It Was Family

Addie

ON SATURDAY, TOBY drove my Focus into town with me in the passenger seat and Brooks in his seat in the back.

It had been a week of Toby and me having our shit tight.

I noticed he was a mellow dude and there was very little he put his foot down about, and this was good since I was not a putting-a-foot-down-man type of woman.

Since we weren’t talking about him buying groceries (and incidentally, he came through my line with Brooks on Thursday night and filled some of those kickass burlap bags again (four of them) to take food to my house, and I was pretty proud of myself I didn’t say a word—then again, he’d spent every night at my house since we got together so he was eating the food along with me) . . .

Or paying my copay (something he handed me a twenty on Tuesday morning in order that I could do) . . .

Or taking Brooks on, along with taking me . . .

It was all good.

That was, it was all good until we were set to go into town for the Fair and we couldn’t put the car seat in his truck because his truck had a bench seat, therefore we had to take my, car and I told him no one drove my car but me.

This was when I found out that, unless you had a dick, Tobias Gamble did not ride shotgun.

And even if you had a dick, there was a discussion.

But no dick, no way.

He’d said this, straight out.

“You won’t let a woman drive?” I’d asked.

“Babe.”

That was his answer.

Babe.

Obviously, that was no answer at all, so I called him on it.

“Why?” I queried.

“It’s just the way it is,” he replied.

“Yes, but . . . why?” I pushed.

“Adeline, there’s some things you don’t question about a man.”

“That’s insane.”

I used that word rather than the word “chauvinistic,” the phrase “macho-man lunacy” or the like.

“It isn’t, since getting the answer might piss you off . . .” he took a pause to assess me and finished, “more.”

“It is because you know in explaining it it’ll still just be insane.”

Or chauvinistic, etcetera.

“Why do you put on mascara?” he asked.

“It makes me pretty,” I answered.

“No more pretty than you are without it.”

Well, shit.

“Okay then, I think it makes me prettier,” I retorted.

“You’re wrong.”

“I can’t be wrong about an opinion,” I snapped.

“Exactly. I drive because I’m more comfortable bein’ in control of the car, especially if I got bodies in it I care about, and the two bodies that are gonna be in it, I seriously care about, and it’s my opinion I’m more than likely better at it than you. That might be wrong, but it bein’ wrong would be subjective. So unless you got some serious hang up about ridin’, I drive.”

This was infuriating.

Because how could you argue with that?

Thus, me riding into town shotgun in my own damned car.

And he did drive kind of fast.

But he was a good driver.

Even though it was already busy in town, Tobe scored an awesome parking spot.

He parked, and we got out.

I went to Brooks.

He went to the hatchback to get Brooklyn’s stroller.

As I stood on the sidewalk holding my boy, he shook it out then put his boot to the thing that locked it in place and he did this like he designed the damned contraption.

He then swung Brooks’s diaper bag, which was a big, black leather bag with a gold guitar and Johnny Cash’s name on it that a friend of mine had given me at my baby shower (a kickass bag I obviously adored) into the net at the bottom.

When he got the stroller sorted, I bent to strap Brooklyn in, muttering, “You had a good explanation about the driving thing, except about the fact you’d only ride with someone who has a dick.”

“You been chewin’ on that since the acres?” he asked.

I finished with Brooklyn and straightened, shooting a glare at him even before I saw he appeared amused, stating, “Yes.”

“Addie, men have a protective instinct with shit like that.”

He did not just say that.

Though, he did.

Because he did, I slammed my hands on my hips. “And women don’t have protective instincts?”

“No thought, just answer. Danger happens, you got two choices. Get your boy, your phone and find a place to hide and call for help or grab a gun and go out and eradicate it?” he tested me.

“I don’t have a gun.”

“Then find a weapon,” he amended.

I understood his point.

Still . . .

“I would hope you also wouldn’t go out with a gun to eradicate it,” I remarked.

“What I’d do is get a phone, you, Brooks and make sure you’re safe, tell you to call emergency then get my gun and stand watch so I’d be in the zone to neutralize it if it got close to you while we wait for emergency.”

This was a good answer.

“You have guns?” I asked.

“Two rifles,” he answered. “Inherited. I don’t use them because I don’t hunt like Gramps and Dad did. But they’re worth money and sentimental, and I like hitting the target range.”

I might like hitting the target range with him.

That was, until Brooks got older, and if Toby and I were together, as in living together, those guns would have to be out of the house.

“This doesn’t explain why you only feel comfortable with a man driving,” I noted.

“There’s active protection and passive protection and both of them are good but only one of them I want behind the wheel of a car.”

“You know what bugs me the most?” I asked.

His lips hitched. “That I make sense?”

“That and that you know what bugs me the most.”

He moved around the stroller, bent to brush his lips against mine and pulled away to say, “Grab your cards and let’s drop ’em at Macy’s so we can hit he square.”

“Whatever,” I muttered.

