"We don't touch the shop," East says. "We touch her car. Get one of those massive car magnets made. 'Frankie's Mobile Petting Zoo. Ask Me About My Cats.' With a QR code that links to a ten-hour loop of cat purring."
Nash almost smiles. "She'll peel that off in thirty seconds."
"She has to find it first. We put it on the side she never checks when she's parallel parking."
I crack my neck. "Darla?"
East's jaw tightens. Loosens. Tightens again. The man is at war with himself. "She's pregnant," he says. "So nothing that spikes her blood pressure."
"But?" Nash prompts.
"But last time I replaced her entire closet with Broadway costumes and she wore them. Every single one. To the grocery store. To brunch. She wore the Phantom cape to pick up dry cleaning and three strangers complimented her." He drags a hand down his face. "She won. By enjoying it."
"So you escalate," I say.
East settles back against the wall. "We don't touch her closet this time. We touch her car. Full wrap. Not permanent, vinyl. 'East's #1 Fan' across the hood. A blown-up photo of my face on the driver's side door. 'Honk if you love East' on the bumper. And one of those dashboard bobbleheads, custom made, of me. Shirtless."
Dead silence.
"You want to prank your own woman," Nash says, "by putting your face all over her car."
"My shirtless face."
"That's not a prank. That's a shrine."
"It's a shrine she has to drive to work. Through town. Past the school zone." East folds his arms. "She'll either love it, which means I win, or she'll be mortified, which means I also win."
James pinches the bridge of his nose. "You've thought about this."
"I think about it every day."
"What about Sloane?" James asks, glancing at me.
East's grin dies fast enough to be smart. "Knox's wife. Knox's call."
I think about it. "Her scrubs. She's got a whole drawer of them, rotates by color. We replace every single set with dinosaur print. Bright ones. Cartoon T-rexes in little nurse hats. She won't notice until she's already getting dressed for a shift, and by then it's too late."
East's face lights up. "Dinosaur scrubs."
"She'll kill me."
"She'll try to kill you. There's a difference. And she'll look adorable doing it, which will make her angrier."
"That's the best one," Nash says.
Malachi drums his fingers on the pastel tablecloth. "Maggie?"
James goes quiet. His jaw works once.
"She planned this," East says, gesturing at the peonies. "She made the muffins. She's not a civilian, James."
James exhales. "I know."
"So?"
A long beat. James leans forward, hands clasped, looking more serious than the situation warrants. "Her kitchen. She's got every spice labeled. Alphabetical. Color-coded lids. It's her system and she'll fight God over it."
"You want to rearrange her spices?" East sounds almost disappointed.
