But my stomach is wrecked like it hasn’t been since my stint as the world’s most famous runaway bride, hiding on a solo honeymoon.
Even pregnancy heartburn wasn’t that bad comparatively. And it was pretty unpleasant.
“I’m great,” I lie.
Theo and Zen look at us through the window at that exact moment, like they’re both listening and know I’m lying.
“Dipmuh!” Bash yells. He runs across the patio, chasing a chipmunk, his diaper hanging too low under his cute little blue shorts.
Waytoo low.
Someone has soiled his pants.
“Not it,” Decker crows, putting his finger to his nose in the universal sign fornot itas well.
Jack and Lucky turn to each other and have a round of rock-paper-scissors, which ends in Lucky pumping a victorious fist and Jack groaning. “C’mere, little dude. Diaper change time.”
And this is why Laney, Sabrina, and I are in the kitchen.
Theo cleaned the house.
My dad set up the patio with enough chairs for everyone.
Grey brought half the food, most of it already assembled. Sabrina claims he did it himself.
Zen brought the drinks. They always let us try out the new flavors they’re working on. Under normal circumstances, I would’ve already dug into the cooler.
And the triplets are on doody patrol, as they call it.
Mostly because they nominated Jack to be their rock-paper-scissors representative to battle me for diaper duty over kitchen prep, and Jack is notoriously unlucky at rock-paper-scissors.
Outside on the patio, Jitter and Duke both lift their heads and visibly sniff. Sabrina’s St. Bernard and Grey’s chocolate lab are besties. Duke’s a few years older and has had a calming effect on Jitter, which is good, since Jitter weighs more than Sabrina does now that he’s nearly four years old.
But both dogs lifting their heads?
And sniffingnotin Bash’s direction?
I wipe my hands, and a moment later, there’s a knock at the front door.
My stomach gurgles loudly enough for Laney and Sabrina to both notice.
Fred notices too. The kitty drama king takes off with a yowl like my stomach scared him.
Both of my best friends move toward the living room and the front door, but I leap in front of them. “I’ve got this.”
They share a look, then back off. “We’ll be right here if you need us,” Sabrina says.
“Yell at Fred,” Laney adds. “Use that as your cue word.”
I cross the living room to the front door, take one more big, deep breath, check the peephole, and then I open the wooden door to a problem I can’t avoid any longer.
It’s annoying that this problem isn’t hard on the eyes.
Jonas has gotten a fresh haircut. He shaved. His lean arm muscles are lightly defined under his casual black T-shirt with two cats and a logo I don’t recognize. His broad pecs are also outlined under the shirt. He pushes aviators off his nose and up on top of his head, then he hits me with a warm smile that I would’ve calledfriendlyback in Fiji, but which now puts me on high alert.
He’s still behind the screen door, necessary both for air flow in the summer and for cat control since Theo and Laney keep the cats inside. I know that movie-star-handsome smile will only get more potent when the screen door barrier between us is gone.
I open my mouth to say hello, or to tell him to go on around back so we don’t have to worry about the cats, but before I can utter a sound, Jack comes crashing into the living room.