But I did what he said, having let that go not because he made good points (that were still macho-man lunacy), but because this meant something to him and it didn’t mean a whole lot to me, thus I saw no reason to push it from a discussion to an argument.

After I slammed the door Toby beeped the locks on my car.

Yeah.

Whatever.

We hoofed it to Macy’s, and the minute we went inside, even though she had a lot of customers, when she spied us she called, “Oh good! More cards. I’m sold out!”

She was?

“Really?” I asked.

“Yeah,” she answered.

She took the cards I handed her that I’d been able to make because Toby was over at my house every night, and when I told him I filled my gas tank selling cards, he took over feeding, and if it was bath night, bathing Brooklyn, so I had a little me time to make some.

“I think I’m going to up the price by a buck,” she declared. “They’re selling like crazy. The way they’re going, I’m not sure anyone would blink at an extra buck.”

“Well, that’s cool,” I muttered.

“Hey, Toby,” she said after she sifted through the designs.

“Yo, Macy,” Toby responded.

“Hey, little man,” she said to Brooklyn.

“Bah, lee, go, sissis, Mama, Dodo,” Brooklyn replied, spilling all our family secrets.

“Is that right?” Macy asked, not speaking Brooklyn.

“Doo,” Brooklyn answered.

Macy shot him a smile and looked at me. “You know, someone asked if the artist who did these did packs of notecards. I said I’d ask. If you threw some sets together, I could put them out. See how they did.”

“I’ll get on that next week,” I told her.

“Wonderful. You going to the Fair?” she asked.

I nodded.

She looked from Toby to me, Toby to me again, and finally Toby with his hands on the handle of Brooklyn’s stroller to Brooks to me.

Then she smiled big.

“Cool. Have fun,” she bid.

“Thanks, Macy. Hope you have a busy day.”

“Me too. Usually the Christmas Fair gets me through to March. I have high hopes,” she replied, lifting up a hand in a “fingers crossed” gesture.

I gave her a smile, Tobe threw his arm around my shoulders, I slid mine around his waist, and with him having one hand and me having one on the stroller, we headed out.

It was a tight squeeze through the door, but we managed it.

“It’s pretty sweet your cards sold out,” Toby noted as we headed down the sidewalk toward the square.

“Yeah, whatever,” I muttered, trying not to think about that and instead thinking that I hoped that vendor that had the chocolate, cashew, caramel clusters that Deanna told me about was there again this year, because the way she described those, I was gonna treat myself for the first time in months.

I was also thinking that after the Fair, we were going to Toby’s to get his Xbox then home and making Christmas cookies then dinner. And after Brooks was down, we were bingeing on Christmas movies (he’d picked one: A Nightmare Before Christmas, and I’d picked one: Die Hard—we so totally had this together stuff tight).

I hadn’t turned Izzy’s TV on since I canceled the cable, and I was a little surprised how absurdly excited I was to munch homemade Christmas cookies in front of the TV with Toby.

We still hadn’t had our official “first date.” That was happening Thursday night at The Star.

But I’d decided to consider tonight our official first date because it sounded awesome.

“What does ‘yeah, whatever’ mean?”

I looked up to Toby at his question.

“Nothing.”

“It wasn’t nothing.”

“It was nothing, Toby.”

He glanced at me then turned forward and muttered, “Shit, you’re getting close to the rag.”

My body jerked, and I would have stopped us if Toby wasn’t taller, bigger and stronger than me and thus leading our charge.

“I cannot believe you just said that,” I bit.

He again looked down at me. “Are you getting close to the rag?”

I was.

Still!

“How do you even know that?” I asked.

“Babe, hello,” he called. “I’ve been into you since I first saw you. In other words, I noticed everything about you. Normally, you’re pretty laidback, but you get mildly pissy for no reason once a month. Two days, far’s I can tell. I didn’t know if it was when it was happening, or it was before it happened. Since I fucked you last night, and you hadn’t started, I now know it’s before it happens.”

It really was infuriating I couldn’t be annoyed at Toby when he was being outrageously annoying, because he was simultaneously being sweet.

“No one but men call it ‘the rag,’” I educated him, though that was probably a lie. I was just being snippy because I was about to go on the rag.

“Did you know what I was talkin’ about?”

“Yes,” I took my hand off Brooklyn’s stroller for a second to jab a finger in his face and order, “Don’t,” I put my hand back, “say it again. It’s crass.”

He grinned down at me. “Margot’s wearing off on you.”

Probably.

But again . . . whatever.

“Well, it’s not about me about to start my period,” I declared.

“So it was something,” he stated.

It was something.

“She sells a lot of my cards,” I told him.

“Macy does good trade,” he told me.

“Yeah, but she still sells a ton of my cards, Tobe. And they’re just cards. They’re pretty, but they’re just cards. So she sells so much because she tells folks I made them and people feel sorry for me.”

He stopped, and since he was taller, bigger and leading our charge, Brooks and I stopped too.

