by Pippa Grant
“Do I look like I need a drink that badly?”
“You look gorgeous.”
Stressed but gorgeous. Her shop is still open for a couple more hours, with Yasmin in charge and two extra last-minute holiday helpers on hand. Piper apparently sometimes slips her hearing aids out when things get too noisy, and Hudson’s always a wild card.
I get it. New situations like this with lots of people she doesn’t know and who her kids can disappear behind aren’t easy.
And since we’ve been on the phone every free minute we’ve had while I was finishing up my travel schedule, and then I’ve been at her place more or less every evening since, I’ve seen how much she does firsthand.
She presses a kiss to my cheek. “Thank you.”
“Frosted Tips! Or should I say Glitter Tips? You made it!” Beck leans into the foyer from his kitchen, plate in hand. “Whoa, little people. Awesome. You guys like pool? Ping pong? Frogger? Pac-Man? Donkey Kong? Poker?”
Zoe crowds closer to Ingrid, but Piper squints at Beck. “I’ve seen you in your underwear.”
Beck nods. “The whole world has. Sorry. It’s how I afford all the good games. Wait. I know. Foosball. Soccer, right?”
“Hockey.”
He groans melodramatically. “Dang it, I always get those confused. You guys hungry?”
“Hey, Ingrid.” Sarah gently pushes Beck out of the way and leans in to hug my girlfriend.
Yeah.
Girlfriend.
I like that.
“Don’t mind Beck. He’s basically a puppy dog in man form. Completely harmless. Also, we set the alarm on the patio doors and locked the bedroom. Everything’s safe here.”
Ingrid goes white.
“Sarah has beehives on the patio,” I murmur to her. “She doesn’t think Hudson would jump. Trust me. James and Emma have been here enough that it’s completely Hudson-proof.”
“I might definitely need something strong if you keep tempting fate by saying things like that out loud,” she murmurs back. “Should I apologize in advance for anything they break or ruin by spilling food all over?”
“The first time I met Emma, Beck shoved her at me and she exploded out of her diaper all over the entire kitchen,” Sarah tells Ingrid. “He deserves anything he gets.”
“It’s true,” Beck agrees around a mouthful of food. “You guys allergic to anything?”
Ingrid shakes her head.
Beck squats to Hudson’s level. “Bet I can eat four chicken wings before you can.”
“Is he eating more than normal?” I ask Sarah as Beck and Hudson race for the food.
She goes beet red and stammers out a short no.
“Holy shit,” I whisper.
“Shove it, Wilson. My parents are here, and I will tank your movie premiere if you start spreading rumors.”
I pretend to zip my lips and throw away the key.
Ingrid stares at me like I’ve turned into an alien.
And I can’t stop grinning.
Beck Ryder is the only person I know who’d find out his wife was pregnant and then have to eat more himself. And Sarah’s murderous glare suggests tonight isn’t the night we’re speculating about that.
“Am I missing an inside joke?” Ingrid asks me quietly.
“You’re gonna miss about a thousand tonight, but I’ll fill you in as much as I can. This one has to wait until tomorrow though, or I might not live through the night.”
“Unka Wevi!” A blond-curled demon child streaks through the kitchen, and I catch her and toss her in the air, which is harder than it used to be. She’s getting big.
“Hey, Emma-banana.”
She squeals, my back reminds me she’s not two and I’m not in my twenties anymore, and I settle her on my hip. “You want to make a new friend?”
She sticks her finger up her nose. “No.”
Ingrid snorts with laughter and looks down, pretending she’s not laughing as Tripp joins us. “Emma. Be nice.”
She scowls at him.
His eyeballs both twitch.
Ingrid claps both hands over her mouth. “Sorry,” she says to my brother through her hands. “Just glad it’s not mine for the moment.”
“I hear it’ll be your turn soon enough.”
“It will.” She’s smiling as she holds out a hand. “Hi. I’m Ingrid. And I’m only pretending I’m not freaking out a little on the inside.”
Tripp smiles back as he shakes her hand. “Don’t freak out. We’re all more nervous to meet you than you are to meet us. Best behavior is hard, and Levi’s unbearable when he’s sad that we’ve chased another one away.”
“Hey. Standing right here.”
My backstabbing brother grins at me. “That sounds like something my wife said to you not all that long ago…”
And yeah, I grin right back.
I love being home.
We finally make it past the kitchen. Wyatt’s oldest is just a little older than Zoe, and he talks her into playing ping-pong in Beck’s game room. Piper follows and settles in at the pinball machine. My mom and Beck’s mom insist on playing ten million questions for Hudson in the living room, where there are a thousand and one Matchbox cars already scattered around, which leaves Ingrid standing next to me looking slightly lost.
But only momentarily until Ellie, Sarah, Mackenzie, and Lila pounce.
And by pounce, I mean shove a glittery wine tumbler into her hand, ask where she gets the hot chocolate mix for the coffee bar at Penny for Your Thoughts, and close ranks around her, leaving me out of the circle.
“You’re welcome,” Davis says next to me.
We clink bottles—mine root beer, as promised, his something stronger. “Thank you.”
