Page 32 of Twins for Three Bad Boys

“What’s she like?” I ask.

Hank opens his mouth, eager.

Fletcher answers first.

“Bright,” he says simply. “Funny. But careful.”

Hank nods rapidly. “She’s pretty too.”

Fletcher’s head snaps up. “Hank.”

“What?” Hank says innocently. “I’m not blind.”

“Don’t be a creep.”

“I’m nineteen,” Hank protests. “I’m biologically obligated.”

I chuckle. “You’re biologically obligated to keep your mouth shut around Wayne, kid.”

Hank’s eyes sparkle. “Oh, Wayne’s already being weird about it.”

That makes me pause again.

“Weird how?” I ask.

Hank lowers his voice. “Cold. Like… closed. Didn’t even smile at her.”

Wayne doesn’t do cold for no reason. He does controlled. He does careful. He does I’m holding the whole world together with my teeth.

But cold? To a nanny?

Unless…

Unless he’s rattled.

I hear the rumble of his truck outside a minute later.

“Speak of the devil,” I murmur.

Wayne strides in a moment later, jacket half zipped, hair a little mussed because he’s been running his hands through it. His eyes scan the shop, land on me, and soften a fraction.

“You’re back,” he says.

“Miss me?” I ask.

He huffs. “Bolt already told me you were here. He tried to steal my sandwich.”

Bolt wags his tail all proud.

“I’ll talk to him,” I promise solemnly. “He’s got an addiction.”

Wayne’s mouth twitches, and I see the Wayne I know. Then it fades again, as if pain clamps down behind his ribs.

Hank pounces immediately.

“So,” he says, too cheerfully. “How’s the nanny?”

Wayne’s eyes cut to him.