Ella
“Milaaaa,” I sing. “What did Mama say about Doc?”
Mila stares at the TV, still blaring out Doc McStuffins, the tiny two-year-old’s latest obsession. “Ah, one show afore nap?”
“One show, that’s right,” I say. “But . . .” I swoop her into my arms and drop back onto my bed, to her insane giggles. “Shhh. We can watch another Doc.”
Mila claps her hand over her mouth, and I slide up the bed to the head of it.
“Nachos,” Tate mutters.
“You’re early,” I retort. “We’ve got a date with Stuffy and Doc, right, Mi?”
“Yeah, El!” Mila turns to look at Tate. “My lub El. My lub Stuffy and Doc. And Elmo. And Peppa.”
I smile at Tate over the top of Mila’s head. “I think Stuffy and Doc and Elmo and Peppa love naptime,” I say, getting up to fill her milk sippy cup. When it’s full, I screw the lid on and climb back onto the bed. I dutifully lie through twenty minutes of mind-numbing Doc McStuffins. “Now,” I whisper, lying Mila down in her crib. “You be a good girl for Uncle Kye, okay? Dadda will come get you this afternoon. And, if you be good, I’ll bring you back a cupcake.”
Mila covers her mouth with her hands.
“Got it, Mi?”
“Got it, El,” Mila agrees.
I reach into her crib and press the button to start her lullaby. “See you later, baby girl?”
“Anight, El.”
“Later,” I whisper, stepping out of the room. I smile at the closed door and fall almost instantly into the main room.
“Never havin’ kids,” Tate mutters, his hand over his eyes. “Exhaustin’ little shits.”
I laugh and curl into him. “I hear you.”
“I mean it, Els, never.” His teasing tone isn’t lost on me. “You ever think about them . . . before?”
“Well, yeah. Stopped it pretty quick, though.” I chew the inside of my lip.
“What about now?”
“As long as they’re Ellas and not Tates.”
He laughs into my hair. “I’m not sure you get a choice there, darlin’.”
“Shit,” I mutter. “But, uh, I appreciate the forward planning, but can we not talk about kids? That’s kinda serious stuff, and we already have to meet the lawyer in twenty minutes. And I already have four guys to look after.”
“Hey!” Tate squeezes me, laughing.
His fingers tighten around mine.
“So, to cut a long story short.” Mr. Lee leans forward on his desk and removes his glasses. “His lawyer isn’t as good as I am, and he’s afraid to stand in court because he’ll lose.”
“Take him anyway,” Tate growls.
I rest my hand on his chest and look at Mr. Lee. “Can you draw up some kind of agreement similar to a restraining order that we can settle without going to court?”
“I don’t see why not.”
“Els.” Tate’s voice vibrates through me.
“I’ll drop the charges if he agrees to never contact either of us,” I say quickly before Tate can continue.
“Els!” he snaps. “Are you serious?”
I meet his eyes. “I have four fully grown men to run around after and organize. I don’t have the time or inclination to drag my ex’s ass through the judicial system.”
“The decision is yours, Miss Dawson,” Mr. Lee adds.
“Do it,” I demand. “It’s enough for me.”
“Shoulda pressed charges,” Tate grumbles.
“Oh, stop it.” I knock our clasped hands into his side. “It’s my choice, okay? And my choice is to never see him again.”
Tate grunts. “S’pose.”
“Oh, you big baby.” I pat his cheek and walk into the cupcake store. I buy a box, making sure one is pink with a butterfly topper for Mila.
He grunts again when we exit the store. “Should be in fuckin’ prison.”
“Shut up!” I bat his chest. “You can tuck your Fred Flintstone away now, Mr. Caveman. I made the choice, so suck it up or complain inside your head.”
I duck into the waiting car, and he slides in next to me. He stays quiet the whole drive back to the hotel, despite me flicking my eyes to him several times. When we arrive, he gets out, still silent, and takes the cupcakes from me.
He opens the box and grabs one in the middle of the lobby, then sinks his teeth into it. Some frosting sticks to his nose, and I giggle.
“What are you doing?”
“Complainin’ in my head and soothing my annoyance with cupcakes. Ain’t that what you chicks do?”
“Is it working?”
“Mmph.” He shrugs. “Not really. Damn good cupcake, though.”
I laugh and curve my hand around his bicep. I rest my head against his arm. “Don’t be dumb,” I say through my giggles. “It’s for the best this way. I don’t have to think about him, ever.”
“Ever?”
“Ever.”
“Well, it’s suddenly lookin’ a lot fuckin’ better than it was five minutes ago.” He shoves the cupcake at me and covers my nose and mouth in frosting as we enter the restaurant.
“Tate!”
He laughs and moves away from me quickly.
“I cannot believe you just did that!”
Wide-eyed, he grins.
“Asshole!”
“Dollar!” Mila yells. “Ooooooh cupcake!”
She ignores me and my bad word and runs to Tate, yelling about a cupcake. I grab a napkin from the holder in the restaurant and wipe the yellow stickiness from my face as he hands her a cupcake. She sits on a chair and gets sucked in, and when Sofie walks up, Tate gets a slap on the arm, despite it being my promise.
I grin when he comes to me and traps me against the bar. “You have some . . .” I circle my finger at his face.
“Some what?”
I lean up on my tiptoes and kiss the tip of his nose. “Never mind.”