That leaves Foster and me to park our asses on the bench and watch it all go down. “Nice jersey.” I smirk.
“I have to admit, the ladies killed it.” He nods. “Coolest second birthday party ever.”
“Right? And I thought hiring Bluey for his first birthday was going to be the best of the best.” I laugh.
“Just wait, soon it will be expensive electronics and cars. Be careful letting the ladies have carte blanche with your credit card as he gets older,” he jokes.
“Can we not talk about my son turning into a mouthy teenager? He’s going to stay young and sweet,” I quip.
“Keep telling yourself that, Daddy Sin.” He chuckles.
Foster and I shoot the shit about the upcoming season, we rib the guys for acting a fool as they take turns sliding with Camden down the slide, and we both try to steal Coral from her daddy, but she’s not having it. Before I know it, over an hour has passed, and it’s time to go.
“Camden, are you ready to go to your birthday party?” I call out to my son.
“Par-tay!” he says, mimicking Sloane from earlier.
“Damn, he’s talking more and more each day,” Foster comments.
“He is, and he said it just like Sloane did earlier today. He’s really taken with her.”
“Kid’s got good taste,” he says. I whip my head around to look at him. “What? I might not be interested in her, but I’m not blind. To be honest, I’m shocked some asshole hasn’t snatched her up yet. Sloane is good people,” he comments.
“She is.” I nod, swallowing back the bite in my tone that wants to surface at the thought of Foster checking her out.
What the hell is wrong with me?
“Cam, buddy, how old are you?” Landry asks my son as they approach us. Camden is smiling in his arms, his face red and sweaty from the sun and all the playing he did with his uncles.
“Swide.” Camden points behind us.
“Cam, say I’m two.” I hold up two fingers, and Landry helps him do the same.
“Two,” he repeats, then points back to the slides. “Swide.”
“No can do, kiddo. We have to go home for the party.”
“Swoan.” He nods like it’s his final choice, as if he has a say in the matter.
“That’s right, Sloane, Aunt Corie, Aunt Rowan, Aunt Bellamy, and Amanda will all be there, too.” That gets his attention, and I’m able to pull him away from his uncles and strap him back into his car seat so we can spend the rest of the day celebrating him with our family.
“That’s the coolest cake ever,” Landry says, staring down at the jersey-shaped cake with the number 2 and Team Camden written on it, just like the ones we’re all wearing. “Where did you find that?” he asks his wife.
“Oh, we didn’t. Sloane made them.”
“What?” I ask. “Sloane made the cake?”
“Both of them,” Rowan says again.
“There are two of them?” I ask, still processing that Sloane made the cake, and it’s damn good.
“Yes. She made a smaller one just for Cam. Look.” She moves to the other side of the kitchen and returns with a small white cake box. Sure enough, inside, there’s a tiny replica of the cake sitting on the counter.
“Damn,” I mutter. Not only am I impressed, but I feel a warmth in my chest knowing she would go through so much trouble for my son. That had to have taken her hours, and most of her time was spent with us this week, which means she stayed up late each night to make it happen.
“She’s so talented,” Rowan praises. “You should see some of the things she’s made each of us—well, Corie, Bellamy, and me.” Rowan blushes.
“Nope. Nope. Nope.” Landry throws his arm over his wife’s shoulder, pulls her into his chest, and kisses her temple. “He will not be seeing that,” Landry says, his eyes wide.
