Chapter 18

“Sistema solar,” Irene mumbled.

Yes, a solar system had indeed landed in her kitchen. A brilliant presence at the center, its sun was Conor. With shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, he stood towering over the stove. Around him wandered two giggling satellites, with cute dresses and bright smiles amid swirls of sunlit hair. Off to one side, Oscar, also dressed for the day in dark slacks and a thin blue polo, hovered at the coffeepot.

Lost in the magical scene, she leaned against the doorframe as a grin spread across her face. The girls, Elena’s higher-pitched voice rising any time Conor glanced at her littlest, were telling him jokes. Even quiet Marita was unable to resist, grinning as she added her own snippets of humor.

The young man, from high above them all, sent deep guffaws skyward or at each of them, before countering with his own contributions. Hence the louder giggle-fits.

Oscar, though, he was different. If the girls were fawning, he was doting. Her husband wore an expression of respect, no, awe, or maybe a mixture. Anytime the young man’s mug landed on the counter, he took it away to refill it. He did the same with a glass of water. Plus, unlike his normal outgoing self, Oscar was beyond reserved. Indeed, he said very little, answering any queries from their daughters with more nods than words.

A fountain of chest-rattling laughter tugged her attention back to Conor. Amid the craziness, he continued working at the stovetop. Her heart softened, and the aches in her body faded to nothingness. In their place, a swirling calmness brought an upswell of profound satisfaction.

It took several seconds to admit the reason. The young tiger would make a wonderful father one day. Both that errant thought and the words he’d murmured into her ear during the night made her choke back a gasp as shaking thighs clenched.

“No, stupida,” she whispered. “What’s said in the heat of passion...”

A sudden sizzle and faint cloud of wispy smoke yanked her attention to the stove. Her nostrils filled with the most wonderful smells of frying eggs, bacon, and whatever he was preparing on a flat griddle.

“Mami! Mami! Mami! Sleepyhead! Tio Conor’s making pancakes!”

Well, mystery solved.

Both the grinning sun and Oscar turned to her as the smaller angel dashed closer. She was ready for the soft impact and bent to hug Elena.

“Hmm, is that what he’s doing, muñeca?”

“Si, Mami. He is so funny.”

“Mmm, really,” she said, rising and taking the girl’s hand. As they walked toward the mayhem, she smiled at both men before mouthing, “Tio?” at Oscar.

That got her a pair of shrugs. The tiger made a funny face at the little one, and shrill giggles were followed by fingers slipping away. Elena was once more drawn into his orbit.

So was she, coming to a halt beside the stovetop. With the girls around, he didn’t say anything, but those blue pools flared. She gave him a gentle press of her arm before moving toward the coffeepot.

Oscar was waiting, lifting a full mug for her.

“Here you go, mi amor,” he said, flashing her a slender smile.

For a brief second, the universe staggered. Why? Should she kiss him? She usually did. Yet, amid the new solar system, a strange energy kept racing along her spine. A sudden flickering in his eyes announced that he felt its pull as well.

The memory of her words returned. What she’d declared to him as he’d watched her survey herself in the mirror that night so long ago. No, only a week. Wow!

In any event, she remained Oscar’s wife, and her lips tapped his. His hands started to rise, but fell away. So, alright, that energy wasn’t just affecting her. With a sigh, she leaned back against the counter next to him to watch the craziness.