“It’s okay,” I said hurriedly when I noted his expression had turned to one that could be translated as getting ticked off. “If people feel bad about that poor woman who works at a grocery store that got her kid kidnapped, and it puts gas in my car, no skin off my nose.”

“Johnny had to deal with some issue at the garage in Radcliff, and the deposit to save the date for their wedding flowers needed to be dropped so he asked me to do it. When I walked in there, she knew we were tight, she probably guessed I was into you, so even though I didn’t ask that shit, she told me if I was looking for stocking stuffer ideas for you, I should buy you those grocery bags. She told me you had your eye on them and she could tell you liked them. So when I went to get you groceries, I remembered that, swung by there and bought her out of them.”

Whoa.

That was so sweet.

And he’d done it when he was angry at me.

That was even sweeter.

“I—”

“Her mother wanted a flower shop,” Toby spoke over me. “So she sold that earn-yourself-a-pink-Cadillac makeup until she could open a flower shop and she named it after her daughter.”

“Oh,” I said, not knowing why he was sharing Macy’s Flower Shop history with me.

“Babe, you gotta sell a lot of makeup to open a business with the profits. They taught her salesmanship, and the mother taught her daughter. She shared about those bags because she wanted me to buy those bags. And a couple weeks after she told me about them, I bought eight of those fuckers.”

“That was really sweet, Toby,” I said quietly. “I did have my eye on those bags. They’re great.”

“I’m not tellin’ you that for you to tell me it’s sweet. I’m tellin’ you that because it’s her business to sell shit. She told me you made those cards when I was in because she jabbers and is friendly and shares shit like that in hopes people will buy stuff and make her money. What she’s not gonna do is tell someone to buy a four-dollar card made by a woman they should feel sorry for. That’ll bum people out. You don’t go to a gift shop with cutesy crap in it to be bummed out.”

You actually didn’t.

And it was interesting to have the mystery of how Toby knew about my cards solved.

“And babe,” he kept at me, “we got folks who work in the city and live in Matlock because they think it’s country living and they feel better about their carbon footprint when they buy honey from Trapper’s hives at the farmer’s market to put in their designer yogurt, but they drive all the way to the city every day. Those folks buy a gorgeous handmade card for four dollars from Macy’s. The rest of Matlock is firmly blue collar and they wouldn’t buy a four-dollar card even if they felt sorry for you because they can’t afford that shit.”

“It’s nice you’re explaining this, Toby, but I didn’t really care.”

“You did.”

“I really didn’t.”

“I call bullshit, Addie, ’cause you did,” he returned. “Yeah, Brooks getting taken was extreme, but most folks were just relieved that had a happy ending and pissed as shit at Stu for bein’ his usual total asshole for pulling that goddamned lunacy. No one looks down on you and no one pities you. Half the folks you live around are you. They live paycheck to paycheck and save for a vacation on a beach in Florida at a shitty-ass motel, which is what they can afford. Only thing they think about you is that you’re a good mom and you got hustle, doin’ extra, makin’ cards to put gas in your car.”

I thought about this.

And I thought that was what I’d think if I saw a cute card at a place like Macy’s, the owner told me who made them, and I knew it was a single mom struggling to make ends meet.

I’d think she had hustle.

And I’d admire that.

“You know, I ever met your fuckin’ father, I’d punch the asshole in the throat,” Toby rumbled in his pissed-off growl as he set us to moving again.

“What’s that about?” I asked, looking at his angry profile as I walked beside him.

“Because that shit’s about you doin’ without when you were a kid and people, probably bullies at school, givin’ you shit about it and that dug deep and planted roots, and now you gotta put the effort into plowing those motherfuckers out.”

Holy crap.

He was right.

“How do you know so much?”

“Because I was a kid with my own issues and I wasn’t bullied, but I watched those dicks at work, so I know how they played nasty.”

“Did you put a stop to it?”

He looked down at me.

He put a stop to it.

We both faced forward.

“What were your issues?” I asked as he halted us at an intersection across from the square.

He looked to the light, then to me.

“Nighttime talk. Not we’re-about-to-eat-ourselves-sick-at-the-Matlock-Christmas-Fair talk.”

“Okay,” I mumbled, glancing at the light.

His arm around me squeezed, so I tipped my head to look up at him again.

“I was a second son with an older brother who was perfect. Got all As and Bs. Total gearhead, workin’ side-by-side with Gramps and Dad and Dave at the garage from the minute he could lift a wrench. Captain of the football team, dating the homecoming queen. And all I remember of my mom was a sense she was pretty, anyone wears her perfume and I get a whiff, I immediately think of her and the fact she destroyed my father. We had so many ‘Aunt Whoevers’ growin’ up, I couldn’t even name them all. So that’s just a taste.”

“Oh,” I whispered, giving him a squeeze with the arm I had around him. “Definitely nighttime talk.”

“Yeah,” he muttered, glanced at the light and set us moving again.

I looked to the big town square that was two blocks long, one block wide and was now covered in colorful tents.

