1
Harlow
Nudging the front door aside with my hip, I push into the house holding two overloaded grocery bags flush against my chest, praying I get to the kitchen before the kids realize I’m home and descend on me with the usual enthusiasm. I shut the door with my sneakered foot, wincing as it slams loudly behind me.
Shrieks ring out as I walk into the extended kitchen, and I spot Galen hunched over one of the rugrats beside the sink. The faucet is on, and Bishop is holding a wet cloth underneath the running water. Beads of water cling to my son’s bare back, and he’s wearing damp swim shorts, so I’m guessing they were out in the pool before the drama started. Depositing the groceries on the island unit, I step toward my husband. “What happened?” I ask, already knowing Aurora is involved. Our two-year old is a magnet for trouble, and she revels in it. If there’s mischief involved, Rora will usually be at the center of it. God help us all when she’s older.
Galen straightens up, and my lips twitch as my gaze roams over our youngest daughter. Rora is covered in flour, her olive-toned skin coated in a thick white downy layer. It even clings to her lashes and adheres to her long dark hair. “The kids were helping me bake chocolate chip cookies,” Galen explains, leaning in to peck my lips. “I swear I only turned my back for two seconds, and Fireheart dumped the entire bag of flour over herself.” He shakes his head, stifling a smile.
Crouching in front of my daughter, I gently brush flour off the lashes framing her warm brown eyes.
“I didn’t mean to,” she pouts, jutting her lip out. “Was an ax-dent.” My heart swells at her cute little voice even though I know she’s lying because dumping a bag of flour over her head is something our little Fireheart would do willingly and not by accident. But I find it hard to chastise her—unless she’s being deliberately naughty—because she’s curious about the world and desperate to know everything there is to know, and I never want to tame her excitement or stifle her exuberant personality.
“It will come off, and no one got hurt. That’s the main thing.” I smile as I tweak her flour-dusted nose.
“The flour goes in the bowl. Not over your head, stupid,” Bishop says, rolling his eyes as he hands me the wet cloth.
“No name-calling, Bishop. Remember we talked about this.” Galen sends our eldest a warning look that would terrify most kids, but Bishop is no ordinary kid, and he takes everything in stride. He’s like five going on fifty sometimes.
Rora glares at her big brother as I attempt to wipe the flour off her face. “You’re mean.”
“And you’re naughty,” Bishop retorts, blatantly ignoring Galen’s words.
The flour on Rora’s cheek turns to a gloopy paste as I gently scrub at her skin with the cloth. Fuck. I don’t think this will wash off as easily as I initially thought. I picture screams and cries in my near future. Throwing the cloth in the sink, I decide I’m going to put her outside on the grass and try to shake as much of the flour off before hosing her down, and then I’ll put her in the bath.
“Prodigy.” Galen pins Bishop with a firmer look. “Be nice to your little sister, and leave the parenting to us.” I worry about our son for a bunch of reasons; one being he’s so serious sometimes. He has a natural tendency to take on responsibility that is way beyond his tender years. We had all assumed he was Theo’s biological child until the test last year proved otherwise.
“Mommy.” Luna slinks over to my side, draping her small body around me. She’s wearing her Frozen terry-cloth poncho over a swimsuit. “Can you come in the pool?”
“I need to bathe Rora, put away the groceries, and make lunch. But I’ll get in the pool after that.” Gently tugging on one of her soft blonde curls, I smile at my gorgeous eldest daughter.
“Come on, princess.” Galen pries Luna off me, scooping her up into his arms. “Let’s finish making the cookies, and then we’ll go swimming.” She beams at him, her jade-green eyes bright, her blonde curls bouncing as she snuggles into his chest. Luna is the most affectionate of our three kids. She’s also the quietest. She breezed into this world four years ago with barely a whimper, and she hasn’t caused us an ounce of trouble since.
Galen presses kisses into her hair, gazing adoringly at her, as he cradles her close. All my husbands are amazing fathers, and the way they love our kids is a thing of beauty. Watching these muscled, tatted, pierced men dote over our son and daughters makes my ovaries swoon, every damn time.
“Here, Mom.” Bishop hands me a large beach towel. “Wrap Fireheart in that so she doesn’t get flour all over the house.”
“Don’t call me that,” Rora snaps, pouting again. “Only my daddies call me that.” She plants her hands on her hips and thrusts her chest out, challenging her brother with her body language. It’s priceless, and Galen and I share an amused look. “My name is Aurora,” she tells her brother, as if he’s unaware, enunciating her given name. Aurora has an amazing vocabulary for only two, and she never stops talking, chattering nonstop from the second she wakes every day until she conks out at night.
“Whatever.” Bishop dismisses her with a shrug that enrages her. Her eyes narrow, and her nostrils flare as her temper rises.
I think the term “terrible twos” was coined for Aurora Sariah Westbrook, because neither of her siblings threw temper tantrums even close to the epic meltdowns we’ve witnessed with Rora. She must get that from me, because Caz is as easygoing as they come, and I can’t imagine him as a little terror when he was younger. Mom says she sees the same determination and spirit in Rora and she reminds her of me as a kid. Maybe that’s why I find it so hard to punish her when she’s naughty. I never want to clip her wings. My parents enforced discipline in a way that also encouraged my true personality to shine, and I strive to be like that.
Quickly swaddling her in the towel, I bundle her into my arms before she launches herself at her brother. Those two are always arguing, but they are also each other’s biggest defenders when anyone threatens or disrespects their sibling.
“Never a dull moment,” Galen muses, leaning in to kiss me with Luna in his arms.
Our lips linger, and I wish we had time to get lost in one another. But spontaneous make-out sessions are a thing of the past since the kids came along. Between work and family life, we barely have time to breathe these days. Yet I wouldn’t have it any other way. I love my life, and I wouldn’t change anything.
Except for giving Saint the one thing he desperately desires. Something that has eluded us, so far.
“Gross,” Bishop murmurs, watching us kiss. Rora wriggles in my arms, babbling away, while Luna giggles into Galen’s neck.
“Kissing isn’t gross,” Galen says when we pull apart. “One day you’ll find your own angel, and you’ll want to kiss her, or him, nonstop until your lips fall off.”
I arch a brow, an amused grin spreading across my mouth at his words.
“Ugh. Double gross,” Bishop replies. “I’m never getting married.”
“Why not?” I ask, repositioning the wriggly snake in my arms before I drop her.