“Still owe me a pan of orange marmalade rolls.”
“I’ll text you when they’re done.”
The women all suddenly burst into laughter.
All except Ingrid, who’s still talking, her eyes bright, her smile wide, occasionally signing something with her free hand.
I lean back against the wall and just watch the magic happen.
“She has no idea what she’s getting into, does she?” Davis says.
“She knows.”
“You sure?”
“I believe her exact words were, you cheated, Levi Wilson. You offered me an entire family to take care of mine.”
He smiles.
I lift my phone and get it on camera. “It’s like spotting Bigfoot. Hold on. I’m texting this to your mom.”
He pulls a kung fu move out of nowhere, and then my phone’s gone, my arm’s cramping, and Beck and Tripp are both somewhere nearby, laughing their asses off.
“Let him go, or I’ll tell your whole family you’ve moved on from Dog Man to Captain Underpants,” Ingrid calls.
“I got this,” I call back to her. “Don’t anger the man-bun. He has tricks up his sleeves.”
Davis suddenly jerks away, twisting and flailing, and then a squirrel shoots out the bottom of his shirt.
I look at the squirrel, then lock eyes with Ingrid, whose mouth is as round as her eyes are.
“Oh my god, who let in a squirrel?” someone shrieks.
“Tripp!” my mom yells.
“Bowl,” my brother barks.
Beck’s already headed to the cabinets.
Ingrid’s going bright red, and I’m reasonably certain she’s about to cry. I shake my arm out, forget my phone, and head to her side. “Ask Piper for help,” I call to Tripp.
“Is she the scary one or the one reading a book in the corner?”
“The scary one.”
“Got it.”
“James brought a raccoon once,” Sarah’s saying as I break the barrier to get back into the girl circle.
“He did what?” Lila sputters.
“Oh my gosh, like all five of them didn’t have weird pets while they were touring together. Don’t freak over James and a raccoon.” Ellie rolls her eyes. “This one time, Beck came home with a ferret, but he told Mom
it was a special kind of de-smelled skunk from Europe. And I know Levi kept a possum on the bus once.”
“All rumor,” I interject.
“Point is, we have a cage,” Sarah tells Ingrid.
“And a friend who’s a vet,” Mackenzie adds.
“And this isn’t anywhere near like the time Cash brought a tiger to a cookout.”
Ingrid looks at Ellie, then back to me, and then she takes a long swig of her drink. She points to the words crazy pants on the side of the tumbler. “I’m keeping this. It speaks to my soul. Also, I might need a second margarita.”
I crack up. “All yours, Superwoman.”
She goes up on tiptoe and kisses me, tasting sweet and salty, and I wonder what the odds are that I could sneak us to Beck’s offices on the next floor and get a little more kissing time.
Or naked time.
Or both.
“This is me not freaking out over my kids causing a scene,” she whispers.
“Is it killing you?”
“Pretty much.”
“Tripp’s gonna give you shit about this for the next forever, but you’re officially his favorite person in the world right now. And all of our parents have dealt with worse than a domesticated squirrel. Plus, I’m hoping someone got a shot of Davis dancing with a squirrel in his shirt. He never loses his shit over anything. He’ll probably hack your computer and make it unusable for five minutes while a chicken dances to some awful earworm all over your screen, but then he’ll call it even and he’ll have your back for whatever happens next.”
Her eyes go shiny, and she blinks fast. “Are you honestly offering us a family who can actually handle us?”
“Yep.”
“You really do play dirty.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
She’s smiling as she shakes her head, and then she kisses me again.
And my heart is full. Whole. Ready.
Squirrels?
That’s the easy part.
Proving to Ingrid time and again that she can count on not just me, but on my entire family when I’m not here?
I thought that would be the hard part, but I’m starting to think I was wrong.
And I’m totally okay with that being the easy part too.
Thirty-Three
Ingrid
The world is spinning off its axis.
It’s hurtling through space, completely off course, bouncing off other planets like they’re playing bumper cars and making my head twist all topsy-turvy and my stomach roil and my room twirl all around me.
Not that I can see my room.
My eyes won’t open.
They’re concreted shut.
Yep.
Concreted.
My mouth is stuffed full of squirrel fur, and something sweet is tickling my nose and making me want to throw up.
What the hell was in those margaritas last night?
I swear I only had three.
Which is like seventeen times more alcohol than I’ve had combined in the last five years.
Even the wine Levi had at his place the night I stayed over was low-alcohol wine.
He’s so thoughtful.
And he probably thinks I’m an utter disaster.
And oh my god, where are my kids?
That thought, more than anything, has me bolting from the bed and out of my room, ignoring the nausea and the need to throw up, channeling my inner soldier to get through this, because I have to.
I’m a mom.
It’s what I do.
“Whoa, hey, slow down.” Warm hands grip my arms, and I force my eyes to focus on my favorite pair of blue eyes in the entire universe.
“Kids,” I croak.
“Fed, dressed, and at the park a couple blocks away with my mom and Giselle.” Levi guides me to a dining room chair and squats as he helps me sit, then presses a warm cup of coffee into my hands. “You okay?”