“Game plan,” I declared. “We find those chocolate nut clusters that Deanna was talking about and then we can meander.”

“I’m down with that,” Toby agreed.

“I think Deanna and Charlie might be here. Hang tight. I’ll text her and see if she’s located them yet.”

We’d made it to the square, so Toby guided us off the thoroughfare and I reached down to get my phone out of Brooks’s bag. I texted and shoved it into the back pocket of my jeans.

And it was then I realized I was feeling fine.

No.

I was feeling me.

To tell the truth, I’d actually forgotten who me was.

In fact, I didn’t think I was certain I knew who me was.

Until right then.

As crazy as this might sound, this centered around it being a vintage embroidered jacket day.

I wore one over a sage thermal Henley, the buttons at the collar I’d unbuttoned down to hint at cleavage and a thin rock ’n’ roll scarf that had fringed ends that hung to my thighs but was still warm since it was wool and long enough I could wrap it around twice. Also, my black stone-washed jeans, black cowboy boots, and I’d dug out my black oversized beret that made me look like a hippie, gypsy, Stevie Nicks rock ’n’ roll queen.

For his part, Toby was in his usual. Faded jeans. Boots. Long-sleeved vintage Eagles tee. Beat-up leather jacket. And he had on one of those awesome extra-large beanies that drooped at the back and made him look badass and dope.

And Brooklyn was no slouch. Over baby long johns he had baby jeans with some rips in them, a flannel shirt, a baby army jacket, and a beanie a lot like Toby’s that was orange and fit a lot snugger to his skull. On his feet, those yellow-tan baby work boots, and mittens that went with his hat were on his hands. All of this an awesome yard sale score I’d found at the home of one of those Matlock residents Toby was talking about. One who worked in the city.

We fit. We matched. We had it going on.

Feel me?

We so totally had it tight.

All of us.

And I felt just that, when Toby guided us back into the thoroughfare.

We fit.

We matched.

We had it going on.

We did not watch Miracle on 34th Street.

We watched A Nightmare Before Christmas.

We pushed Brooklyn’s stroller together holding on to each other like we practiced that at home.

If Toby saw my dad, he’d punch him in the throat.

If I saw my dad, I’d kick him in the balls.

We were meant to be.

I was feeling this goodness when my ass chimed.

Still moving, I took it out, read the text from Deanna and told Toby, “Northeast corner, two stalls up. She and Charlie are gonna meet us there.”

“Gotcha,” Tobe said, and since we were heading southeast, he flipped us around.

And we nearly ran into Lora.

“Hey! I thought that was you!” she exclaimed.

“Hey back,” I replied on a smile.

She did a funny little jerk, looked to Toby, me, Toby, me, then Toby, Brooklyn and finished on me.

After that, she got a big smile on her face, nodded her head slowly, and said, “Sister, you two finally got it on.”

Toby chuckled.

“Well, uh . . . yeah,” I confirmed.

I semi-disengaged from Toby, this being I took my arm from him and he took his arm from me only to go up under my jacket to hook a finger in a back beltloop.

I flipped a hand toward Toby and did my next to be polite, and for Tobe since I already knew she at least knew him.

“Lora, do you know Toby?”

“Was two years behind you in class, but yeah. Hey. Lora Merriman,” she reminded him.

“Remember you, Lora, how you been?” Toby asked.

“Can’t complain, mostly.” She did an eye sweep of Brooks and me before she said to Toby, “Think you’ve been doin’ better.”

“You’d have that right.”

“Gah! Dodo!” Brooklyn yelled.

Lora bent over, tucking her hands palms together between her knees and saying, “Yo, little dude. Whassup?”

“Mama, kahkah, Dodo, Dada, leepy, sissis,” Brooklyn shared.

“No joke?” Lora asked. “Well, wow. That’s cool.”

“Leepy!” Brooklyn yelled.

“Right on,” Lora said and took one hand from between her knees to put it palm out to Brooklyn to give him a high five.

He went for it, but his little hand slid off the apple of her palm.

She caught it up and smacked them together a couple of times.

Brooks giggled.

“We’re heading for caramel nut clusters,” I told her. “You wanna come?”

She straightened and replied, “Grrrrrl, no. I already hit that tent. I told myself the two pounds I bought were to portion out and wrap up for stocking stuffers, but that whole thing will be in my belly by next Saturday. I’m hightailing it to Grover’s Ice Cream Parlour. Meeting a friend for a quick coffee before we do the Fair. But thanks.”

This kinda sucked. I liked her. It would be cool to hang with her for a while.

I did not share this.

I said, “Okay.”

“Though, we’re heading to Home after we decimate the Fair.” She glanced down at Brooks. “You probably can’t hit it later.”

I shook my head. “No, we have Christmas cookie plans later.”

She gave me a slow smile and lied, “Sucks to be you.”

“Yeah,” I lied back.

She laughed then bid, “You guys hit the chocolate tent. We’ll make plans some other time. Groovy?”

“Totally. Cool to see you,” I replied.

