I watch Ashley as she moves around the kitchen, turning off this pan and stirring that one, getting out plates and silverware. I don’t offer to help for one major reason, if I sit here at the table and watch, I get to admire her ass every time she bends over to get something out of a drawer.
“Honey,” I say, as I sense she’s almost done. “Don’t we have a grinder somewhere? I want to make something later tonight.”
“It’s down in the bottom drawer,” Ashley says.
“Could you get it out for me?”
I bite my lip to keep from laughing as Ashley sighs, bends, and gets it.
“What about a grater?” I ask.
“Can’t you get it yourself?” Ashley scolds me, her face darkening as she sees me laughing. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing at all,” I tell her, grinning. “Just admiring the view.”
“Oh!” Ashley purses her lips at me, but I can tell she’s amused even if she’s trying to pretend to stay angry. “You scoundrel!”
“Always,” I tell her, pulling her towards me for a kiss. Joanna gurgles and coos, and I laugh against Ashley’s mouth.
My wife, my family, my home. How did I ever get to deserve this perfect life?
Extended Epilogue
Ashley
“Sit down, Joanna,” I say, tugging at my daughter’s dress. Five years old and already attending her first year of school, she’s starting to pick up naughty behaviors from her fellow students. Tonight, though, she just makes a guilty face and sits down, probably because she doesn’t want to act up in front of her Nan and Pop.
“The kids are getting restless, aren’t they?” Mom says, sympathetically. Of course, she remembers what it’s like at this age.
“Yeah, it’s getting late for them,” I sigh. Even though it’s not that late in the day, certainly earlier than most Spaniards eat dinner, they’re already tired. It’s been a long day of fun with their grandparents, exploring Barcelona.
“For us, too,” Dad says, checking his watch. “We should probably think about getting the check.”
Fernando laughs. Alejandro, our three year old, is sitting good as gold in the crook of his father’s arm, watching everything with wide eyes. Although it seems like he’s behaving well, I know the signs of my own son, within twenty minutes he’ll be fast asleep. “We don’t need to get the check,” he says. “Come on, Joe. This is my restaurant. Why would I make you pay for the food?”
“Well, it’s only fair,” Dad says, half-grumbling.
“Really, Joseph,” Mom sighs. “Can’t you see he’s being a good host?”
“Exactly,” Fernando grins. “It’s my treat.”
At those words, my insides still go a little gooey. It’s been six years since we were married, and I still get turned on by the way he looks at me – I still turn into jelly at the way he talks sometimes.
As if on cue, our baby, Mateo, throws his plastic cow toy on the floor and then begins to cry.
We all laugh, and I scoop him out of his high chair and into my arms, rocking him as Mom stoops to retrieve the toy for him.
“That might be our cue,” Mom says, smiling. As much as she dotes on her grandchildren, I know it must be nice to not have to deal with the crying, tantrums, and silliness that come from tired-out children who are still not in their beds.
“It’s been lovely to have you,” I say, leaning in to kiss my mom on the cheek as we all get up from the table.
“You, too, darling,” she says, reaching out and squeezing my hand. “But we’ll be back again soon, won’t we, Jo-jo?”
“Yeah,” Joanna laughs, in that way children have of confirming something when they don’t really know if it’s true or not.
We exchange hugs and kisses, last words and promises, and at last, we see my parents off into the car that Fernando arranged for them. It will take them to the airport, back home again and so very far away from us.
“You’re going to miss them,” Fernando says, as we carefully load a sleeping Mateo into the car and buckle his siblings into their car seats.
“Yes,” I sigh. But then I smile. “But I’m looking forward to having the house to ourselves again.”
“So am I,” Fernando says, and then darts a glance at me. He grins wickedly and waits until we’ve both climbed into our places upfront before continuing. “The kids are pretty tired.”
“Yes. I bet they will all fall solidly asleep when we get home, with no chance of waking until the morning,” I say innocently, catching his drift.
“Hmm. I wonder what we parents might do to fill in the time while our children are out for the count,” he says, starting the engine.
We pause a minute, looking at each other; when he raises a wicked eyebrow to match his grin, I laugh and put my hand on top of his. “Take me home, husband,” I tell him. “I’ll think of something on the way.”