Compromise Me (Book Two of the Kirkland Family)

Compromise Me: Chapter 13

“No! One bath! See Daddy one bath!” Little Man started crying...the honest kind, and Travis stood up to go outside before the other people in the waiting room saw him crying.

“Hey,” he soothed to his son as the glass door closed behind him. “It’s okay...you’re right. Seven baths is too many. How about we make a deal? How about five baths?”

Five days...he could take a long weekend this next week, take off Thursday and Friday, spend extra time with Tristan and give Arielle some much needed wedding-planning time...Livie won’t mind. If it weren’t for the heavy workload scheduled for Monday and Tuesday, he’d be on the road as soon as his truck was cleared for driving again.

Tristan hiccupped out a small sob. “Fife baths? What fife? Momma, what fife?”

And Arielle counted again.

“Is that better?” Travis asked him hopefully. “Five baths? You can come stay with me and help me build that sandbox you wanted.”

“Sandbox?” Tristan’s voice rose as the tears melted away. The little wheels in his head squeaked through the phone as he thought about that. “Okay...fife baths. See Daddy and make sandbox.”

Travis sighed with relief, even as he was mentally shaking his head. His son was becoming a planner, just like his mother. “I love you, Little Man,” he said, and Tristan said, “Love you, Daddy.”

For another couple of minutes, they talked about the cars and the cousins and the chocolate cake in the oven for after lunch, and soon, Tristan was off on another adventure with his playmates, and Arielle came back on the phone, laughing. “You’re as bad as he is,” she said. “Couldn’t wait a whole week? It wouldn’t have killed either of you.”

“Yes, it would,” Travis said, and Arielle laughed again.

“Yes, I suppose it would. And, may I say, thank you. If you’re taking him for a four-day weekend, then I’ll be able to get a lot of stuff done before the wedding.”

“You know I’ll take him whenever you need me to,” he said. “All you have to do is tell me, and I’ll be there.”

“I know,” she said, “but it’s inconvenient for you to drive all that way to get him when I need a babysitter for a while.”

“No, it’s not,” Travis said, getting angry. “My son isn’t inconvenient.”

Arielle made a sound, the one females perfected in the womb. “Don’t be that way,” she said. “You know I didn’t mean it like that. You’ve never had to ask permission to see him or talk to him or spend time with him. I don’t want you to ask permission. He is your son, and if you wanted to take him for four weeks, I would say, ‘Have fun, you two!’ and ‘Stay out of trouble.’”

Travis found a concrete post near the parking lot and sat down. “Sorry...I’m sorry, Arielle. I know you didn’t mean it like that.”