Knitted Hearts by Amber Kelly

Sonia

Foster and I spend the day in bed before finally rising to get ready for the evening. For the last couple of weeks, George and I have either stayed over at his place or he and Sue have stayed with us. The puppies have grown so attached that they whine when we separate them.

I understand the feeling.

Tonight, we are going to his grandfather’s house for dinner.

He took me to meet his parents last week, and his father was kind and welcoming and reminded me so much of Foster. His mother, not so much. It took her a while to warm up to me, but when I showed interest in the old photo albums from when Foster and Truett were young, she opened up slightly. She sat and told me the stories behind every single photograph, like it’d happened yesterday. She obviously loves her boys.

The next time we spent the evening with them, it was a bit smoother sailing. At least she had removed the framed photo of Foster and Wendy on their wedding day that had been present on the mantel in the living room during our first visit.

“It’s progress,” he said as he walked me to the car after dinner.

My parents took zero time in accepting him. In fact, both Don and Momma talked more to Foster than they did me the night we joined them for dinner and game night.

Every Friday, they pull out a different board game from my youth and beg anyone and everyone to come over and play with them. They have been doing it for years.

It turns out, Foster is a Scattergories pro, a feat that earns him mad respect from my stepdad.

“How do I look?” I ask, walking in, wearing a cream-colored linen dress with small, dark flowers on it. My hair is loose and flowing down my back.

“Stunning, but I’ll tell you a secret. You could wear a brown paper sack, and you’d still be gorgeous,” he says.

We head out and pick up Truett.

“Gramps is going to love you, Sonia. He’s a sweet-talker too. A bona fide lady’s man,” Truett tells me on the drive over. “That’s where Foster and me get our good looks and charm from.”

I roll my eyes.

“I hope he likes me,” I say, nervously, and Foster reaches over and squeezes my knee.

“Of course he will,” he assures me.

Their grandfather meets us in the drive and takes my hand, and he kisses it when Foster introduces us.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Tomlin,” I say.

“You call me Gramps. Mr. Tomlin is something you’d call an old fart, and that’s not me,” he insists, and I find it amusing that he thinks the name Gramps somehow sounds younger and hipper than his actual name.

Gramps is a retired blacksmith, who still fashions horseshoes for a select few ranches in the county, including Stoney Ridge. He serves us his famous five-alarm chili for dinner, and I do my best not to let him see the water leaking from my eyes or the sweat beading on my brow as I finish my bowl. He regales us with stories of Poplar Falls when he was a boy, his time overseas in fighting the Nazis, how he met the boys’ grandmother, and even tales of them as kids. His body might be old and worn, but his mind is still sharp as a tack.

As we get ready to leave, he stops us at the door.

“You’d better hold on to this one, son. She has the same smile your grandmother did. You can see a woman’s heart through her smile.”

I kiss his cheek, and he grins as he walks us out to the truck.

He stands in the drive and waves until we are out of sight.

“You passed the Gramps test with flying colors,” Truett informs me.

“There was a test?” I ask as I turn to look at him.

“Yep, you got a comparison to Gramma. That’s the highest score you can get,” he assures me.

We drop Truett off at home, and Foster’s mother actually waves to us as we back out.

“First, you charm Gramps, and now, you get a smile and wave from my mother. Are you some kind of witch?” he asks.

“You caught me. My mother and I brew love potions in the back of the shop. I dab a bit on every time I leave my apartment, so the world will instantly fall in love with me.” I giggle.

“You should bottle and sell it because it works. Everyone I know falls head over heels in love with you, Sonia Pickens.”

My breath catches at his words. “Did you just …”

I decide not to finish that sentence when he looks at me from the corner of his eye.

“Did I just tell you that I love you?”

I stop breathing altogether as I wait for him to answer his own question.

“Absolutely. I’m one hundred percent in love with you.”

Tears fill my vision, and I leap across the bench seat and crawl into his lap. He fights to keep the truck on the road as I start peppering kisses all over his face.

He finally manages to pull to the side of the road. I wrap my arms around his neck, and he caresses my thighs that are resting on either side of his legs.

“I love you, too, Foster Tomlin.”

I plant my lips on his, and I do something I’ve never done before. I have sex in the driver’s seat of his truck on the side of a road in plain sight of anyone passing by, and it is mind-blowing.

“Tell me this is going to last,” I pant as I ride his cock. The horn of the truck goes off every time I slide up and come back down.

“Forever,” he says as he takes my mouth.

I scream my release down his throat, and his comes right behind me. We stay that way for a while with the radio playing and the wind kicking up. Him still inside of me. Connected in a way I’ve never been connected to another human being.

In his arms, I feel safe.

“Baby,” he grunts.

“Yeah?”

“I have to move. My leg is cramping,” he says, and we both start to laugh as I climb off of him.

He removes the condom he slid into. He wraps it in a paper towel and drops it in the console. Then, I watch as he gets out of the truck and stretches his legs. He rubs his right knee a few times, and I feel a bit of guilt that his injured knee is bothering him.

When he gets back in, I ask, “Are you okay?”

“Never been better,” he says. He takes my hand and kisses the back of it before lacing his fingers with mine. “Let’s go home and check on the kids, shall we?”

“Yes, sir.”