"It doesn't feel different, does it?"
Sitting over coffee and apple pie, Natasha seemed shocked by the normalcy of their new life. A slapdash wedding less than two days after deciding on a whim had changed very little between them.
"What?" Bishop asked sitting his mug down on the table.
"This. Us." Natasha remarked, leaning over the table a bit. "We've been having more sex but that's just because we're living together," she added with a laugh.
"I don't think it's supposed to feel different, querida," Bishop shrugged. "You make the list?"
Nodding, Natasha reached into her bag for the shopping list she'd hastily scribbled down that morning. "Nothing crazy. You do know we're the last two parents actually physically shopping for Christmas gifts, right? We could do this shit from our phones."
"That means depositing dirty cash in the bank," Bishop reminded her. "This isn't scrap money. You sniff this shit and you'll be high," he said, patting his breast pocket."
"Maybe, like, look into money laundering or just doing more of it," she suggested, stabbing a rogue piece of apple.
"You're so fucking smart," he laughed, looking over the list. "That's why I married you." Bishop suddenly looked up at Natasha and shook his head. "What is this?"
"What?" Natasha craned her neck to see. "Oh. She's been digging through my makeup I thought we could get her some of her own," she explained.
"No," Bishop said simply but sternly.
Natasha rolled her eyes. "It's not a big deal."
"She's barely six, Tash," he huffed. "I don't want her wearing makeup. Not my little girl."
"Please don't start that," Natasha grumbled. "Do you have a list?"
"Not a list, just some ideas the guys threw at me," he explained. "It's our first big Christmas as a family. I wanna do it up."
"Oh, this should be good," Natasha rolled her eyes again. "What did they suggest?"
"A bike," he said quickly.
"She has a bike," Natasha said, her brows furrowed. "It's barely a year old."
"Like a bike," he said, "Angel said they make ride on electric Harleys for kids."
The fork clanked against the table as Natasha placed it down, her eyes focused on Bishop. "Oh. One of those obnoxious oversized crazy expensive things?"
"Yeah, come on, that would be awesome," he laughed. "My baby girl on her first Harley."
"I hate you," Natasha said, only half kidding. "You want to put her on one of those things but makeup is a no?"
"Well, you're a no on the bike, so I'm a no on the make up," he said with annoyance.
"The bike could fucking kill her, make up can't."
"I will have to kill the boys though," he said, surprisingly seriously.
"Obispo," Natasha softened. "She's still a little kid, your little kid, but she's growing up. You're bitching about makeup and boys, don't be that asshole dad."
Bishop growled low, adjusting his kutte with his eyes on the table, as he tried to swallow his pride.
"Makeup, fine, but I wanna put her in some fucking class. Do they do kickboxing for six year olds?"
Slipping two twenties under her coffee cup, Natasha grabbed her bag and slid out of the booth. "Come on, let's get this over with."
"We're getting the tree tonight?" He asked, taking her hand as they strolled through the diner toward the exit.
