“Hey.” Manning nodded at him. “She’s not your personal chef.”
“Aren’t I, though?” I asked. Nothing made me happier than feeding my family, and Manning knew it, but ever since we’d gone from the two of us to having young boys in the house, Manning had been even more of a stickler about showing me respect. No son of his would treat his woman as anything less than a queen.
“Sorry,” Mateo said, bopping Mads on the nose as she giggled and tried to grab his finger.
“Actually, I am about to make lunch,” I said. “We came out to take orders.”
Manning removed the goggles on his head, tossing them on the nearest work table. “You even have to ask?”
“Two monster sandwiches?” I guessed.
Mateo nodded emphatically. “Yes, please. But you better make Dad one, too.”
Manning eyed him. “I’ve taught you too well.”
“I take it you boys are hungry?” I teased.
“Starved.” Manning winked. “Why are you home today anyway?”
It was a fair question. I didn’t normally close the practice for no apparent reason, but a small part of me had hoped Manning would puzzle the pieces together and remember today’s anniversary. We’d recognized it on and off over the years, but twenty-five years since we’d met seemed like a day to be home with him. “I just felt like having a family day,” I said.
“That’s it?” Mateo asked.
“Well . . .” I debated whether to remind Manning.
“Oh, almost forgot.” Manning set down Mads and reached into his back pocket to pull out his red bandana.
I broke into a smile. He hadn’t forgotten after all. “I can’t believe you still have that thing.”
“Same one,” he said, knotting the bandana at the back of his head. “Did I ever tell you kids about the day I met your mom?”
Henry, standing in front of my legs, nodded. “Tell us again.”
Mateo hoisted himself onto the work table. “It was a hot summer day,” he began.
“She made me a killer sandwich,” Manning said, ruffling Henry’s hair, “and I was instantly in love.”
“It didn’t go quite that smoothly.” I lowered my voice into storytelling mode and made tickle-monster hands at Mads as she sucked her thumb and hung onto her dad’s leg. “We came up against some obstacles,” I said.
Henry fixed his hair. “What’s an obstacle?”
“Something in the way,” Manning said.
“Or in our case,” I said, glancing at Manning, “someone.”
“The evil stepsister.” Manning laughed at his joke, but I didn’t. That was a real blemish on my fairytale if you asked me. Noticing my glare, his expression cleared. “Since I couldn’t confess my feelings to your mom, who, by the way, was and still is extremely beautiful,” Manning continued, “I told her the story of Altair and Vega.”
“Summer Triangle,” the boys said in unison.
“That’s right.” Manning pointed up at the sky, despite the fact that it was eighty degrees with clear blue skies. “And I made her a promise on the stars.” Manning looked at me with his chocolatey brown eyes. “Remember?”
“No matter what, the story would only ever be about us,” I said, puckering my lips at him with a loud smooch.
“Daddy kiss,” Madison said, pulling on Manning’s pant leg. He picked her up, pecking her pink cheeks all over.
Hearing their names, Altair and Vega had wandered from their usual grassy spots in the sun. Behind them followed the newest addition to our family. Blue had passed earlier in the year, and because I’d decided my life needed to have no less than three dogs or children, we’d adopted when I’d eventually felt ready.
In honor of Blue, who’d shared my eye color, Cola—a Saint Bernard Madison tried to ride on a daily basis—had been named for Manning and Henry’s soda-pop brown eyes.
Not that she needed a makeshift pony. Her father had spoiled her with a horse for her second birthday, which gave me plenty of time to get used to the idea before she was ready to ride.
As Cola settled under Mateo’s feet, I leaned against the table with him. It’d taken years before he’d started calling us Mom and Dad. In fact, from ages nine to twelve, Mateo had barely spoken beyond what was necessary. Manning had been the best kind of guardian for him—firm, honest, yet sensitive considering he and Mateo had experienced the same kind of pain—and Mateo had responded well. He’d been polite and helpful around the house, but it hadn’t been until Manning had brought him out into the workshop that Mateo had begun to blossom. I’d been hesitant about him handling tools at his age, but Manning had assured me working with his hands had gotten him through some of his worst times.
Now, not only was Mateo growing into his limbs, but his personality, too. He liked all kinds of music—even Manning’s “oldies” when he and his friends weren’t listening to rap—and was learning to play electric guitar. He’d also signed up to be a counselor with Young Cubs thanks to Gary, who’d had a lot of experience with adopted kids at the Y and had treated Mateo as a nephew since the day he’d met him.