Bachelor Mom by Jennifer Greene

Author:Jennifer Greene
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Harlequin Treasury
Published: 2011-06-11T04:00:00+00:00

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Eleven

Gwen had proposed the dinner together. Spence thought it’d be fun, but she knew better from the start. A masochistic love of torture had nothing to do with this. She needed a whomp upside the head—a whomp of reality—and on this earth, there couldn’t be a more guaranteed way to self-deliver one than taking both families and all three children to McDonald’s.

“Three Happy Meals, two Cokes, one Sprite, two Big Macs and a large fry...Gwen?” Spence turned to face her.

“A Big Mac and fries’ll do for me, too. I’ll get the napkins.” She herded her rambunctious sons toward the condiment counter. The instant her head was turned, Josh elbowed Jacob, and Jacob naturally retaliated by slugging his brother. “Look, you guys. You can either settle down or go sit in the car, your choice.”

“He started it,” Josh said heatedly.

“I did not. You did. He called me a wiener and a bug-face, Mom,” Jacob said plaintively.

“I’m not interested in who started it. I’m interested in seeing manners and good behavior when we’re out in public—or you die. It’s as simple as that. Now I mean it, you two. Chill out. Now.”

They subsided... for a few minutes. Spence appeared with the mounded tray of food—and his so perfectly behaved angel of a daughter. “Could I sit with Josh?” April asked the adults.

“Of course you can, honey,” Gwen responded.

Of course, once the lovebirds took one side of the booth, Gwen was packed into the other side with Jacob between her and Spence. Squished sardines had more elbow room. Spence winked at her over the kids’ heads. “Ah, the price we pay for love,” he murmured under his breath.

“Why can’t I sit with Josh and April?” Jacob demanded.

“Because the chances of your not slugging your brother, on a scale of one to ten, are about a hundred and fifty on the doubtful side. Ketchup, anyone?”

The first plastic tube of ketchup squirted in a spurt on the window. The culprit was unknown, but could have been any of the three. Then the kicking under the table began. Then came the effusive bubbling into the straws, accompanied by gross animal noises and show-off burping. Then came an out-of-control giggle attack, which was naturally more contagious than the flu.

Gwen rubbed a napkin on the window, took a bite of a Big Mac and watched for the first spill. There’d be one. She just didn’t know when or how bad—yet.

The dinner was going exactly as she’d expected, she thought morosely. Well, something had to kick her head out of the clouds. She’d been dreaming about Spence. Not just at night, when she’d wake up with damp, twisted sheets. But when she was supposed to be working or carpooling or chaperoning a field trip to the St. Augustine Fort. She would dream they belonged together. She’d dream their love was so huge, so powerful and unique, that they could overcome all obstacles. She was in so deep that Spence seemed an inseverable part of her life, part of her air, as necessary to her as water.

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