“Will he puke?” Charlie asks.
Hudson grins.
Ryker scowls at him.
“No,” I answer for them. “Sometime when we’re not eating, they can tell you about the great Christmas plumbing disaster. For now, are you sure you’re not hungry?”
“I might have some strawberry shortcake,” Charlie says. “Sample it. Like I sampled all of this.”
“We sample,” Eddie agrees.
“It’s good to sample when you’re getting ready to sleep for thirty-four hours so you can grow two inches.”
“I might grow three.”
“I have to grow five to start to catch up.”
The twins share a look, and they once again yawn in unison, both stretching their arms above their heads, both barely holding back grins.
Simon’s looking between them—one across from him, one beside him—like he can’t decide if he should ask to take some dinner home and bail or if he should see how this plays out.
Then he glances at me and catches me smiling broadly.
“You’re enjoying this,” he says.
It’s an affectionate statement that makes my belly warm and tingly in ways even the best barbecue chicken and butternut squash risotto can’t.
“Sometime later, I might tell you stories about things Griff and Hudson did after pretending to be tired, but you helped me out today, so I’m not going to give your kids any ideas.”
“Wearetired,” Charlie insists.
“Exhausted,” Eddie agrees.
“I might fall asleep on this plate.”
“I should probably go lie down in the grass while you do boring adult stuff.”
“I won’t allow Bea to send food home for you if you don’t behave yourselves,” Simon says.
He’s so bad at this disciplinarian thing.
I don’t believe him.
I don’t think they do either.
The boys share another look.
“We don’t want food, Dad,” Charlie insists.
“Yeah. We’re not hungry,” Eddie agrees.
“He’s so fucked with something,” Daph whispers to me.
I sip my wine and smile.
Simon makes eye contact with Tank, who rises as soon as Charlie darts out of his seat.
Pinky rises as Eddie gets out of his seat too.
