Shawna nodded vigorously. “I want that, too. We’ll be our own blended family.”
Jax smiled because honestly, words failed her. Fortunately Lindsey just plowed on to the next awkward topic.
“What do you think about the age gap?”
Jax pushed away the salad she was never going to eat. “I haven’t really.”
“I’m concerned.”
“Oh, Mom.”
Lindsey shook her head. “Fourteen years is a lot. Now it doesn’t matter, but what’s it going to be like when he turns seventy and you’re still active and in your fifties?”
“We’ll be fine.”
“He’s a little old to be starting a new family but I suppose we don’t have a choice.”
Shawna sighed happily. “I promise I will do my very best to get pregnant on our honeymoon.”
Jax held in a groan. Pregnant on her honeymoon? She had a bad feeling Shawna hadn’t mentioned that little factoid to Harris. Maybe instead of beating him with a big book, she should ask to be in the room when that particular conversation took place because it would be a heck of a show.
Jax did her best not to think about her lunch with Shawna and her mother. Fortunately the afternoon was busy at the store and Ramon seemed extra needy, both of which were a distraction. A little after four Cheryl walked over, a small note in her hand.
“I’ve been asked to get the dimensions for the werewolf,” she said, sounding doubtful. “That would be the one downstairs?”
Jax grinned. “Do you know of any other werewolves?”
“No, but why does anyone care?”
“Because I rent out Doug.”
The older woman stared at her. “You named the werewolf Doug?”
“I did.”
“And people rent him?”
“Every now and then. I have the dimensions in my office. If I remember right, he’s six foot five.”
Cheryl glanced at the note. “They need his chest measurement so they can get him a T-shirt.”
“That I don’t know, but you’ll have to tell them they’ll need to cut it along the back and use hook and loop closures or something to keep it on him. They can’t pull it over his head.”
“Because he won’t cooperate?”
Jax laughed. “His arms don’t move. Come on. Let’s go measure Doug.”
They stopped by the supply closet where she pulled a fabric tape measure out of one of the drawers then headed for the basement stairs. A stylized sign with a hand pointing down proclaimed:Games of All Kinds, Billiards, Ping Pong, Plus Horror Books and Doug.
“I’ve seen the sign a hundred times but never put it together before,” Cheryl murmured. “Doug. Seriously.”
“Who did you think he was?”
“I never thought to ask.”
They made their way down the wide, well-lit staircase. Expanding it from the original narrow, steep version had been a project and a half. Fortunately, her grandparents had taken it on in the early 2000s.
The basement was the same size as the main floor of the house. To the right was a massive open game room with the promised pool and Ping-Pong tables. Two walls held shelves with every board game imaginable along with decks of cards and hundreds of jigsaw puzzles.