“You too.” To Toby, “Later, Toby.”

“Later, Lora.”

She gave us a wave, a wiggle of her fingers to Brooklyn, then she took off.

Toby again claimed me.

“How do you know her?” he asked after he set us on our way again.

“Customer at the store.”

“You friends?”

“She asked me to hang with her posse, but I haven’t had time to do that yet.”

“Far’s I know, good people,” he murmured.

Well, that was cool to know.

“Babe, caramel nut clusters?’ he said.

I looked up at him. “Did I forget to mention the caramel?”

He was grinning down at me. “Uh . . . yeah.”

“Did I share the nuts were cashews?”

“I would definitely remember that. So . . . no.”

“Are we gonna run the rest of the way?”

He pulled me close to his side. “I’ll control myself.”

He did but mostly because we didn’t have a choice.

This was because, apparently Toby knew everyone in town. He said, “Hey,” “Yo,” or jerked up his chin constantly as we made our way, and twice we had to stop when someone engaged us in conversation.

Toby introduced me and Brooks and didn’t chat forever with folks I’d seen at the store but hadn’t formally met, but he chatted.

Through this, I realized two things.

One, I’d made the right decision, not working half a shift that day, and not just doing that for Toby, but for me and Brooks.

The place was crowded. The vibe was rad. I was looking forward to perusing (or consuming) the wares in the tents. And if I’d worked, I might not have had this or I would have been tired, and I wouldn’t have had the time to get all gussied up and go out feeling fine.

Feeling me.

I’d forgotten an important lesson my mother taught me.

Shit worked out and you lived while it did.

I wasn’t beating myself up that I got stuck where I was. I’d taken a hit from life, I had responsibilities and I was caught up in seeing to them.

But it was an awakening as well as a reminder.

I had to have this for me, but I had to teach this to Brooks.

And now, give it to Toby.

This was a day that would eventually be just a trace in our lives.

While we had it, we had to be all in. Cherish it.

It was important.

Two, with us going out all together, it wasn’t just Toby claiming me and Brooks.

It was me and Brooklyn claiming Toby.

I loved it after all the time we spent dancing around each other he wanted to execute a very public act that we were now official. That said everything about where he was at with my son and me, and what it said meant the world to me.

I just hadn’t realized that while he did that, I got to do it too.

I was in the best mood I’d been in since well before I left Tennessee when we finally made it to the nut clusters tent.

I noted right off that Deanna and Charlie were there.

I also noted right off that the line for the clusters was long.

Fortunately, Deanna and Charlie were standing right in the middle of it.

“Hey!” I called in greeting as they both smiled when they caught sight of us.

“Hey,” Deanna called back.

“Hiya, sweetheart,” Charlie replied. “Hey, kid,” he said, looking down to Brooklyn.

“Deedee! Chacha!” Toby squealed.

“Hiya, Tobe,” Deanna greeted as we stopped at them. She bent right into Brooks’s stroller and muttered, “I need my hands on this bundle o’ goodness.”

“Tobe,” Charlie nodded to Toby. “How’s things?”

“Good, man. You?” Toby responded.

“We got four pounds of cashew nut clusters, I’m set,” Charlie told him.

“Since we already got ours,” Deanna said to me, lifting Brooklyn up into her arms, “and the line was long, we got in it again for you.”

“Thanks, Deanna,” I murmured, watching Brooklyn give her a baby hug around her neck while she gave him a big smackeroo on his check, after which Brooks totally dismissed her, grunting and pushing off with his work boots in her stomach to launch himself at Charlie.

Charlie caught him, and the minute he did, Brooklyn looked in his face and shared earnestly, “Chacha, sissis, leepy, loona, Dodo.”

“Well, heck, boy, that’s serious,” Charlie replied somberly.

Brooklyn nodded then dug his boots in and launched himself back toward Deanna.

Charlie chuckled and gave him up to his wife.

“Izzy and Johnny here yet?” Deanna asked, attaching my son to her hip.

“They’re coming later,” I told her and felt Toby’s beard on my chin.

“Saturday morning fuck-a-thon,” he whispered.

I turned my head and grinned at him because my sister was a prude, but when Johnny was done with her, even she couldn’t hide the glow.

And she glowed often.

“Dodo!” Brooklyn yelled, reaching to him.

“He’s feelin’ antsy,” Toby declared, pulling out his wallet. “We’ll go somewhere he can motor around,” he went on, yanking some bills out and handing them to me. “Get four pounds, babe.”

I took the bills.

He shoved his wallet back in his pocket and took my son.

“I’ll grab the stroller and go with you,” Charlie muttered.

He did that, and they took off.

Deanna and I shuffled forward in line.

“So how’s that going?” she asked, her gaze on Toby and Charlie strolling away.

