“You’re very touchy-feely today,” I observe, regaining my balance. He allows me a generous half an inch of separation between his broad torso and my back. “Considering youdon’t actually want to be around meand all.”
He sighs. “I told you that’s not what I meant.”
Uh-huh. He sure did tell me that. Real believably and everything.
Amia wiggles as Wolfe hands her a purple gift bag, and I wiggle with her. “Shut up for a second,” I order both Fox and my butterflies. “She’s opening my present.”
My stomach doesn’t listen, but for the first time probably ever, Fox obeys, and I watch happily while the best little girl I know squeals in delight as she unearths a rock tumbler from the depths of the bag.
I beam.
She holds the tumbler tightly to her body as she jumps up, tramples through the crowd of barely-contained children, and runs to me. Fox braces right before she makes contact, slamming into us with more force than one might expect from a newly minted eight-year-old.
I lose my breath as the tumbler hits my stomach, and she hastily moves it to the side. “Oops!” She grins up at me, bright blue eyes sparkling with joy. “This is the best presentever!” she declares. “You’re the best auntever!”
“Hey!” Almond protests from the bar. A balloon sticks to her pale pink hair via static electricity, and I snort.
Amia smiles in her direction, lifting the rock tumbler in the air for her to see. “Get me some rocks for this, andyoucan be the best aunt ever!”
Almond’s eyes crinkle. “Don’t I get a leg up for being biologically your aunt?” she asks.
“Not really.” Amia shrugs. “An aunt’s an aunt. If you want the top spot, you have to work for it.”
Almond’s eyebrows rise as her gaze meets mine. I smile smugly, then stick my tongue out at her. “Yeah, Al, you have towork for it,” I taunt.
She rolls her eyes. “We’ll see how you feel after opening my present,” she tells Amia. “I still have hope.”
With haste, Amia returns to her booth, rooting around in the gifts for Almond’s.
Fox clears his throat.
“What?” I ask, poking at his hands. I think that’s quite enough cuddle time for the grumpy jerk today. My stomach cannot handle much more.
His grip tightens before loosening, only fully dropping when I step out of his hold.
He sighs.
“What?” I repeat, turning to give him the stink eye.
His hands flex at his sides, fisting and unfisting. “I got her a rock tumbler,” he mumbles, glaring over top of my head.
I freeze.
Surely he did not just say what I think he just said.Surelynot.
“You got her a rock tumbler?” I ask. “Are you kidding me?”
“It was on her list,” he defends, but he doesn’t make eye contact. Heknows.
My nostrils flare. “I told you I was getting her one,” I tear his paper-thin defense right down. “Are youjoking? I told you four different times. I wrote it down. I posted it on the bulletinboard in the bar hall. I could not have been more clear.” I toldeveryoneI was getting her a tumbler. The girl is obsessed with rocks. She would’ve gotten twelve tumblers if we weren’t careful. Which is why I got her one three months ago during a sale, then immediately texted the Blackwood family group chat that I had it covered. Then, I texted everyone individually that I had it covered. Then, I spent the next three months periodically reminding everyone that I had it covered and making them promise not to get her one themselves.
He so genuinely must be kidding me.
He so genuinelybetterbe kidding me.
He rubs a hand over his face, giving anything but SIKE energy.
“Have you lost your mind?” I hiss.
