Lifting the worn and folded piece of paper to eye level, Wes rechecked his list for what Travis assumed was at least the eighteenth time that morning. "Wes, baby, I really think you have everything. You've checked already." That he'd checked several times remained unspoken, but implied.

"I know, I know, but what if…"

"What if a bear wanders into the park and eats our cupcakes, Wes? I don't know, but we'll deal with it, okay?"

The blond redirected his attention from the backpack-turned-diaper bag and glared. "There are no bears in Los Angeles, Travis."

"I know that just as well as I know you haven't forgotten anything. So, can you ditch the list? Violet's getting antsy."

Wes sighed and zipped the backpack closed. "Violet is always antsy. She is your child, remember?"

Travis grinned. "Yeah, she sure as hell is."

"You take entirely too much pride in that fact," Wes teased him, relaxing a bit for the first time that morning. "She is awfully cute though."

"Are we ever gonna leave," a little voice asked from somewhere near the vicinity of their feet.

Wes looked down at his daughter and shook his head. "Correction: she's cute until she opens that Marks-given big mouth of hers."

"Hey," Violet scolded. "I heard that, Mama."

He pulled his eyes off the crystalline blue ones staring up at him and locked them onto an identical pair residing in his husband's face. "This is all your fault, papa."

Grinning, Travis gave him mental points for not flinching at being called 'mama' this time. It had only taken three years and two kids, but hey, he'd overcome it, right? Waiting until Wes had left the room, Travis lowered himself down so that he was eye-level with their three and a half year old daughter. "Baby Vi, we've talked about this, remember? You can't talk to your Mama like that."

Violet took in the serious expression on her papa's face and pouted, pushing that lower lip out in a way he knew was all his. "I sorry, Papa. Mama's sensitive."

Travis spluttered. "Yes, he is, baby, but you've got to keep that to yourself, understand?"

She gave one quick, sharp nod. "Got it."

"Good, now go find your shoes while I go make nice with your mama."

Travis leaned against the doorway, watching his husband get their younger daughter ready for their trip to the park.

"You really shouldn't encourage her," Wes said before Travis could even open his mouth.

"How'd you even know I was here? You didn't look up." A crack about mother's intuition was bouncing on the tip of his tongue, but he managed to repress the urge to say it, if only barely.

Dropping the tiny hat onto her little brunette head, Wes tied the bow loosely under her chin before looking up at his husband. "Because I know you. You let her mouth off, tell her she has to watch it and then you come to apologize." He lifted Bryony off of the dressing table and set her wobbly legs on the floor.

"She's little still," Travis defended, ignoring the fact that Wes, as usual, was right on the money. "She'll grow out of it."

"Maybe," Wes said. "But only if you show her how."

XX

He took Wes' words to heart. Their journey hadn't been an easy one but it had been worth it to get to where they were now. Spreading the blanket under the large shade tree they'd found, Travis watched his girls run – and eventually fall – in the grass. "I promise to try and watch my mouth from now on," he said to Wes.

Glancing up from the makeshift picnic basket he'd packed that morning, he narrowed his eyes. "What are you talking about?"

"What you said earlier? About Violet?" He saw the light bulb go on behind his lover's eyes and continued. "I'm a smartass, we both know it, and sometimes I can't help it. But I'll try."

"It's all I can ask," Wes replied, pulling food out of the insulated cooler. "You want something to drink?"

"You didn't bring any beer, did you?" The look Wes gave him was more eloquent than any words ever could have been. "I'll take that as a no. How about a bottle of water then?"

"That, we have," Wes announced, handing a dripping, cold bottle over. Grabbing a second one for himself, he settled onto the blanket next to Travis. "I think they're going to wear themselves out before I can get lunch out."

Travis watched his two girls chase each other around the park. Violet, at three and a half, was the perfect big sister. She was two parts helpful, one part antagonistic. In other words, almost exactly everything he'd ever had in a foster sibling. Bryony, at just barely a year old, was pure wonder and amazement, everything new and bright and beautiful to her eyes. "Then don't worry about it. Let them run and play and zonk out."

"What about lunch? Wasn't a picnic your idea anyway?"

There wasn't anything that rumpled Wes' feathers more than plans that have gone awry. Considering how much effort he put into planning this simple little picnic, he could understand the frustration. "We can eat lunch for dinner when we get home if we have to. Or we can snack while the little ones nap."

"Snack?" Wes asked, disbelief thick in his voice.

"Or we can make out, too," Travis tossed out.

Laughing, Wes grinned. "Yeah, that sounds more like what you would propose if and when the stars aligned and the two of them ever actually napped at the same time."

Giggling and shrieking with joy, the girls chased butterflies and picked flowers, not a care to be had in their little world. Slinging an arm across Wes' shoulders, Travis pulled him into his side, slapping a noisy kiss against the side of his face. "You never know, buttercup. Today just might be our lucky day."

"Every day is my lucky day," Wes admitted, leaning into Travis' sturdy body.

Violet ran towards them, throwing her small body into her papa's lap exclaiming, "I tired, papa!" Bryony toddled in on unsteady legs, falling face first into the grass inches from Wes' foot. "Sissy tired, too."

He pried Violet out of Travis' lap and settled her into his own. "Get your pillow and your sissy's pillow out of the bag and go lay down," he instructed, pushing her into action. "And you," he said to Travis, "get me some food. I'll be damned if I'm letting that lunch I prepared go to waste just because these two ran themselves ragged already."

"Yes, sir," he snarked, giving Wes a half-assed salute. Returning with two brie and turkey sandwiches and a bag of funky gourmet chips, Travis settled in beside Wes and handed him his half of their lunch. Lifting half a sandwich into the air, he said, "I propose a toast."

"The bread's not toasted, Marks."

"I know that, you punk, but work with me, would you?" In acknowledgement, Wes lifted a triangle of sandwich into the air next to Travis'. "To lazy summer days and sleepy babies."

"I will eat to that," Wes laughed. "And to goofy husbands and big, shady trees."

"Hear, hear," Travis agreed, touching the tip of his sandwich against Wes'.

Soft snores drifted up from the pile of clothes that was once active children. Travis took a large bite of his sandwich and nodded his approval. Wes could be fussy and finicky and so damn particular, but he sure as hell knew his food. Reaching out, he slipped his hand into his husband's and munched on his lunch, thinking just how right Wes was. Every day really was their lucky day.