Haven't written in a while. This is to make my writing muscles work-out, stretching perhaps.
A little something fluffy.
Parenting Style
So, her little shoe addiction? She's not totally over that. Sure, she lives in small town, where dirt and gravel aren't best friends with high heels, but she loves them. Shiny, velvety, sparkly. She doesn't care. She just loves the smell of new shoes, and how they hug her feet and remind her of civilization.
Oh, blissful hours of shopping.
Zoe now only finds comfort on the internet when she has time. And it's hard to find time considering she's now the mother of a toddler who's just turned two and is curious like all children; considering Brick has taken a week off and Lemon is the worst pregnant lady ever.
"Ooh, new collection," Zoe mutters to herself as she clicks away while watching the pictures of those pretty boots she'll never get to wear.
Unfortunately, she's pulled back to reality when she hears the front door of the carriage house slammed open.
"Zoe! Zoe!"
That's the cue for her shirtless husband to walk into the room holding in his arms a red-faced crying boy. Nat's curly hair is damp and his eyes are almost invisible since he's crying in that way that makes her freak out – apparently, by what Earl says, Wade also cried without making a sound.
"What happened?"
"I don't know. I was washing the car–"
"Are you kidding me? Washing the car half-naked? Are you raising money for something I should know about?"
"Not the point!" Wade gritted out. "Nat was playing near-by. I didn't see him behind me and I opened the door and hit him on the forehead."
Okay, she gets it. It was an accident. Zoe's had a few of those. At first she cried harder than Nat, like when he burnt his tongue because she forgot to check the temperature of the food. Then she tried to bribe him into stop crying, but that didn't really work out – who would've known toddlers don't care for five bucks?
Zoe motions for him to hand her Nat. She makes the obligatory shushing sounds, bouncing him a little bit. "Does it hurt, sweetie?" Nat only whines. "Mommy will help, okay? I'll need to check it first."
Wade's eyes are wide and he's biting his lip nervously, and he's not being of much help, really.
"Go and get us a bag of frozen peas."
"What?"
She just shoots him a look. "Peas. Now."
He complies, and meanwhile she checks the forehead of the little boy. The skin is red, and he'll probably get a nasty bump, but he's not bleeding and the rest of him is normal. He hasn't thrown up either.
Wade returns and she places the bag of peas in Nat's forehead. But first, obviously, she plants a soft kiss on the wound to make the boo-boos go away.
"Okay." She smiles triumphantly and Nat does too, only hiccupping a bit.
Wade stares at her for a moment before asking, "That's it?"
She frowns at him. "What did you want me to do?"
"I don't know. Tell me we have to go to Mobile, maybe order something to check on his brain. What if the bump is permanent?"
She snorts a laugh. "You want me to order a CT scan for no particular reason? To consult a plastic surgeon because your lack of attention might've damaged his good looks?"
"Hey!"
"He's fine!" She motions to the kid, who is now watching the computer screen and swinging his feet back and forth. No crying. "See?"
"He's a Kinsella. Of course, he's not–" Wade stops talking when he sees the glare in his direction. "Hart-Kinsella. Sure. That explains why he got hit on the head in the first place."
"You're sleeping on the couch tonight."
"What? No."
"Go wash the car. Provide for this household with your good looks." Zoe sits down in front of the computer, with their son perched on her legs. "I'm sure you can charge if you put up a good show."
"Like the one I put up for our anniversary?"
"No Magic Mike reenactments in public. I forbid it."
Wade snorts a laugh.
"So Nat, what shoes should Mommy buy? Those? Aren't they pretty? I think Daddy should buy them for me as a gift?" Nat laughs as she talks. "Yes, for being such a ridiculous man. And a few shirts for him, yup. It seems they keep disappearing."