Page 70 of Out Of A Fix

“I get wanting Tatum, but⁠—”

“Nope,” I stated, getting up and walking toward the wall. “I refuse to stroke your ego.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” he called over to me.

“You’re a catch, Duchesne. You own your own business that you work hard at to provide for your family, you’re young, handsome, you have amazing kids, and now you have a really cute cat who is, I’m happy to report, disease-free but for some worms.”

“Worms?”

“Easily remedied, my friend,” I told him, turning the corner and reaching the bottom of the stairs. I then yelled up, “You can come down now.”

They were right there, of course they were, all three on the landing, waiting.

“How much did you hear?”

“Just the last bit about Dad being a catch and us being amazing,” Griff said smugly, smiling at me.

“I said annoying, not amazing,” I corrected him, walking away. “Maybe we should go get your ears checked, because you’re clearly having trouble parsing words.”

I heard them all rushing down the stairs like a herd of elephants as I retook the seat across from their father, who hadn’t moved.

Griff reached me first, put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed tight, content, it seemed, to hold on a moment before he sat down beside me.

“It’s okay,” I promised him as Tatum slipped in next to me, her arm curling around mine so she could lean her head on my bicep.

“What was wrong with Aunt Shelly?”

“It’s her mom, love.”

“But she was mad about the house and my IG and—she was never like that before.”

“I know, but we have to forgive her for scaring you.”

“Because she’s so sad.”

“That’s right.”

“If she’s so sad,” Darwin asked, taking the seat on the other side of Griff, leaning on him, “how come she even came over?”

“Well, she thought she had to check in on you. She didn’t know I was here, and she was worried and didn’t want to let your father down.”

They were all quiet.

“Do you want to cook lunch, or do you want me to do it?” I asked Griff.

“Why don’t I do it?” Luke suggested.

The silence was deafening, and when I turned to look, I enjoyed seeing the stunned expressions on the faces of the two youngest. Griff, though, appeared more worried than anything else. Refocusing on Luke, I squinted at him. “I feel like maybe you can’t cook at all. Is that the case?”

“No,” he apprised me, sounding both defensive and belligerent. “I can cook.”

“Oh yeah? Like, what can you cook?” I goaded him.

The way he didn’t immediately rattle off a list was telling.

“Bad salmon,” Tatum chimed in. “Like, I don’t know how he did it, but he made it gooey on the inside and burned and crispy on the outside. It was not good.”

“That’s a fair assessment of the facts,” Darwin agreed.