“Everything okay?”
He answers, and I can hear Lia’s voice on the other end, rapid and slightly frantic.
“Slow down,” Asher says. “What do you—no, I’m at Eva’s. Yeah. What? Now?” He sighs. “Fine. We’ll be there in ten.”
He hangs up and looks at me with an expression that’s half apologetic, half resigned. “Porter won’t stop crying. Ethan’s dealing with a supplier emergency. Lia has a call she can’t miss with her manager in fifteen minutes.” He pauses. “She wants to know if we can help.”
“We?”
“She specifically said, ‘Bring Eva. Porter likes her.’” He grimaces. “You don’t have to. I know you’re busy with…” He gestures vaguely at my laptop.
I should say no. I don’t want to give Asher’s family any ideas when I still have no idea if there’s anything to be giving ideas about. But Porter’s little face flashes in my mind, and the thought of escaping this awkward kitchen table conversation for something with a clear purpose—hold baby, stop crying—is deeply appealing.
“Let me grab my jacket,” I say.
The golf cart ride to Bedd Fellows is quiet but not uncomfortable.
“Your sister’s timing is interesting,” I say.
“What do you mean?”
“The whole family is too busy to drive you to the doctor. Now Lia urgently needs babysitting exactly when you’re at my house.”
Asher’s jaw tightens. “The Bedds are not subtle.”
“You think she’s meddling?”
“I think the entire crew has something in mind, and they are just getting started.”
I file that away, weirdly charmed by the idea of his family conspiring to push us together. It’s annoying, probably, from his end. But it also means they think there’s something worth pushing toward.
We emerge from the trees, and the farmhouse appears, along with Baabara’s ridiculous palace gleaming in the afternoon sun. Lia is standing on Gran’s porch, bouncing a wailing Porter, looking frazzled.
“Oh thank God,” she says as we pull up. “He’s been like this for an hour. I don’t know what’s wrong. He’s fed, he’s changed, he’s just…” She gestures helplessly at the screaming infant.
“Give him here,” I say, climbing out of the cart.
Lia hands him over, and Porter’s cries stutter, hiccup, and then… stop. He blinks at me with those huge dark eyes, sniffles once, and settles against my chest with a shuddering sigh.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Lia says.
“He did this before,” Asher says from the golf cart. “Eva held him and he just… stopped.”
“The baby whisperer,” Lia says, shaking her head. “Okay, I have to take this call. Ethan’s in the barn. Asher, there’s food in the fridge. Eva, you’re an angel. I’ll be an hour, tops.”
She disappears down the lane toward her house, and I’m left standing in the yard holding a now-peaceful baby while Asher crutches his way out of the golf cart.
“Guess we’re babysitting,” I say.
“Guess so.”
Porter makes a soft cooing sound and grabs a fistful of my hair. I wince but don’t pull away. Asher watches us with an expression I can’t quite read. “You’re good with him.”
“I like babies. They’re honest. They cry when they’re upset and laugh when they’re happy. No games.”
“Unlike adults.”
“Very much unlike adults.” We look at each other over Porter’s fuzzy head. Something shifts in the air—not the charged tension from before, but something softer. More tentative.