“We fit. We match. We have our shit tight,” I answered, and her attention turned to me. “He’s open. Honest. Communicative. Wise. Protective. He loves my kid. He’s totally into me and doesn’t hide it. And he’s mind-bogglingly good in bed. Macho-man lunacy raises its head on occasion, but I’ve decided if I didn’t have that, I wouldn’t have caveman sex that is out . . . of . . . this . . . world. But also, it seems like when he gets like that, it’s about something that runs deep with him, so I shouldn’t push it. To sum up, it’s going great.”

“Well, damn, baby girl,” she hooted, “Sounds like it is.”

We shuffled forward in line.

“Caveman sex?” she asked.

“If he dragged me by my hair to bed I one, would not care because two, it’d rock my world what he did to me there.”

She smiled and repeated with added emphasis, “Well, damn, baby girl.”

I smiled back. “Unh-hunh.”

She tipped her head to the side. “Macho-man lunacy?”

“He refuses to ride in a car driven by a woman,” I explained.

Her eyes got big.

“Now, he also isn’t a fan of riding shotgun with another dude,” I continued. “But he puts his foot down if it’s a woman.”

“You been in a car with Margot?” she asked.

I shook my head.

“I have . . . once,” she told me as we shuffled forward in line. “The woman is a menace.”

I turned to face the line, murmuring, “This could explain things.”

“Trust me, you ride with her, it would. A kid rode with her often, he might swear off women drivers for life.”

Hmm . . .

Maybe this did explain things.

Also, something to note when she started to look after Brooks next week.

“You seem really good, Addie.”

At her quiet words, my attention went back to her.

“Today, for the first time since maybe before I had Brooks, I’m back to me.”

Deanna’s pretty face got soft.

“I love that for you, honey,” she whispered.

“Not more than me.”

We smiled like goofs at each other until we had to shuffle forward in line again.

I learned four pounds of caramel cashew nut clusters was a stupid amount, as well as stupidly expensive, and it was not lost on me that I didn’t care even a little bit because they looked so good, I wanted to shove my face in the bag the minute it was handed to me.

We wandered to Toby and Charlie, who’d found a small stretch of snow-packed space that had a couple of picnic tables set up for folks to hang and some open area where right then I saw Toby had Brooklyn by both hands.

Brooks’s pudgy little fingers were wrapped around Toby’s. Tobe was bent forward slightly, head tipped back to talk to Charlie, but Brooks was on his feet in front of Toby, and Toby was following as he let my boy wobble around to have an adventure and burn some energy.

But my kid was doing it holding the fingers of a man he loved, and Toby was controlling it so Brooks couldn’t get away or fall down in the cold snow.

Yeah.

The man was a natural.

And I was falling crazy in love with him.

“I’d been right,” I whispered as I walked to them, eyes locked to Tobe and my boy.

“Sorry?” Deanna asked.

“The first time I saw him I’d been right,” I said. “He’s perfect.”

“Looks that way to me,” Deanna agreed.

God, I wished Mom was there right then.

And Izzy.

I’d eventually get Izzy (after Johnny was done with her).

But I really wanted my mom.

When we made it to them, Deanna went to Charlie and I headed to Toby and Brooklyn.

When Tobe caught sight of us, he wrapped his hands around Brooks’s and lifted him up by his arms. He swung Brooks in the air, Brooklyn squealing with glee, then Toby swung him back, caught him, twisted him to hold him to his chest, his baby, jean-clad legs straddling Tobe’s flat abs, Toby’s eyes still on me.

“Cluster,” he demanded.

I opened the bag and handed him one.

He bit off most of it and shoved the little bite he left in Brooklyn’s mouth.

It took a beat before Brooklyn’s eyes got huge. He patted his mouth happily, squirmed in Toby’s hold with chocolate excitement, and as Tobe chewed, he grinned down at my boy.

Yep.

Perfect.

I ate a cluster like Toby did, giving a bit to my son, and as I tasted it, I saw what all the fuss was about.

I’d stowed the clusters in the net of the stroller and straightened when Toby claimed me.

Me and my son held to his chest, he bent his head to kiss me.

It was a hint of open-mouth and more than a hint of caramel, cashew, chocolate cluster kiss.

And it was divine.

“Mama! Dodo! Sissis!” Brooks yelled, banging on both of us with his hands.

Toby shuffled me to his side opposite Brooklyn as Deanna announced, “Addie, we gotta hit this tent down the way. Charlie and I already had a ramble and there is this wreath that would be perfect for your door. You have to see.”

Since I didn’t buy the clusters, depending on the cost, my give-myself-a-treat-at-the-Fair splurge might be transferred to a Christmas wreath.

If it was retro.

And OTT.

I was about to say, “Lead the way,” when I felt something funny.

I did half a scan of our surroundings and that was all I had to do before I caught sight of her.

Jocelyn, standing in a narrow open path between a tent that sold hot apple cider and one that sold wineglasses painted as Santa’s belt and snowmen, penguin, reindeer and Grinch faces.

She was glaring at me.

And there I was, my son and I held close to Tobias Gamble.

What else could I do?

Slowly, I shot her a cat’s-got-her-cream smile.

