One thing I really appreciate about Wintermore is how dog-friendly it is everywhere. The only place we’ve been so far that doesn’t allow dogs is the store just off Main Street that sells handcrafted pottery. Understandable. Nico waited outside with the boys, handed me his credit card, and told me to pick out a teapot and some mugs to make Noelle’s apartment feel a little more like home. It was all very domestic.
I yawn, letting the dogs lead me to the door of The Frosty Bean. Their tails are wagging like crazy when I pull the door open, and they tug me straight to my family’s booth.
“And what time do you call this, missy?” Sloane says, glancing at her wrist as if she’s ever worn a watch in her life.
I slide into the booth beside her and grab her latte. “Caffeine time. Is this gingerbread?” I wrinkle my nose as I take a sip.
“They have it year-round here,” she answers, taking it back. “And you’re welcome to order your own.”
Thankfully, someone comes over to take my order before I have to wrestle it back out of her hands. It’s disgusting, but it’s caffeinated.
“Rough night?” my dad asks, though he’s half bentunder the table, stroking Earl. Though both dogs have taken to people better than either Nico or I expected, Earl is the friendlier of the two. Grey is more reserved and clings to me like glue, but he’ll accept praise or ear scratches from strangers, even if he is less enthusiastic about it.
“Mhmm. Just a lot of nightmares, but I’m fine. We don’t need to talk about that,” I say, because I know it just makes my dads uncomfortable.
Dad and Pops exchange a glance before both speaking at the same time:
“We can if you want?—”
“You can talk to us about any?—”
They close their mouths, have a wordless conversation, and look back toward me.
“If you’d like to talk about them, you can, honey,” Dad says. “But you don’t have to! No pressure.”
Huh. That’s strange. “Okay… Why are you being weird? They’re being weird, right?” I ask Sloane.
“They’re being weird.”
Pops rolls his eyes. “We’re not being weird. We just don’t want you to think you can’t tell us these things. You can talk to us about anything.”
I look at Sloane, but she just shrugs like she has no idea where this has come from.
A cup of coffee appears before me, and I practically inhale it as the server goes around the table taking orders for food. She tops up my cup before she goes, and she’s in a firm second place for my favorite person today, next to Nico.
“Who’s lumberjack-sitting today?”
I frown at Sloane. “What? He’s not a lumberjack.”
“He works with wood, it’s all the same.”
“It’s really not, but okay. Regardless, he’s a forty-seven-year-old man who is capable of looking after himself, even with only one good arm,” I point out, and she shrugs.
“I’m just saying, if I were impaled by an axe, I would be milking it for all it was worth.”
“Have you ever even touched an axe?”
She wrinkles her nose. “When would I have touched an axe? We didn’t all spend weeks shacking up with a mountain man.”
Pops chokes on his coffee. “Do we have to phrase it like that?”
“Yes,” Sloane says, at the same time I say, “Sorry.”
“You could’ve brought him, honey,” Dad says.
“I know, but he wanted to give us family time.” And he’s meeting Noelle later because she wants advice for their renovation. She didn’t ask, just told him when and where to meet her, and I think he’s a little scared of her, so he agreed. “Actually, there is something I’d like to talk to you about if you’re up for it.”
Pops sucks in a breath. “Oh god. You’re pregnant.”
