She scrunches her nose at the watermelon salad. “With that green stuff in it?”
Seb chuckles, then throws her up like she weighs nothing.
Claudina is growing by the minute, but in Seb’s arms, she looks minuscule.
“You mean mint? Yes, but I can take it out for you.”
“Okay!” She giggles as he throws her up again. “Can I have a little of all the food?”
“You’re going to eat the vegetables?” I ask, doubtful.
She nods enthusiastically. “I love asparagus now. Do we have that?”
I look at her with a wary expression.
“Mom made it the other day, and she ate it all,” Leo tells me.
Claud jumps out of Seb’s arms. “Oh! Then, can we all bake something for dessert? Pleaseeeee? I want to go home on Monday and tell Juliette everything I baked here.”
“She doesn’t stop talking about her baking teacher. Have any of you met her?” Seb asks.
Nate chokes on his beer, and Leo chuckles.
Fucking idiots.
“What?” Seb narrows his look between the three of us.
I’m not answering this. I don’t want to lie, but I can’t tell the truth either, so I turn and give them a look to help me.
“We’ve all met her at one time or another. She’s fucking hot, is all,” Leo says, his eyes shining bright as I give him a death stare. He leans back in his chair, crossing his legs, loving every bit of this. “Like ten out of ten hot.”
“What’s hot mean?” Claud asks.
“It means she’s beautiful,” Nate interjects.
Claud nods, smiling as she agrees. “Yeah, she’s sooo pretty, and guess what?”
“What?” Seb says.
“She used to be a ballerina, just like I’m going to be.”
“Hmm,” Seb says, running his teeth along his bottom lip. “Maybe I need to stop by and see the infamous Juliette.” His eyes widen. “You know, so that I can see what the fuss is all about. Do a little inspection of my own.”
“Definitely. Do it.” Nate nods his head encouragingly.
Then, when Claud is not looking, Seb whispers, “She single? I bet she’s bendy as fuck.”
“Oh yeah, she’s single. No commitment in sight,” Leo adds, smirking, and my breathing picks up to an ungodly pace.
I’m going to kill these two with my bare hands.
“So, baking. Yes, right?” Claud interrupts, thank God, jumping up and down.
Nate groans, “Not again, Claud.”
She puts her hands on her hips, walks over to Nate, and then points at him. “You’re the one who tripped. You can’t blame anyone but yourself.”
Why does she sound like she’s fifty-five scolding her child?