And nearly instantly felt Toby go solid against me.

Uh-oh.

I tipped my head to look up at him.

Oh shit.

He didn’t delay.

“What’s that about?”

“Nothing,” I said quickly, making a mental note that at all times, especially around Toby, even when I was in the enjoyable pursuit of getting in the face of a Mean Girl (even if I was at a distance), to have spatial awareness.

He glanced Jocelyn’s way, then back to me. “You know her?”

“Not really.”

“So what was that about?”

“Well . . .” I said slowly.

He jostled me.

“Addie,” he growled.

The pissed-off growl.

Crap.

“She comes through my line and either ignores me or messes with me. Demanding price checks she knows she doesn’t need and stuff like that,” I explained. “I don’t know her. I just know she’s . . . not nice.”

“Right. But that doesn’t explain you sending her a fuck-you-very-sweetly smile just now,” he pointed out.

Okay.

He’d been out with her, I’d just sent her the smile exactly as he described, and he was not dumb.

“Right, Tobe, after our fight on the street she came through my line and had a few digs at me about you,” I shared.

Slowly, his head turned Jocelyn’s way.

Uh-oh!

I pressed into him. “It wasn’t a big deal. I know what kind of woman she is and why she was warning me off you was not about the sisterho—”

I cut myself off when, slowly, his head turned back to me.

Uh-oh!

Before I knew it, or could do anything to control the damage, Brooks was dumped in my arms and Toby was stalking toward Jocelyn.

Okay, dancing around each other for seven months, a week of our shit being tight, me getting there were reasons behind his macho-man lunacy, all of that did not make me an expert in Tobias Gamble.

I was seeing this now.

But what I knew right then was I had to act fast.

So I turned to Deanna, holding Brooklyn out to her and muttering, “Do you mind?”

She took my son and muttered back, “Lock that down, girl, whatever it is.”

“Dodo! Mama!” Brooklyn yelled as I hoofed it behind Toby.

He stopped two feet away from Jocelyn about three seconds before I made it to his back and put a hand on the small under his jacket.

“Tobe—” I started.

“Considering the fact, the one time I fucked you, you acted like we were makin’ a sex tape and you had to have hair and face camera ready, I pretty much figured you were seriously up your own ass . . .” Toby started at Jocelyn.

Good God.

“But that was just me makin’ a poor decision about a woman I’d fuck,” he continued. “You go after Addie, that’s somethin’ else.”

“Toby,” I whispered, pressing in at his back with my hand and my body, but looking at her to see the color had drained from her face.

This might be because of his words.

It was also because there were people around, they weren’t far, they could totally hear, and knowing the folk of Matlock, they were probably listening.

“You givin’ me a mediocre piece of ass once does not buy you a role in my life or the right to open your smart mouth about me to anyone, but especially not to someone I care about,” Toby told her.

The pale was going away and red was seeping into Jocelyn’s cheeks.

Not embarrassment.

From the flash in her eyes, anger.

“You’re nothing to me but a bad choice that didn’t mean enough even to regret,” he carried on. “But you drag someone important to me into your nasty, you’re gonna get my attention.”

“I don’t want your attention,” she snapped.

“Bullshit,” he bit. “Newsflash, that attention isn’t the good kind. I just thought you were conceited. Now I think you’re a bitch.”

“You aren’t all that, Toby,” she bit back and did a lame toss of her hair. “Newsflash, big man, I faked it with you.”

“No kidding?” Toby asked. “That wasn’t lost on me. You were bad at doin’ that too. I just didn’t care. After putting up with half an hour of you preening and arranging your hair instead of paying even a little bit of attention to me, all I wanted was to get outta there,” he shared.

Yikes.

Ouch.

“And just so you know,” he went on, “you aren’t the only one’s got a mouth they can use to share shit they shouldn’t, and it’s known wide you can’t let go enough, not to get it good, but to give it good, and you fake it with everybody. And I’m not only talking about orgasms. That’s the reason you can’t get laid unless you go to the city to find some dupe who doesn’t know all about you and the fact, in a lot of ways, you aren’t worth the effort.”

He’d hit a nerve with that, and she wasn’t smart enough to hide it.

This was why she leaned forward and hissed, “Fuck you, Toby.”

“You wish, and that’s why you screwed with Addie. That’s another thing you’re poor at faking, Jocelyn. You know what you want but you’re mistaken that all you gotta do is crook your finger and you can lead a man around by his dick. It takes more than being an expert at applying lip gloss to get a guy to like you.”

“Well, that’s obvious.” Her eyes came to me peeking around Toby’s shoulder.

“Christ, Jocelyn, you’re even bad at hiding how fuckin’ jealous you are,” Toby muttered. Then he spoke clearly, “Her line at the store doesn’t exist for you. You with me?”

“I’ll use whatever line I want,” she snapped. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

“You’re right,” he replied. “And honest to God, standin’ here wasting my time on you, I’m wondering again why I did it.”

He then stopped doing that immediately, turning to me, hooking me around the neck with his arm, and leading me away.

