The idea of Theo being Theo in the public spotlight in his teenage years…no.
Just no.
And Bash might look like Jonas, but he has that male Monroe gene through and through.
Oh god.
Oh god oh god oh god.
A teenager who looks like Jonas Rutherford and behaves like my brother—he wouldn’t make it to his twenties. People will notice. Thenot safe,not friendspeople.
I need a paper bag.
Sabrina squeezes my hand. “We’d hide you both here forever if we could. But we know it’s not realistic. Not long-term.”
Laney loops her arm around my back and squeezes me in a half hug. “Whatever you want, we’re here for you. But we’re not keeping our promises to always tell you the hard things if we don’t speak up on this.”
The door squeaks behind us. “Hate to interrupt,” Theo says, “but we have a small problem.”
“The food?” Sabrina says.
“Oh, no, tell me they aren’t bringing us presents,” Laney adds.
Theo shakes his head.
I don’t like his grin.
I especially don’t like that he’s aiming it at me.
I cringe. “Did Bash get into the flour again?”
Jack is on Bash duty. He’s sworn my baby is not getting out of his sight, and I believed him enough to sneak out here and ask my friends for advice.
Plus, the café’s closed while we prep for the shower this afternoon.
No one in. No one out, except through the back door.
Theo shakes his head again, grinning bigger, and gestures all of us into the kitchen.
The first thing I notice are the balloons.
They’reeverywhere.
Pink balloons. Blue balloons. Yellow balloons. Green balloons. Purple balloons. It’s a pastel rainbow of balloons that have overtaken the kitchen to the point that you can’t see the floor. Most of it is buried under at least three layers of waist-high balloons.
And then I notice the shoes.
They’re nice shoes. Brown leather. Large. Propped up on a stool and attached to denim-covered legs that disappear into the balloons.
“I didn’t do it,” Decker says. He’s leaning on the edge of the metal prep table.
“Not it either,” Jack says from his spot across from Decker. He’s shooting glances at the dining room that tell me he’s watching Bash.
I think.
I hope.
The balloons stir. “I’m okay,” they say. They sound like a very wheezy Jonas. “Just a little light-headed.”
