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“My type?”
“Yes, who w—” I stop, my brain reminding me that whatever happened to Anya in her past life means she wanted to stay here with us rather than go home like the rest of the girls. The rest, except Pearl too. “Shit, I’m sorry.”
She waves a hand, dismissing my apology. “It is okay.” She comes to me, smiling. “I need to take a shower.”
“Okay.”
She drops a kiss on my cheek then Beau’s before leaving, and we watch her go, both of us thoughtful. “I can’t help but wonder,” I say.
“Me neither.”
“About what?” Esther asks, coming in with hands full of laundry.
“The girls,” I answer, perching on a stool and checking the expressing situation. “Where they’ve come from, what they’ve been through.” Does it matter? They’re both thriving here. Well, Anya’s thriving. It would be fair to say Pearl’s struggling. But perhaps Leon can fix that. “You need to give that goofball some wooing advice,” I say to Beau.
“Yeah, when he’s not stoned I might try.”
“Leon?” Esther says, dropping the pile by the laundry room door.
“How’d you guess?”
Esther comes to the island and rests her elbows on the marble, looking between me and Beau.
“What?” I ask.
“What?” Beau mimics.
“I sense unrest,” Esther says, and both Beau and I laugh. Esther rolls her eyes. “How did they take it?”
“Terribly, as you’d expect.” I smile wide at my mother-in-law. “Your son looked like he wanted to strangle me.”
“Standard,” she muses. “Am I still babysitting tonight?”
I falter answering, not just because I’m nervous for both Danny and me to leave Maggie for our date night. “I’m not sure it’s safe to be alone with him.”
Beau chuckles, making me give her a tired look. “Sorry.”
“Why don’t you and James come?” A foursome. Take the pressure off. And the heat.
“Because Danny already told us we’re not invited.”
“Great,” I murmur. “So I’m a sitting duck.”
“The only thing Danny wants to do with you is fu?—”
“Beau!” Esther yells, horrified, and Beau puts her hands up, laughing.
“I’m saying it how it is.”
“I’ll be in the laundry room,” Esther mutters, disappearing hastily.
“The poor guy is desperate.”
“Jesus, Beau, pile on the pressure, why don’t you?” My boobs throb some more, and my internal muscles twinge, reminding me they’re still a bit tender. I pout to myself. The thought of sex thrills me, I’m desperate for him to have his hands all over me, reinforcing his attraction, his love. It also fills me with dread. I know he can be gentle. But he’s also desperate right now, and I know my husband when he’s desperate.
Ouch.
I relieve my boob of the pump.
