“Not really.”
“Ouch,” I say to Beau’s response, holding my hand over my heart. “You know, you can lie to me. Or at least let me know before you throw the verbal brick in my face.”
Theo claps me on the back as he passes by on his way to his station. Looks like he’s trying to tackle macarons—the one thingnone of us can get a handle on. “What he means to say is that this is the first Poker Club meeting since the last time we saw you.”
“Really?” Doing the math that it was more than a month ago, right before the gender reveal. “Schedules not lining up?”
“Been busy as hell,” Beau says. “I’ve had three tournaments and a week in Los Angeles finalizing a new offseason streaming deal.”
“Really?” I ask, fascinated by how Beau’s made a career not only of golf, but also through social media. “Gabi didn’t say anything.”
“Because she doesn’t know,” he says as he prepares his dutch oven to preheat for his loaf of the day. “I’m still finalizing things, so I didn’t want to say anything.”
“You? Not want to say anything?” Asher chimes in. “I didn’t get the memo that pigs were flying today.”
“Fuck you Reed,” Beau says as he gets his raised dough, ready to score it. I didn’t know that term before Poker Club, and now I know a little too much about it. My future brother-in-law will talk your ear off about the different techniques if you let him. “Plus, what has you so busy this summer? It’s your fucking offseason. Yet the only time I asked if you wanted to get a drink you said you were busy.”
“I was,” he defends. “I had to take Adalyn to dance class.”
Beau’s raised eyebrow means he doesn’t buy it. “And that took all night? I thought you went to a studio where you dropped her off?”
“Normally it is,” he trails off like he’s gearing up to tell us the deepest, darkest, secret of his life. “It was bring a special friend to dance night.”
Theo’s eyes nearly jump out of his head. “Are you telling me, you attended, and participated, in a dance class with your three-year-old and none of us were there to document it?”
“Exactly,” he says. “I wasn’t telling you fuckers a thing.”
“Please tell me there are pictures,” I say. “And please, please, tell me that there was a tutu involved.”
“There wasn’t, but just you wait.” He points a finger at me. “Once your kid is here, if he wants you in a tutu, or throw a ball, or build some crazy-ass contraption, you’ll do it. No questions asked.”
He’s right. I would. Hell, I’d probably come up with half the ideas myself.
Because that's what a good father does. What my father didn't do, and probably never would have done even if he'd stayed. He wasn’t like Asher who’s learning to french braid and going to a dance class. He didn’t go the extra mile. I doubt he ever left straight from his job to come home and paint a nursery. But that’s what I did today. Went directly from football practice to the house to throw on a coat of paint in the nursery before coming to a baking club to make his partner the brownies she’s craving.
I never really knew him, but he’d never have done that.
But I did.
I will.
At least, I hope so.
“Quit stalling, are there photos and video?” Beau asks, bringing me back to the conversation.
“No,” Asher says gruffly. “At least… I don’t think so.”
“So you’re saying there’s a chance!” Theo proclaims. “Don’t worry guys, I’ll make some calls. We’ll have evidence by midweek.”
“Doing the Lord’s work Lawson,” I say as I start getting situated at the spot I’ve seen Gabi make countless deserts in the time I’ve known her. “And what about you Theo? How was the July-August slate of games?”
“Exhausting,” he says. “I don’t feel like I had a minute to myself. It was either a plane or a game.”
“Not true,” Asher says without making eye contact. “I seem to remember you having time to help Ellie with her wedding arch.”
“Ellie? Who’s Ellie?” I ask, feeling, yet again, I’m way behind the eight-ball. “Did Lawson get engaged while I was gone? I didn’t even know he was dating anyone.”
“He wishes,” Beau says as he takes a seat, the insinuation laced in his tone.
