She was… good?
Was he mad?
She was in a t-shirt!
With effort, she turned to face him but he slid an arm around her waist and pulled her out of the door’s arc.
“I’m only wearing your t-shirt,” she reminded him unnecessarily as he could see she was only in his t-shirt.
“Aye,” he replied. “But you’re covered.”
She continued to resist as he forced her, hands again at her hips, through the door.
“Prentice! I’m in a t-shirt! I can’t eat breakfast with your children in a t-shirt!” she hissed.
“Why no’?” he asked casually.
She stared at him in disbelief as he shuffled her down the hall.
He caught sight of her face, stopped before they turned to the stairs and said, “It comes down to your thighs, baby. You’re far more covered than you were in your nightie when you made pancakes that first time.”
“I wasn’t just in a nightie. I was also wearing a robe,” she replied impatiently.
He grinned and his face got close as his hands slid down over her behind and pulled her h*ps to him. “That robe didn’t cover f**k all.”
“It certainly did!” she snapped.
His grin turned devilish. “Trust me. It did no’.”
She ignored how attractive his devilish grin was and this was hard to do, considering she hadn’t seen it in twenty years and she remembered how she particularly liked it. “It most certainly did.”
“Aye, I’ll admit, on the face of it, it did. If you have a creative imagination, which I do,” he said, his fingers tensing deliciously in the flesh of her backside. “It… did… no’.”
She was staggered.
“Are you saying…?”
“Aye.”
“Back then… when you…?”
“Aye.”
“You thought of me…?”
“Aye.”
He was growling again.
It felt like velvet again.
Regardless, Elle was stunned.
“But…” she whispered, “you hated me.”
All playfulness swept instantly from his face, his hands went to her waist and curled around, holding her close.
“I’ve never hated you, Elle.”
“But –”
“There were plenty of times I wanted to hate you, over the years and recently, but I could never do it.”
“But –”
“No’ ever.”
“Pren –”
He kissed her quiet.
He took his time and did this thoroughly.
When he lifted his head he repeated fiercely, “Baby. No’ ever.”
She felt tears hit her eyes and she whispered, “Really?”
He scanned her face and, for a second, she could swear, it looked like he was in pain.
He masked it before she could be sure and he whispered back, “Really.”
Something else wound up tight in her released and relaxed.
So did her body, right into his and he took her weight.
“Can I get my jeans?” she asked softly.
“No.”
Her body got tight again and she pulled slightly away, demanding, “Why not?”
Both his arms released her but only so both his hands could come to her jaw and tip her face up to his.
“Because last night you made a decision and now, today, you’re at home. When you’re at home you don’t have to dress to eat breakfast. When you’re at home you wear whatever-the-fuck you want to wear at breakfast.”
Last night she hadn’t made a decision.
He had.
And he hadn’t let her protest.
He was watching her as these thoughts went through her head and then he interrupted them.
“I can see this may take time to sink in for you,” he said then the devilish grin came back. “Luckily, I’m patient.”
He was not patient.
Or, at least, twenty years ago he wasn’t.
And evidence suggested he wasn’t now either.
“Pren –”
“Muffins.”
“Pren!”
He turned her around the corner that led to the stairs.
Sally saw them the minute they came into view and before Elle could form another protest, Sally shouted, “Hurrah! Now we can bake the muffins.”
Stymied.
With no choice, Elle went to the kitchen and sat on a stool in nothing but Prentice’s t-shirt, sipping coffee and surveying the chaos created by Jason and Sally making muffins.
They’d forgotten to grease the tins so they didn’t have full muffins, just the muffin tops that Jason and Prentice were able to pry from the tin.
Still, they weren’t half bad.
* * * * *
Fiona
Fiona knew it happened because Bella was tired.
She’d had a hectic day.
And Fiona had watched it all.
The tickling in bed (though she’d followed Jason when he left the room, worried about him after his reaction at seeing Bella and Prentice in his mother and father’s bed).
The conversation on the landing when Prentice (not letting any grass grow) set about righting the wrongs he’d inadvertently done Bella.
The disastrous muffin baking.
She also watched Bella clean the kitchen with Sally’s “help” which made the onerous task all the more onerous while Prentice went after Jason. During this, Fiona watched Bella bite her lip and fist her hands.
Fiona wanted to be with Jason and Prentice but Fiona knew her son. He was like his father. He felt deeply. But, in miraculously little time, he came to decisions and stuck by them, about people and events.
He knew his mind, Jason did, always had, even as a wee lad.
He might be confused but he’d sort it – with his father’s help.
Fiona was more worried about Bella.
She whispered words to soothe her friend as the time slid by while Prentice was upstairs with Jason.
Then, when this didn’t work, she shouted her soothing words.
Incredibly, this seemed to work and Bella began to focus more on Sally and making oatmeal cookies (and why they needed oatmeal cookies to add to the chocolate chip cookies in the cookie jar, Fiona had no idea) and less on tearing her palms with her nails.
When Prentice and Jason appeared again, Bella whirled to the stairs and watched them descend.
Jason had Fiona’s guitar.
Bella went pale.
“Elle, will you show me more chords today?” Jason asked.
Bella’s eyes flew to Prentice and Prentice gave Bella a wink.
Bella (and Fiona, even though hers was unnecessary as she didn’t breathe) let out a sigh.