Am I okay? “What time is it?”
“Nine-thirty.”
“Oh my god.”
“Yasmin and Holly have everything under control downstairs, and after you arm-wrestled Davis last night, he agreed to be on standby if things get out of control.”
“Oh my god again.” I wince. Then take a big gulp of the coffee, which is sweeter than I usually take mine, and definitely has some cream in it, and it might not actually be coffee, but it’s warm.
Like my memories of last night.
They’re warm. I think I remember the arm-wrestling. It happened sometime after the squirrel thing and before—oh god. “Did I really walk in on Cash Rivers completely naked in the bathroom last night, or was that a very, very bad dream?”
“He’s sending apology cheesecake later. And basically every day for the next year. He strips and showers when he’s drunk. But honestly, I haven’t seen him that drunk in years.”
“Oh my god.” I take another gulp of the warm magic liquid.
Levi chuckles. “If you want, I can strip so you can think of me naked instead.”
“Yes, please. Also, I might need a bucket.”
“Not what a guy wants to hear when he offers to strip for his girlfriend.”
“Oh my god.”
“Kidding, Ingrid. Kidding.”
“How much did I have to drink?”
“Ah, Superwoman, I don’t think this is a hangover.”
“I’m pregnant?”
He wraps his arms around me. “No. I mean, I’m not telling you that. Are you telling me that?”
“No!” Am I freaking out? Am I sitting down? Am I breathing? “I need more life juice. Why do I feel like I was hit by a truck?”
“Ingrid.” He kisses my temple and strokes my back, and the nausea starts to fade. “Hudson spilled your second margarita and you didn’t finish the replacement. You’re not drunk or hungover. I think this is called a burnout crash.”
“Or the flu?”
“You are hot, but you’re not feverish.”
“Did you stay all night?”
“Yep.”
“Did the kids freak this morning?”
“Nope.”
“Did you freak?”
“Nope.”
“Is the squirrel back?”
“He’s staring at the open window and laughing like a cartoon villain.”
“Is he really our squirrel?”
“Tripp looked him over good last night and said that their family squirrel has one more stripe on its tail, so yes, that’s really our squirrel.”
His shoulder is so comfortable. And his hands are so warm. And— “What’s that smell?”
“Cinnamon rolls.”
“We didn’t have any cans.”
“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear you say you eat canned cinnamon rolls when my homemade cinnamon rolls are basically the next best thing to orgasms or listening to me sing on stage.”
I laugh, because I can’t help it. “Oh my god, I love you.”
And then nothing’s funny.
I just said that.
Out loud.
To a man I dumped a month ago because he’s never around, except he is around, even when he’s not.
He calls.
He texts.
He sees all the little things that need to be done that make so much of a difference. He doesn’t say my kids are too loud, or complain when one of them interrupts us when we’re having grown-up time on the couch after they’re supposed to be in bed.
And right now, he’s sucking in a surprised breath and gripping me tighter and pressing a kiss to my forehead, and then my cheeks, and then to my morning breath, and there’s a solid possibility I’m spilling this coffee or tea or whatever it is all over both of us, because my leg is suddenly wet and warm, and I’m ninety-eight percent certain I didn’t just wet myself.
Which is a lot easier to think about than what I just said.
Except I mean it.
“I love you,” I say again against his lips. “I keep trying not to, but I do. I love you. You’re
so damn easy to love, and I’m so hard and—”
“God, Ingrid, I love you too. I do. So much. You’re not hard. You’re cotton candy under all those layers of responsibility. You’re heart. You’re compassion. You’re joy. You’re everything I didn’t know I needed, and I miss you like crazy when I’m not here.”
“You keep saying that. And I keep trying to believe it. And there’s so much to work out. You can’t move in here with us. We don’t have room. But I’m so scared of leaving, and—”
“And we don’t have to change anything today.” He pulls me tight again, kissing my temple and then my hair. “We’re okay. Right here. Just like this.”
“Oh my god, I’m not wearing pants.”
He coughs.
Then he chuckles.
And then he’s on his feet, taking away the warm mug, tugging me up too, wrapping his arms around me again, kissing me, walking me backward, back down the hall and into my bedroom.
“You like me not in pants?” I whisper when the backs of my knees collide with my bed.
“I like you every way.” His hands slide under the hem of my T-shirt, and then it’s flying across the room while his knuckles graze my nipples and he kisses me again.
Every nerve ending in my body flares to life, and my cranky stomach settles into a low grumble that might be nothing more than hunger now.
“Why are you so good at kissing?”
“Why are you so good at kissing?” he counters.
“It’s not practice.”
“Then it must be that we’re supposed to be kissing.” He presses his lips to my jaw. “And look at this. More Ingrid skin to kiss.”
“Levi?”
“Hm?”
“Will you strip for me?”
He guides me back onto the bed. “Only if you touch yourself while I do.”
“Like this?” I lift my breast and circle my nipple.
“Any way that makes you feel good.” He straightens and pulls off his simple black T-shirt, and the sight of his bare chest gives me a surge of longing between my legs.
We made love one night in the loft.