“My standards aremuchhigher now,” I tell them.
Sabrina slings an arm around my waist. “For your sake, Em, I’m holding you to that.”
19
Jonas
I’ve neverin my life wanted to crawl out of my skin the way I do today.
My son is mere feet from me.
I’ve had a full inquisition from Emma’s brother.
I’ve learned how to grill an elk burger and how to tell when it’s done.
I’ve watched other people be the parent figures that I’m supposed to be for what feels like seven centuries, even though it’s probably no more than twenty or thirty minutes.
And Emma’s either avoiding me or has at least one of her best friends at her side every single second.
But it’s time to dig into the food, and I’m calculating every angle I need to work in order to sit next to Emma and Bash.
First stop? The cooler. “Emma, want me to grab you something?” I ask.
“Oh, no, I’ll—”
“Surprise her,” Sabrina interrupts her with what sounds like an order.
Yes, anorder.
That tone isn’t an accident.
I flip open the cooler and find Toothy Bee kombucha sitting on top.
Zen. Kombucha. Local.
I grab a can of raspberry and flip it around.
Brewed in Snaggletooth Creek, Colorado.
“You make this?” I ask Zen.
They arch a brow at me, then give a single nod.
I smile. “My cousin Keisha and her wife love it.”
“I know. I’ve seen their socials.”
“You know Jonas’s cousin?” Grey asks them.
“Not yet, but when we’re ready to expand, I will.”
“If you want—” I start but stop at their eye roll the size of a mountain.
“I’ll stay out of it unless you ask me for an introduction,” I amend.
“Please do,” Zen says. “I prefer pop stars love me for me and our kombucha, not for my connections.”
“Understood.” In theory. In actuality, I don’t know if they’re the type to bite off their nose to spite their face—if this is a subtleyou don’t belong here, so I don’t even want your connections—or if they’re the type to take pride in doing it all themselves.
