Before (After 5) - Chapter 83

She shakes my shoulder, begging me to wake up.

“Hardin, come on.” Her voice is low, but excitement rings through her barely contained whispers.

If this is how I’m woken up for the rest of my life, I’ll be a lucky bastard.

I groan, barely opening my eyes as I pull her to my chest. “What’s the ruckus?” I ask, pressing my lips against her temple. Her hair sticks to my face, and I brush the strands away. She’s topless, her soft breasts pressed against my side.

She sighs, wrapping a stubbly leg through mine. I flinch away in jest, and she playfully nudges me. “The kids need to find their baskets and I want to start breakfast, so you need to get up.”

And like that, like she’s not totally turning me on, she wiggles her body free of mine and rolls over to climb out of bed.

“Come on, baby,” I complain, missing the warmness of her body.

As she opens the dresser, I glance over at her naked chest. A whine leaves my throat, and I wish I’d woken up earlier to keep her in the bed with me. I would be inside of her right now, buried deep inside her warm, wet . . .

A pillow smacks me in the face. “Get out of bed! We have a busy day today, you know.”

Sighing, I roll out of our king-size bed and toss a shirt over my head before she throws something else my way. She spent months redecorating the place only a little bit ago; I’m sure she doesn’t want to damage any of the precious decorations she picked out with the insane decorator she convinced me we needed. The guy was a loon, painting the living room a salmon color, then repainting it a week later with a slightly less nauseating shade.

“I know, darling. Baskets, bunnies, eggs, and shit.” I catch my reflection in the mirror hanging on the wall and run my fingers over my hair. Using the band on my wrist, I pull my hair up and look over at a glaring Tessa. The corners of her mouth are attempting to stay straight, but I can see the struggle.

“Yes, and shit.” She laughs finally and reaches for her hairbrush. “We have to be at Landon’s at two. Karen and Ken have flown in, and I haven’t even made the potato salad we’re supposed to bring.”

After finishing with her long hair, she goes to hand me the brush with a smirk.

I shake my head. I don’t need to brush it; my fingers do the trick.

“I’ll make the potatoes while you get ready,” I offer. “Now let’s go watch the kids find their baskets.”

She makes a face, judging my ability to make the potatoes for her an iffy proposition at best. I’m fully capable of this . . . except maybe last Christmas, when I burned the chicken.

Tessa is dressed in white cotton pants and a navy-blue T-shirt; her skin has a hint of a tan from spending time out on the patio tending to her small garden. She loves our small yard here in Brooklyn; it’s her favorite part of the new town house I bought her to celebrate my newest book deal.

In the hallway she stops by Emery’s room. “Wake her up and meet me in the living room.” She kisses my cheek and yells for our son. I slap her ass as she walks away, and she rolls her eyes at me—the usual.

When I go into Emery’s room, she’s lying sprawled out on the bed, her long legs hanging over the edge of her small Disney-themed bedspread.

“Em.” I gently shake her arm.

She stirs but keeps her eyes shut.

When I do it again, she whines “Nooo” and turns onto her stomach and buries her face in the pillow.

Dramatic little one, she is.

“Baby, you have to get up. Auden is going to take all your Easter candy if you don’t . . .”

And just like that she’s hopping out of bed, her blond hair a wild mess. Her hair is wavy like mine and thick like her mum’s.

“He better not!” she declares as she pushes her feet into her slippers and bolts from the room.

When I catch up, she’s pulling open every cabinet in the kitchen.

“Where is mine?” she shrieks.

Tessa laughs, and Auden messily unwraps a chocolate egg with his chubby little fingers before shoving the entire thing into his mouth. He chews for a moment, then opens his mouth wide.

Tessa leans over to him and pulls a piece of aluminum wrapping from his tongue, and he smiles, chocolate covering his crooked teeth. He lost his front tooth last week, and it’s absolutely fucking adorable. I give him shit about his lisp, because that’s a perk of being a parent: I get to tease them when I please. It’s a rite of passage.

“Mom!” Emery complains from the hallway closet. “Dad hid mine—didn’t he? That’s why I can’t find it!”

I laugh at her dramatics. “Yes. Yes, I did.”

She’s a sweet girl, just full of sass and opinions at the young age of eleven. It’s why she doesn’t have many friends.

Emery continues rummaging through the town house as Auden devours half his basket of candy, tossing little strings of fake grass onto the floor.

“There’s a drum in there, too,” I tell him. He nods, mouth still full of candy, not seeming to be too interested in anything that isn’t made of chocolate.

“Daddy.” Emery walks into the kitchen with empty hands. “Can you please tell me where you hid my basket? This is too hard. Harder than last year.” She stands next to where I sit on the barstool and wraps her arms around my waist. She’s so tall for her age, and she’s trying to play me for a fool.

“Pleeeeeeease,” she begs.

“You aren’t fooling me, my dear. I’ll give you a hint, but a hug and a sweet voice won’t work to bribe me. You have to work for things, remember?”

She purses her lips and hugs me tighter. “I know, Daddy,” she says into my chest.

I smirk at this new tactic and look over to find Tessa watching Emery with suspicious eyes.

“It’s somewhere you never, ever go. It’s where your clothes are that you refuse to help us fold.” I rub my hand over her back, and she unlatches her arms from my neck.

“The washer machine!” Auden shouts, and Emery squeals. She rushes over to her brother and touches the top of his head. He smiles, looking awfully like a little puppy as he gets praised by his big sister.

Within a minute, Emery is running into the kitchen with her basket. Tiny chocolate Easter eggs fall onto the floor. Ignoring them, she continues to dig at the full basket. Tessa stands up to help her clean up the mess Emery herself doesn’t seem interested in cleaning at all.