I grin at him, as the Kincaid brothers laugh.
“Practical Adam Lancaster.”
His eyes narrow at Greyson, who has his own present under his arm. It’s big and light, whatever it is.
I caress his face and pull him closer for a small peck. “I love it. Love them. I’ve always wanted my own tea set.”
Adam finally grins back, love written all over his face. “Good. Now, I’m going to go make you pancakes, and we can test it out afterward.”
“Pancakes are almost done.”
Gabe’s comment doesn’t deter Adam from jumping up to don an apron and pull out his own pan.
Greyson is shaking his head as he picks his way through the debris to get closer. “Those two are worse than we are.”
“You’re not wrong.”
He holds my present up for me. It’s not wrapped in paper, but a fabric bag. I tug at the string, and he helps me roll the fabric from a giant curved pillow.
I’m giggling before he presents it like a prize. “A pregnancy pillow?”
“Believe me, you’re going to need it.”
“Won’t it get in the way of me cuddling the three of you?” I revel in the way his eyes darken. He’s far naughtier than I ever imagined as a pre-teen.
“Believe me, you’re going to need it.”
It has me falling back into the couch laughing.
I never imagined I would laugh so much.
Somehow, these three keep me smiling through the rough stuff.
“Thank you.”
He sets the pillow aside, plants his palms on the back of the couch on either side of my head, and plants a solid kiss on me. “You realize those two are building a pile of pancakes that you will never in a million years be able to eat on your own.”
“We’ll take them next door. I’m sure Daisy will be happy to devour whatever’s left.”
Gabe carries a tray over to the couch and slides in the moment Greyson vacates the space.
“You fill up on his before you get any of mine, and I will have to discipline you, princess.” Adam calls from behind his skillet.
I’m shaking the cushions with joy as he sets the fork in my hand and prompts me to eat one of his chocolate chip silver dollar pancakes before Adam can come take over.
Which he will do.
Then he hands me a frame with a bow across the front. I slide it aside and feel the hard tug in my chest.
The paper’s faded to a soft brown, fingerprints smudged in streaks of purple and blue.
The stick figures are messy, my tiny handprints still visible in the corner.
He framed it anyway—like it’s a masterpiece.
“You kept this?” I blink fast, trying to keep the tears at bay.
Gabe’s voice is rough when he answers. “Always did. You called me your best friend that day. Thought it was time to make it official.”