I didn’t look back.

I just glided my arm around his waist and moved with him.

“Well, you kinda seriously annihilated her,” I stated carefully.

“I have zero tolerance for stuck-up bitches,” he rumbled.

I could get on board with that.

However . . .

“You still did that rather publicly.”

He stopped us and looked down at me.

“What’d she say to you?”

“Um . . .”

“Adeline, what did she say to you?”

“Do you, uh, known that some folks refer to you as—?”

“Take ’Em and Leave ’Em Toby,” he finished for me.

He knew.

Eek!

“Yeah,” I whispered.

“She go at you in a line at the grocery store I don’t know about that’s private, so it was just you and her who got to hear her have a go at you, and incidentally, babe, do it havin’ a go at me?”

“No,” I told him something he knew, though I didn’t share that was how I met Lora who heard it all. “But that’s you stooping to her level, honey. And I hesitate to say this in your current mood, but you shouldn’t let her take you to a place where you do that.”

“I knew exactly what I was doin’ and I knew I was getting into the ugly with her to do it, and I don’t give a fuck,” he retorted.

I blinked up at him.

“Sometimes, Addie, you take the higher road. Sometimes, it’s worth getting down in the mud. She fucked with you, at work, where you couldn’t fuck back, and she knew it. That was why she played it that way. And that is not okay. I am not gonna let that go without payback. So I got up in her shit at the Christmas Fair so anyone close could hear she’s a bad lay and a malicious bitch. They think I’m a dick I did that, I don’t care. Though most know Jocelyn, so they probably think something like that was a long time coming. I’m just glad, she went at you when you were defenseless, it was me who got to get up in her shit.”

One could say that wasn’t your usual knight in shining armor behavior.

But I’d take it.

“Another thing, babe, and the reason I did that,” he carried on. “She is not gonna go through your line again. She could say that she will to save face, but it’s not gonna happen. She’s an adult bully. That means either consciously or unconsciously she knows she’s lacking. She isn’t hard to look at, but it doesn’t take spending much time with her to know that’s all she has going for her. And every time a man scrapes her off or a friend drifts away, she’s reminded of that.”

This was definitely the truth.

Toby wasn’t done laying it out.

“Instead of taking a look at herself and how she treats people and making good changes, she lashes out at who she thinks is weak to make herself feel superior. I’m with you and your son and have been in a way since the summer, and she knows you have your hooks in me and probably gets why. To make herself feel better, she wanted to take you down a peg. Knowin’ you, she probably failed. But it’s my job as your man to do whatever I have to do to make sure shit like that doesn’t happen. And if it does, make sure it doesn’t happen again. I did that. And I don’t care how it had to get done, as long as it gets done.”

He dipped down so he was nose to nose with me.

“It . . . got . . . done,” he finished.

“It certainly did,” I said quietly, no longer feeling concerned Toby got down in the mud to verbally and publicly flay Jocelyn.

Instead feeling other things.

I decided to share some of those things with Toby.

“We need to go to Grayburg. I’m not thinking cavemen or cops and fugitives. I’m thinking armor and damsel in distress,” I declared.

He stared at me a second.

Then he burst out laughing.

I grinned up at him as he did it and put pressure on us to get us moving, saying, “According to Deanna, there’s a wreath that has my front door written all over it. Let’s fair this mother up.”

“Okay, baby,” he muttered, setting us on course back to my boy, Deanna and Charlie.

That drama done, in short order, I’d see the wreath was made of vintage glass baubles, some narrow tinsel trees sticking out around one, a discolored carousel ornament, some bells, a plastic snowman, a gold-faced skinny Santa, a glittery house, and the ugliest elf in history hugging his spindly, striped legs to his chest tacked on one side.

It was atrocious.

I loved it.

I bought it.

And after we meandered, consumed mince pies and popcorn balls . . .

And after we met up with Johnny and Izzy (who was totally aglow), purchased a mammoth box filled with summer sausages, a selection of cheeses, mustards and crackers, a huge bag of some Christmas-themed Chex mix that looked the bomb, and seven tacky ornaments that would totally destroy the theme of my tree . . .

And after we sat Brooks on Santa’s knee in the gazebo smack dab in the middle of the square, every one of us frantically taking pictures on our phones as Santa desperately tried to stop Brooklyn from yanking down his beard . . .

Toby, my son and I headed to his place to get the Xbox then home to put Brooks down for his nap in preparation for making cookies.

And that was when Toby put that wreath up on my door.

On that farmhouse door, as I suspected, the tacky took a hike and the wreath worked perfectly.

It fit.

And the way it did I vowed never to get rid of it.

But that wasn’t the only reason.

Mom would love it because it was all about recycling.

Still, there was another reason.

I had a feeling that wreath was going to be the foundation to every Christmas that was to come. It would be the first thing I’d get out and put up. It’d be the last thing I took down and put away.

It was Brooks. It was Toby. And it was me.

It was family.