Page 41 of My Boyfriend Marks Trees
Athena smirked. “Guess someone’s got a soft spot for kids.”
“A good thing, since you’re expecting,” Ares stated.
Athena pursed her lips. “Says who?”
“As if I wouldn’t notice the changes in you,” he scoffed.
Gramps chuckled. “We all knew. Grams is already ordering stuff for the nursery.”
Athena shook her head but smiled as she patted her belly. “You are going to be so spoiled.”
“Heck yes, she is!” Ares rubbed his hands. “Uncle Ares is going to be her favorite.”
“How do you figure?”
“I have goats.”
“Selene has bunnies,” Athena pointed out.
“I make cheese.”
“Fancy cheese. Kids like the orange stuff in plastic or a jar,” Athena riposted.
“She’s right,” Charly added. “Greta loves that processed stuff.”
“I will be the favorite,” Ares insisted.
“Nah, that will be me,” Derek argued. “She’s gonna be daddy’s girl.”
“You’re all idiots,” Gramps blustered. “She’s gonna be grandpa’s angel, you’ll see.”
Charlotte leaned close as they continued to argue. “This isn’t what I expected.”
“Better or worse?”
“Kind of awesome. It’s obvious everyone’s real close to each other.”
“Family isn’t always about blood. It’s who you can tolerate,” he sagely stated.
“Should I give Grams a hand?” she asked, looking at the kitchen.
Athena heard and shook her head. “You’ll get in Grams’ bad books for sure if you do. Helping is by invitation only. Why don’twe get your stuff up to your rooms? Grams gave you the corner bedroom with the queen bed, and Greta’s right across the hall in the hobby room with the futon.”
“There must be something I can do to help, though,” Charly insisted once they returned downstairs from dropping their bags in the room.
Gramps cleared his throat. “I hear someone brought a tree. You could get started on that.”
The tree went up in the front window—after they smacked most of the snow from its branches—and a dusty box of ornaments emerged from a storage closet under the basement stairs.
A beaming Greta emerged right after they wrapped the tree in lights, carefully balancing a tray of hot cookies. Grams, wearing the softest smile Ares had ever seen, hobbled after her.
“The girl is a natural chef,” Grams declared, sitting in her chair once more. Everyone took a cookie or two—or three, in Ares’ case—and agreed.
To everyone’s surprise, Greta ended up in Grams’ lap, where the two of them put their heads together and discussed what they’d bake Christmas Eve.
Charly leaned against Ares and whispered, “I’m so glad you convinced me to come.”
So was he, especially once the storm took out the power for a good chunk of Ottawa and surrounding areas.