma.
“Yes! Can we use those things that make them shaped like hearts?”
Pushing Gemma’s hair back from her face, she says, “We sure can. Why don’t you go brush your teeth and get dressed? I’ll be down in a few minutes.”
“Okay!” she chirps before crawling off the bed.
With a muttered, “I’m going to get dressed,” Gray follows his sister out of the room.
As soon as I hear their bedroom doors close, I snag Molly by the waist and pull her down underneath me.
“Love you,” I murmur against her lips.
“No more than I love you,” she says back quietly.
I relish hearing those words because I know they’re true. This woman does love me just as much as I love her.
Not just from fate, our own free will deems it so.
Twenty minutes later, I leave our bedroom just as Gray’s leaving his. I ruffle his hair as we walk down the hallway together toward the sound of Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’.” Molly and I raised our kids to appreciate good eighties and nineties music.
I place my hand on Gray’s shoulder when we reach the doorway leading into the kitchen. “Hang on a second.”
I lean on the doorframe, a smile playing on my lips, while Gray stands beside me. We watch the performance the two girls are unknowingly giving us. Molly and Gemma are facing each other, both using a wooden spoon as their microphone as they belt out the lyrics. Molly wiggles her hips, and Gemma follows suit. The light-hearted expression on Molly’s face holds my attention captive. It’s been too long since I’ve seen her so relaxed and enjoying herself.
At the chorus, both girls point at each other, as if they are serenading the other. It’s too fucking cute, so I pull out my phone, find my video recorder app, and start recording.
Glancing down at Gray, I see his own lips tipped up into a smirk.
Right before the song ends, Molly does a twirl, and her eyes land on me. They widen for a moment before narrowing into slits.
“Were you recording us?”
“Yep.” I turn the camera off and shove my phone in my pocket. “It was too tempting to resist.”
She snorts, but her eyes dance with mirth. “Oh, I’m sure. My singing isn’t much better than yours.”
I chuckle and grab her around the waist, yanking her close. Bending my head, I say against her lips, “You’d be right about that, but it was still super cute.”
Rolling her eyes, she playfully slaps my chest. “Unless you want burnt pancakes, I suggest you let me go.”
With another peck against her lips, I release her. Grabbing some glasses from the cabinet, I pour milk into them before setting them on the table. Moments later, Molly is placing a plate stacked high with fluffy flapjacks and we all settle down to eat. Gray and Gemma talk about what rides they want to go on at the fair, and Molly and I watch the excitement on their faces. Unsurprisingly, Gemma announces they have to go see the animals before they do anything else. She used to go to work with Molly every so often, and I think she misses seeing the animals at the clinic.
After we eat, Molly does the dishes while I check my work email. The kids run off to do their chores before we leave. An hour later, we’re loaded up in the car and heading to the county fairgrounds.
We’re waiting in line to get our wristbands when Molly looks down at Gemma, who’s practically bouncing around with anticipation.
“Are you excited?” she asks, laughing at our daughter’s antics.
“So excited! Do you think they’ll let me go on some of the big rides this year?”
“Maybe some of them.”
“Yah!” she cheers happily.
As promised, we hit the agricultural side first. Gemma oohs and ahhs at each animal we pass and squeals at the few she’s able to pet. She stops at one stall holding a brown and white horse. There’s a worker standing close by who notices the enraptured look on Gemma’s face. She appears to be in her late teens.
“Her name is Mona,” she says, walking over. “Would you like to feed her an apple?”
She turns pleading eyes to me and Molly. “Can I?”
“Sure. Just make sure you do it exactly like the lady says,” Molly answers.
With a grin, she turns back to the worker.
“The first thing you want to do is approach her slowly, making sure you do it from the side a little so she can see you properly. Click your tongue like this.” The worker shows her how to make the sound. “And talk to her softly, using her name.”
Gemma mimics the worker, her head tipping back the closer she gets to the big animal.
“Hi, Mona,” she says gently, then clicks her tongue. “You’re such a pretty girl.” Click. Click. “Would you like a nice, tasty apple?”
The horse’s ears twitch, and she lets out a soft snort. Gemma’s eyes grow big.
“Now lift your hand slowly and pet the side of her head a few times,” the worker continues.
The moment Gemma’s hand touches Mona, she grins big. She looks around to make sure Molly and I are watching.
“Good job,” I praise.
The worker pulls out a slice of apple and holds it out to Mona.
“See how my hand is flat?” Gemma nods. “You want to keep it flat and keep your fingers together. It makes it easier for Mona to grab the apple without nipping your fingers.”
Mona takes the apple from the worker’s hand, then she offers one to Gemma. It’s adorable to watch the pride and joy on her face as she holds up her hand, her palm flat, and her fingers together, offering the apple to Mona.
The worker lets her feed Mona two more times. When she asked Gray if he wanted to try, he declined, his focus intent on the goats a couple of stalls down.
We browse a couple more barns before we leave the agricultural section and make our way to where the rides and food are. The sun is bright, without a cloud in sight, but thankfully there’s a light breeze that keeps the heat bearable.
When we approach the bumper cars a few minutes later, Gray’s eyes light up. “Can we do the bumper cars?”
“Sure.” I grin, “As long as you don’t mind me kicking your butt.”
Gray snorts and rolls his eyes. “No way, old man.”
With a head shake and her lips twitching, Molly deposits the core and stick from her candied apple and what’s left of her lemonade into the trash can. She walks back to us and grabs Gemma’s hand.
“The boys are crazy, huh? They’ve got no clue we’re going to cream them at bumper cars,” Molly boasts, winking down at Gemma.
Gemma giggles, her excitement growing at the prospect of whipping my and Gray’s butt.
We get in line, and because it’s during the day and the fair’s not as busy, it only takes us ten minutes before we’re sliding into our cars.