Fuck.
Why is there not more hesitation from me in calling him that in my head?
Or out loud for that matter?
I referred to him as “my mate” instead of “my boyfriend” when telling Alvaro or Al, my brother, that he would be joining me later on in my babysitting adventure today, and instead of feeling awkward or uncomfortable about the label, considering we’ve only been together a little over a week – which is way longer on this side of The Fog apparently since time moves differently – it felt right. It felt like I belonged saying it. Only one thing has ever felt more natural to me, and that was the first time my dad gave me an M&M.
And that has become a lifelong love affair all its own.
Thankfully, Al brushed it off as me being “progressive” about my word choices for defining relationships.
Eh.
I took the weird and wrong compliment anyway.
Side by side, A.D. and I make our way towards the living room where I assume Minnie is hiding. Our “counting” on the stairs, which was really just us arguing, limited her options for disappearing. Rather than assist in searching, my Fated Mate arrogantly leans against the outer wall to watch me hunt.
I cautiously peer around end tables and the edge of the couches. Check carefully behind the chairs. Moving pillows around in hopes of uncovering my five-year-old niece is not only fruitless, it leads to me griping, “This would go faster with some reinforcements.”
“This would go fastest if you would just let me lead the way.”
An eyeroll is followed by me resuming my seeking. Efforts are relocated to checking behind curtains as I make my way around the entire downstairs, eventually wandering into the open kitchen to check the pantry and cabinets. The opening and shutting noises start soft yet grow significantly louder, mirroring my increasing frustration. Curses repeatedly fall from me while A.D. simply chortles to himself at my expense.
Finally, too flustered to keep from being humiliated all on my own, I halt my searching, drop a hand firmly onto my gold, crocheted shorts-cloaked hip, and huff, “Alright, The Great Draak Detective.” My other hand brushes one of my wilder waves away from my forehead. “Show me whatcha got. Where is she?”
He confidently points dead ahead to the couch.
“You know she’s not there. You literally watched me look there.”
A.D. flirtatiously winks. “That’s not all I watched.”
There’s no denying the flattered beam it brings to my face. “Not helpful.”
“Compliments are always helpful, Tiny Toes.”
“Just admit you suck at this game too, and help me actually find Minnie before my brother gets home.”
Another overly assured point is given to the piece of furniture. “She’s under the couch.”
“She can’t be under the couch, A.D. There is no ‘under the couch’ for her to fit under!”
“There is.”
“There isn’t! She’s a person, not a T.V. remote.”
He lightly laughs, shakes his head, and crosses the short distance to the piece of furniture in question. With no effort whatsoever, he lifts one side, exposing how rarely they move the damn thing along with a tiny, golden-brown mouse.
Horrified shrieks immediately escape me despite how far away I am.
The little creature I would expect to scurry away simply remains frozen prompting A.D. to state in amusement, “I know it’s you, Minnie.”
Appalled he would even suggest something like that causes me to shout. “My niece is not a-” Abruptly ending the sentence is due to the teeny creature shifting from something I want to chase away with a broom to the little girl with honey brown, corkscrew curls we were in a tickle war with thirty minutes ago. Her sheepishly, guilty expression pushes me to squeak, “You’re a shifter?!”
An unexpected hiss comes from the hallway where my brother and his wife are standing with takeout bags full of dinner.
I meet Al’s wide brown gaze and repeat what should be an unbelievable accusation. “My niece is a fucking shifter?!”
He winces in tandem with his wife, Minerva.
“That means Min’s a fucking shifter, too!”
My brother’s adorably mousy – pun now intended – partner presents the same expression.
“Why didn’t you fucking tell me?!”
“Auntie Ana you have said the F word three times.” She innocently lifts that number of fingers. “You owe the swear jar a lot of money.”
“Yeah, Auntie Ana’s probably about to get a pass on that one,” A.D. mutters to Minnie prior to turning to face my brother. “I’m A.D. by the way. Your sister’s-”
“Mate,” Al finishes on an exasperated sigh. “Yup.” He smacks his lips together the way he has since we were kids. “Looks like I should grab a bottle of Goblin’s Brew…”
“Or Leprechaun’s Breath,” A.D. suggests in his most helpful tone. “She really likes that.”
“You’ve been giving my baby sister fucking Leprechaun’s Breath?!” Al unhappily bites.
Panic pierces my Fated Mate’s face.
“Do you have any idea what type of fucked up shit that can do to an unbonded human?!”
A.D. isn’t forced to answer thanks to Minnie piping up again. “And Daddy you said three swear words. You owe the jar a lot of money too.”
He cuts his daughter a glance that he follows with a slow nod. “Daddy will put money in it after dinner. Can you go wash your hands please?”
“Okay,” Minnie cheerfully shrugs. She prepares to bounce away yet tugs on A.D.’s navy suit pants leg. “You can put the couch down.”
His blunder successfully steals a snicker out of everyone in the room.
He gently returns the furniture to its place as she asks, “Are you a grizzly bear?”
My Fated Mate drops down to a squatting position upon answering, “Dragon.”
“Dragons are real!?”
“And experts at hide-and-seek.”
She giggles and defiantly shakes her head. “Mice are better.”
The self-assurance is attached to a sassy skip away that warms my heart.
It’s totally the wrong time to be thinking about how I can’t wait to see him play with our kids. And not just because we barely know each other or that I’ve eaten leftovers older than our relationship, but because now is the time to figure out just what the fuck is going on in my own family.