34. Sean

34

Sean

The sunlight pours into the grocery store as I swing open the door, Luke's little hand tucked securely in mine. Lifting him from his car seat is one of those fatherly joys that feels more rewarding each time. He’s growing fast, but today, his weight seems manageable, maybe signaling some healing in my troublesome shoulder.

“What are we gonna eat, Uncle Sean?” Luke’s voice is full of toddler curiosity, his eyes wide with the wonder of a grocery store adventure.

“Pizza!” I suggest, knowing it’s his go-to favorite. “But the homemade kind.”

“Pizza! Pizza!” Luke claps, his enthusiasm bubbling over.

“Alright, what should we put on our pizza?” I ask as we head towards the produce section, turning it into a game to capture his interest.

“Tomato!” he shouts, pointing with a chubby finger at the bright red tomatoes.

“And maybe some cheese?” I guide him along.

“Cheese!” he agrees, nodding vigorously.

I try my luck, “How about some broccoli?” knowing his usual aversion to anything green.

“No broc’li!” he protests, but I give him a playful wink.

“Just a little, on Uncle Sean’s half?” I negotiate.

“Okay... little bit,” he concedes, still unsure about the green intruder on his perfect pizza.

We continue our shopping trip with Luke directing the additions to our cart with all the seriousness of a chef. He insists on picking out the biggest tomato and grabs a bag of shredded mozzarella cheese with both hands.

“Owie gone?” he asks suddenly, his small brow furrowed in concern as he remembers my frequent winces.

“No owie, buddy. Uncle Sean’s feeling good today,” I assure him, ruffling his hair. His concern melts away, replaced by a bright smile.

As we make our way to the checkout, Luke insists on helping to unload the cart. He struggles with a bag of potatoes but manages to heave it onto the counter with a triumphant “I did it!”

“Strong like Uncle Sean!” he declares, puffing out his chest.

“You sure are, champ,” I agree, my heart swelling with pride at his determination.

In the checkout line, I'm ready to wrap up our little shopping adventure, thinking about getting back to cook with Luke, when I spot a figure weaving through the aisles like she's walking a runway rather than shopping for groceries. It's Yasmine, in a tight red mini dress and heels that click authoritatively on the linoleum floor—a bizarre choice for midday at a supermarket.

She spots us, her smile a tad too sharp as she approaches. “Well, well, if it isn't Sean Ice and his adorable little sidekick,” she coos, her eyes flicking down to Luke who's clutching a bag of cheese.

“Hey, Yasmine,” I greet her, forcing a smile. “What brings you here?”

“Oh, just meeting a business associate. I'll be around in town for a bit,” she purrs, her gaze lingering on me a second too long. She’s laying it on thick, and I’m on high alert, keeping the conversation as neutral as possible.

Luke, meanwhile, tugs on my hand. “Can we get ice cream too?” he asks, his innocent question cutting through the tension.

“Sure, champ,” I reply, ruffling his hair, keeping my eyes on Yasmine.

Yasmine’s attention on Luke is cursory at best, her smile faltering slightly. “He’s cute,” she comments, but it’s clear her interest is feigned, her eyes darting back to me as if measuring the distance between where she stands and what she wants.

“Yeah, he’s the best,” I say proudly, wrapping an arm around Luke to pull him closer, a protective gesture that’s as instinctive as it is subtle.

“So, Sean, maybe we can catch up while I’m in town? For old time's sake?” Yasmine suggests, her voice dropping to a huskier tone.

“Maybe,” I hedge, knowing full well there’s no way I’m letting her back into my life. “We’re pretty busy, you know, family life and all.”

Luke, sensing the shift in mood, looks up at me with wide eyes. “Go now?”

“Yeah, buddy, let’s go,” I agree, eager to escape the awkwardness.

As we maneuver past the sliding doors of the grocery store, Yasmine catches up, her heels clicking urgently against the pavement.

"Sean, wait," she calls out, a note of desperation threading through her voice.

I slow down, not out of desire but necessity, as she positions herself squarely in front of the cart. "Look, Sean, you're making a big mistake with Aubrey. You don't see it, but I’ve heard things," she presses, her tone insistent.

"Yasmine, not interested," I reply firmly, trying to sidestep her with the cart.

Ignoring my dismissal, she leans closer. "I’m just looking out for you. When you’re off at games, Aubrey’s been over at Buck Winston’s ranch. Seen it myself. People talk, Sean."

Her words are like a cold splash, but I keep my cool. "That so?" I keep pushing the cart, but she’s like a shadow.

"Yes, and I hate to be the one to tell you, but there’s talk she’s nothing but a gold digger. You’re a ticket to a cushy life, and she knows it," Yasmine continues, her voice a mix of feigned sympathy and malice.

I stop, turning to face her. "Yasmine, I appreciate the concern," I say, the words as dry as the parking lot asphalt, "but my family’s none of your business. I trust Aubrey."

Luke, who’s been quiet, tugs on my hand. "Can we go now?" His voice is small, drowned out by the adult complications swirling around him.

"Absolutely, buddy," I assure him, giving Yasmine a final nod. "Goodbye, Yasmine. Take care."

As we walk away, her parting shot floats after us. "Just watch your back, Sean. Not everyone’s as honest as you think."

Her words linger in the air like a bad odor as we load into the car. I strap Luke into his seat, my mind racing, not because I believe Yasmine’s poison, but because I hate that she’s trying to plant seeds of doubt. This is just her style, stirring trouble.

Or is it?

***

Later that night, after Luke's safely tucked into bed, likely dreaming of our pizza and ice cream adventures, I head into the bedroom. Aubrey’s there, lounging elegantly across the bed, lost in work on her laptop. But there's this gnawing thought I've been wrestling with, itching at the back of my mind, thanks to a run-in earlier that's left a sour taste in my mouth.

"Hey, Aub," I start, leaning against the doorframe, trying to keep it casual. "Got a minute to talk about something?"

She looks up, her expression shifting from relaxed to alert, a slight furrow in her brow. "Of course, what’s on your mind?"

I hesitate, the words feeling like a lead weight on my tongue. "It’s about Buck Winston..." I trail off, watching her closely.

Her posture stiffens slightly. "Buck Winston? What about him?"

I dive in, despite the screaming warning bells. "I heard you've been hanging out at his place while I'm away at games."

The laptop snaps shut, her voice tinged with disbelief and irritation. "And just where did you hear that little piece of gossip?"

I rub the back of my neck, feeling cornered. Yasmine was the one who told me, but I’m not ready to bring her into this conversation.

"It’s just… something I’ve heard. And it’s been bugging me."

Aubrey stands, her eyes narrowing. "You're listening to things you’ve heard now? And you think I’d do something like that?"

I push off from the door, trying to bridge the gap I’ve just blown wide open. "No, it’s not that I believe her over you... I guess I just needed to hear you say it wasn't true."

"Well, you could trust me instead of making accusations," she fires back, her hurt evident. She grabs a pillow and blanket from the bed. "I’m sleeping in Luke’s room tonight."

As the door shuts softly behind her, I’m left standing there, a mix of frustration and self-reproach swirling inside. I messed up, let insecurity and jealousy get the better of me.

Now what?