“She probably just repeated what she heard.”
“I don’t know.” But the way he’s looking at me is distracting. It makes me feel all kinds of unnecessary things.
“Besides, that’s what cartoons, pastries, and hot chocolate are for.”
“Distractions. Good thinking.”
His reply is a quick, reassuring squeeze to my fingers before he turns. I follow, of course. Because that ass. I mean—
“It was on a high shelf,” he announces as he exits the pantry.
“Short joke. Great!” I retort as though this is our regular shtick. Rather than taking my seat again and enduring another undignified hop and heave, I lean against the end of the island and watch Clodagh do it instead. But first, she takes a quick detour into the kitchen.
“I didn’t say anything,” Matt says, holding up both hands.
“But you used the cup,” she says, producing a glass cookie jar full of money from a low cabinet.The kind of money that folds.
“You can’t even read!” Matt scoffs.
“Can too,” she retorts, all short-person adorableness as she clambers back into her seat.
“What does it say, then?”
“I’m f—” Clodagh stops as she finds her mother’s hand over her mouth. “You tried to trick me!” she complains as it drops. “That’s not very nice, Uncle Matty!”
“Neither is the cup,” her mother murmurs, tapping the rim of the saucer.
I glance down and realize there are words printed among the flowers, twining like vines.I’m fucking radiant,the twining script reads.
“He has a few of these,” Letty offers. “One of them looks perfectly ordinary, until you’ve finished your tea and look down and readYou’ve been poisoned.”
“Matt!” His name comes out in a gurgling chuckle.
“Do you have brothers?” Letty asks.
My gaze dips, but only briefly. “I’m an only child.”
“Lucky you,” she adds, but I can tell she’s only kidding.
“Ahem!” Clodagh shakes her cookie jar again.
“No way,” Matt complains as he pulls milk from the fancy fridge, then fires up an equally fancy coffee machine. “The deal is you only get money when the words come out ofmymouth.”
“I have words.” The little girl frowns at her uncle’s back.
“They’d better not be rude ones,” Letty censures.
“Mommy.” Clodagh turns in her seat to face her mom. “Where do babies come from?”
My heart literally plummets, and Matt’s arm pauses midair as he reaches for a cup.
I know the answer to this one, the answer in our case, at least.Alcohol, reduced inhibitions, super sperm, and defective prophylactics.
“Well, honey, that’s not really a conversation for right now.” Her mother brushes Clodagh’s hair from her face, the gesture quite tender.
“Yeah, but where do they come from?”
“Amazon,” Matt says, now pouring milk into a little pink cup. “They have everything.”
