Harper gulps the water down, clearly dehydrated, and I take the cup from her. “You have to drink slowly, baby.”
She scowls at me, her face scrunched up in the way it gets when she’s on the verge of a tantrum. “But I’m thirsty.”
“I know, but remember what happened the last time you had the stomach bug, and you ate and drank too much too soon?” That was a lesson I’m never going to forget.
“I throwed up again,” she says. Her face twists. “My tummy hurts.”
I shift into action, like a spotter at a gymnastics meet. “Do you need to throw up?”
“I don’t know.” A tear streaks down her cheek. “I don’t want to throw up again.”
“I know, sweetie, but maybe we should go to the bathroom, anyway.”
She screws up her face. “I don’t want to throw up.” As she yells at me, a little toot puffs out of her.
She laughs, and I laugh. “I feel better now,” she says.
I sink back into my seat on the floor, relieved. Not only because I won’t be cleaning up vomit, and probably vomiting again in the process, but because her little fart is a good sign her body’s on its way to digesting normally again.
“I’m hungry, Momma.”
And because there’s no one to take over for me, I get up and fix her dry toast. Then, I turn on the TV to distract her while I hurry back to the bathroom.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Deacon
It’s been three days since I made Amelia come on a park bench, but I haven’t heard from her. I sent a text the next morning to let her know I’d gathered all the supplies I need for Marmalade’s cat gym and I’m ready whenever she is, but she didn’t respond.
I’ve barely heard from DogPerson either.
And work for me is unusually slow. Sebastian has been driving us hard to get caught up on all our current projects so we can get to work on Mom and Dad’s place. So we’re at home after a morning spent driving around looking at properties, none of which were ideal. And we’ve got an hour before Sebastian wants to meet to discuss which construction project we should take on next.
We have several on the books, waiting for us to drive out and give them an estimate. But we all have to agree on a job and fit it in the schedule before we meet with clients. It’s more of a formality at this point, because we can’t really afford to say no to anything, but it’s nice to feel like we all get a vote.
“Staring at your phone isn’t going to make her message you,” Cash says from his bed. It feels like summer camp, the way the only place in this house to get away is our bedroom.
“You’re staring at your phone.”
“I’m doing something productive,” he says. “I’m looking at the listings the real estate agent sent me.”
“He’s already found more?”
“Not for Mom and Dad’s house, for my own. I need my own space or I’m going to murder Sebastian.”
I stare at my brother. Cash is usually pretty chill and fun-loving. Threatening violence is out of character.
“You doing okay?”
“I’m great. I’ve got two houses to design, Mom and Dad’s property to conceptualize before we’ve even bought any land, and I’ve got interviews all week for our new assistant. None of the resumes we’ve gotten are even remotely promising, and all Sebastian does is tell me to get off my ass and work harder. I get he’s carrying all the stress, but he’s going to drive us all out of the business if he keeps it up.”
“I should probably be looking for a place, too.”
“That would take time away from staring at your phone hoping to hear from Amelia or DogPerson.”
Before I can tell him to fuck off, my phone vibrates with action. Fucking finally. I swipe so fast my thumb gets whiplash. Unfortunately, it’s just a text from Sebastian.
“Sebastian’s still downstairs, right?” I ask. “If he wants to find Levi, why doesn’t he walk his own ass up here to find him?”
