Page 99 of Auctioned to the Devil

“The faucet is leaking.”

“Later.”

“The children are destroying something upstairs.”

“Probably theirs.”

She laughs.

Five years and that sound still does something to me.

I slide my hand around her waist.

“You tired?”

“I have triplets.”

“Answer’s yes, then.”

“Whose fault is that?”

“Yours.”

Her mouth falls open. “Mine?”

“You said you wanted kids.”

“I said maybe two.”

“I gave you three. Overachiever.”

She smacks my chest. I catch her hand and kiss her palm. “Besides, you like them.”

“I suppose I’ll keep them.”

“Good.”

She settles against me.

Outside, late-summer sunlight stretches across the mountain. Toys cover the porch. Three tiny pairs of muddy boots sit beside the door.

There are crayons on my coffee table.

A doll wedged beneath my chair.

Some kind of glitter permanently embedded in the rug.

My cabin hasn’t been quiet in four years.

I don’t miss it.

Emily traces the scar on my forearm. “You’re doing that thing.”

“What thing?”

“Staring.”

“Looking at my wife.”