My stomach flipped, but not in the way I’d feared. It wasn’t jealousy in her tone, just truth. Ancient history. I had been bracing for something prickly or awkward, especially after our first encounter in Brooks’s bedroom, but this seemed almost . . . normal. Comfortable, even.
“Don’t worry, you’re holding it together pretty well.”
“Pretty well?” I raised a brow, gesturing toward the questionable stains smeared across my so-called slutty mom jeans.
Allie chuckled. “Trust me, I’ve seen worse.”
She glanced toward the tent where Carolina was taking cover behind Brooks as he fended off another sprinkles ambush. “Youknow who to come to when you have questions.” She looked back at me, adding, “About anything.”
My eyes widened. “I appreciate that. I kind of hoped that by the time I became a mom, there might be a handbook for the whole thing.”
“I get it,” she said, nodding. “And for the record, there’s no handbook for Brooks either. Just a lot of patience, pasta, and reminding him that sometimes he doesn’t have to be perfect.”
I huffed out a laugh, caught off guard by how much I needed to hear that. “Good to know.”
She lifted her can in a mock toast. “Speaking of men who don’t deserve us, I’m getting married again.”
It took me a second to process. “Wow, really? Congratulations.”
Her grin widened. “Thank you. And before you ask, yes, Carolina already knows. Mitchell actually asked her before he asked me. Got down on one knee and everything.”
My hand flew to my chest. “Stop it, that’s ridiculously cute. My hormones can’t handle it.”
“She said yes before I did,” Allie relayed with a shake of her head, but her smile was fond, her gaze tender as it flicked back toward her daughter shrieking under the tent.
And just like that, the air between us shifted—lighter, easier. No sharp edges, no competition. Just two women, bound by the same little girl, standing shoulder to shoulder on the edges of delicious chaos.
Later that night, the house finally stilled. Gone were the shrieking children and frosting bombs and rainbow-sprinkledmadness. All that remained was the faint hum of the ceiling fan and the steady sound of Brooks brushing his teeth in the en suite bathroom.
I’d showered, scrubbed off what felt like two pounds of sticky residue, and pulled on one of his shirts. And like the rest of the clothes I had stolen from him, it swallowed me whole, the hem brushing my thighs, the sleeves hanging past my elbows. Who needed a shopping spree when you had access to your own personal Brooks Brothers?
Minus the brother. Brooks had two stepsisters.
When he finally crawled into bed beside me, I expected him to immediately pull me into his arms. Instead, he grabbed my ankle and tugged until both my feet were in his lap.
“Woah,” I said when he dragged me halfway across the bed. “What are you doing?”
“Taking care of you.” My eyes rolled back into my head when he started kneading slow circles into my arch, his thumbs strong and sure. “You were on your feet all day.”
I melted back against the pillows with a groan I wasn’t proud of. “Holy shit.”
He smirked, eyes glinting as he worked over another knot. “I’m serious, kitten. You’re doing too much.”
I let my eyes fall shut, caught between bliss and exhaustion. “Your ex is getting married again,” I murmured, changing the subject. He could scold me all he wanted tomorrow, but tonight, I was gonna soak up his hands on my body.
“I know.” His voice was quiet, steady.
“Do you ever think about getting married again?”
The words slipped out before I could stop them, like my mouth had gone rogue while my brain was still catching up. Where the hell had that come from? We’d never discussed marriage before. Hell, we’d never even defined whatever our relationship was.
Dating, sure. Sleeping together, technically, but only in the most literal sense of the word. But marriage? Love? Those conversations lived in a box labeled too soon, shoved somewhere behind the part of my brain currently consumed with hormones and cupcake wars.
And yet here I was, throwing it out there like it was no big deal. Like my heart wasn’t thudding in my chest, waiting for him to flinch.
His thumbs stilled, just for a beat, before he said, “To you? Sure.”
My eyes flew open. “How do you say something like that so casually?”
