Miriam froze, mid-reach for the salad bowl. “Wait, are you…?”
Rachel grinned. “We were going to wait a few more weeks, but I suck at secrets. Scott and I are expecting.”
The kitchen erupted.
Mirriam gasped and threw her arms around her daughter, her voice catching in her throat. “Oh my God, Rachel, you’re going to be a mother!”
“I know,” Rachel’s eyes misted, “it’s terrifying and amazing, and I think I ate half the prenatal vitamin aisle.”
Dante just blinked. “Scott Waverly got you pregnant.”
Rachel raised an eyebrow. “Yes. My husband, Scott. You were at the wedding, remember? You wore tactical sunglasses indoors.”
“Outdoors reception,” Dante muttered. “And I don’t trust catering staff.”
Rachel rolled her eyes. “Well, yes, that man got me pregnant. And he cried when we found out. Twice.”
Miriam beamed. “You’re making me a nonna. Finally.” She turned to Dante, eyes sharp. “See? One of my children delivers.”
Dante raised his glass, unbothered. “Guess that means the pressure’s off me.”
Rachel snorted. “Temporarily.”
The screen door creaked open, letting in the ocean breeze and Scott Waverly, a little windblown, a little rumpled. He carried a bottle of sparkling cider in one hand and a canvas bag in the other.
“Sorry I’m late.” He set the bottle on the counter with a sheepish grin. “One golden retriever with a tennis ball lodged in his throat didn’t think I needed to leave on time.” He leaned down to kiss Rachel on the cheek before sliding into the chair next to her.
Across the table, Dante looked up from his plate, brow raised. “So, how’s the sock-eating Saint Bernard?”
Scott grinned. “Recovering nicely. Less dramatic than the schnauzer with the engagement ring.”
Rachel laughed. “That one was my favorite.”
“You only say that because I saved the ring.”
Dante smirked into his water. “Your clients are wild.”
Scott shrugged. “It’s a living. Some people handle guns and foreign heads of state. I handle Labradoodles with trust issues.”
Miriam handed him a plate of risotto. “And you do it well, sweetheart.”
The edges had softened between him and Scott over time. He attended the wedding, after all, standing off to the side in a sharp black suit, scanning for threats while Rachel danced like gravity didn’t exist. He knew Scott. Trusted him in the quiet way Dante trusted anyone: through observation, not words. But that didn’t mean he was going to go easy on him.
“So…” Dante set down his fork.
Scott gave a short laugh. “Rach, I guess you told them? Should’ve figured we wouldn’t make it through one dinner without being profiled.”
“You married into it,” Dante said, deadpan.
Rachel placed her hand over Scott’s. “I told them we were going to wait to tell the rest of the family, but… it’s hard to keep anything quiet in this house.”
Miriam’s face had softened into something radiant. “You make me proud, both of you.”
Dante raised his glass. “To future Waverly-Olivetti hybrids. May they inherit Rachel’s stubbornness and none of Scott’s client base.”
Scott raised his own with a grin. “Speak for yourself. I’m counting on a whole litter.”
Rachel groaned. “I married a pun machine.”
