Beck leans over the bowl. “James, dude, that’s the most awesome frog I’ve ever seen. You want to build him a house outside? Uncle Davis has that box we can use, and we can order some frog furniture, but it’s gonna take a week or two to arrive. Shipping, man. It takes forever. You know what I mean? But while we’re waiting, we’re gonna let that frog here play the greatest game of pretend ever known to man. It’ll be like Dream Castle: The Frog Era. You know what I’m saying?”
“His name’s Smushy.”
“Awesome. Airplane ride for Smushy!” Beck lifts the bowl, and the two of them vroom vroom their way to the covered porch.
“I think I understand Emma better than Beck,” I whisper to Tripp while he puts a plated waffle and a cup of coffee in front of me.
“Welcome to the club.” He grins, then looks at Sarah, who’s laughing. “More food? You just brought a month’s worth two days ago.”
“Beck’s using you as an excuse to trick his mom into making cinnamon rolls as often as possible. This is all I could salvage from what we picked up at her house this morning. Hey, Emma.” She leans over and boops Emma’s nose, and the little girl giggles, but she doesn’t reach for Sarah.
“Money ee-yah,” she says instead, then looks at me expectantly.
I’m out of quarters, so I do the next best thing, and I pull a small piece of bacon out of her ear.
Emma pumps her legs and shrieks in glee, and I grip her tighter, both because I don’t want her to fall and also because I love the feel of her little body in my lap. She doesn’t have preconceived notions of who I am or what I want, and she doesn’t care about secrets and the CIA. Or even baseball.
She just wants friends who pull things out of her ears.
Sarah tilts her head. “Can you teach me to pull food out of people’s ears?”
“No,” Tripp answers.
Davis gives her that same I know secrets look he leveled on me a minute ago. “Didn’t need that mental image.”
“Oh, please.” She rolls her eyes. “Like you two have never wanted to know magic in the bedroom.”
Tripp definitely knows magic in the bedroom.
I squirm.
He squirms.
Sarah grins.
And Davis points to the back door. “Someone needs to monitor the children, and you’re grossing me out. Go away.”
She’s laughing as she retreats. “Enjoy the snuggles, Lila. She’s a fickle one.”
“Bye-bye, Sawah!” Emma cries.
“I’ll be back after I check on the boys.”
“Boys icky,” Emma proclaims.
Tripp nods. “That’s exactly right.”
And Emma spills her orange juice all over both of us, prompting her to burst into tears and me to leap to my feet with her still in my arms while Tripp dives across the island with a roll of paper towels that he apparently pulled out of his ears.
He’s quick.
Davis leaves us to the orange juice mess while he moves the food box to a clean counter and starts digging through it. “Know what you need?” he says to Tripp while Emma squirms out of my arms and darts out to the back porch.
“There’s no right answer to that question.”
“Waylon.”
“Translation?”
“Waylon. Waylon Rivers. Cash’s brother? Six-one, one-ninety, likes basketball, numbers, cheesecake, and just got laid off because of a merger?”
“What? When?”
Davis’s gaze flits between Tripp, who almost has the entire orange juice mess mopped up, to me, who needs to go back to my hotel and get a fresh change of clothes.
Which I needed to do anyway, because I smell a little like horny woman even after the shower. It’s seeped into my clothes.
“Two weeks ago,” Davis reports. “Not really broken up about it. But dude’s in denial about what he needs to do with his life.”
“Is this The Man Bun acting like a spiritual guide for the rest of us again?”
Davis levels a glare at Tripp.
Tripp’s smiling though.
He’s enjoying himself.
And I think I might’ve helped with that.
“Waylon can handle everything from chipmunks to frogs to baby alligators.” Davis piles his plate with eggs and fruit. “Also likes cooking, is an expert in tricking kids into picking up their shit, won’t hit on you, but will happily be hit on while he takes your kids to the park.”
“The Man Bun speaks.” Levi strolls into the kitchen in those white pants and a paisley button-down, and my face goes hot, because how is it that I ever could’ve confused these two men? “Oooh, are those Mrs. Ryder’s cinnamon rolls? Dibs on the leftovers.”
Tripp’s smile legit couldn’t get any bigger, and I want to hug him and do everything in my power to make sure he smiles like that every day.
“Thought you were still in New York,” he says to his brother.
“You haven’t left your house in six days. Someone had to make sure you’re showering and eating.”
Tripp’s gaze locks on mine.
My cheeks go hot.
Levi glances at me, does a double-take, and starts grinning.
Davis smirks. “Think you’re a day late, Frosted Tips. And, Tripp, hire Waylon before someone else does. Dude was born to be a manny.”
“Hey, Bruno, text Waylon, will you be my manny?” Levi says.
“Texting Waylon Rivers,” Tripp’s phone replies on the counter. “Will you be my manny?”
Tripp lunges for it. “No. Stop. Dammit, Levi, don’t—”
“Message sent,” Tripp’s phone says.
Older brother turns a glare on younger brother, who’s grinning a shit-eating grin that even I can’t help laughing at.
“Hey, Pixie, text Mom, I’m getting back together with Violet,” Tripp orders.
Levi drops his plate and scrambles for his pocket while his phone announces it’s sent the message. “Motherfucker!” he yelps.
“Take it back,” Tripp says. “All the bad word permits have been handed out for the day.”
Levi flips him the bird and stalks back through the butler’s pantry, phone to his ear, undoubtedly calling their mom to tattle and take the text back, which strikes me as utterly hilarious. “Your phones don’t know your voices?” I ask Tripp.
“You don’t think they sound alike?” Davis asks me.
“Not in the least.”
There it is again. That lingering, penetrating, I know your secret look.
And I don’t think he’s talking about the your mom worked for the CIA secret.
Two weeks ago—hell, two nights ago, I probably would’ve squared my shoulders and stared right back.
But I don’t want to fight with Tripp’s friends.
I could pretend that all I want is a solid working relationship with the man I was forced to hire as my president of operations.
But the truth is, I want more.
And I could pretend I don’t know how I could balance more with my obligations in New York, except I don’t have any more obligations in New York.
I’ve been hiding there. Working remotely while I denied what I wanted here. Working a ton, because it turns out I’ve put a lot on Tripp’s desk, which became more evident every day he was out.