Louise Bentley is a feisty, wild, 'let's-go-to-Capri-for-the-weekend-yeah?' kind of girl. She spends her days working at a party-planning company. Oh, and she never wants kids. Ever.
Ben Langford is a studious, quiet, 'I'm-busy-reading' sort of man...
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"Hurry up!" Ben huffed. "Louise, we're going to be late."
"We're always late."
"Well." He pulled a face. "Only when I'm with you."
Louise rolled her eyes. They were jogging along a tree-lined path, dodging stone fountains and colorful red tulips. Regent's Park was surprisingly empty for a sunny Saturday afternoon; the only noise came from the burble of the fountain and the occasional singsong of birds. The scent of freesia hung in the air.
Freesia, and hot dogs.
Louise frowned at her son. "Are you sure he's okay up there?"
"He's fine," Ben said.
"Ben..."
"Look." Ben tickled his foot. "Happy as a clam."
To his credit, Jamie did look happy as a clam; he was sitting on Ben's shoulder, his dark curls bouncing as they jogged through the park. Jamie was also waving around a hot dog with alarming alacrity. And he would probably look equally as happy, Louise thought wryly, when he vomited all over Ben's new orange jumper.
She shrugged. "Maybe it's for the best; I never did like you in orange."
Ben half-turned around, as if he was about to shoot her a rude gesture, and then seemed to think better of it. His eyes caught on the pram that she was pushing.
"How's Blinky doing?" he asked.
Louise peeked over the handlebars. Hugh's old one-eyed frog, Blinky, was in tatters these days, but Jamie refused to be parted with it; the plush toy was nestled among a picnic basket, several nappies, a camera, a pitcher of lemonade, and a copy of "The Kissing Hand."
"Blinky is miraculously still intact," she said.
"And you?" Ben smiled.
"Less intact," Louise said, slightly breathless. "I need to go to the gym more."
"I can take over," Hugh volunteered.
The thirteen-year-old was jogging alongside her, his long legs loping easily over the lawn. Louise's eyes narrowed. Almost too easily. For god's sake, when had she become so old? Surely she should still be able to outrun a teenager.
Apparently not.
She relinquished the pram, letting Hugh take over as they emerged onto a grassy pitch. "When did you get so fast?"
Hugh smirked. "Maybe you're just slow."
"Oh, god," Louise groaned. "Don't make that face."
"What face?" Hugh asked.
"That one." She pointed at him. "You look exactly like your father when you do that."
