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I joltto a stop on the top step of the staircase.
Then promptly melt into a puddle as I take in the scene before me. Abel stands in the kitchen with baby Reese slung in his arm. She sleeps peacefully, her tiny head about half the size of Abel’s bicep.
He’s got tears in his eyes. But I can tell from his soft expression—Tuck’s too—that they’re happy tears.
Everything inside me heaves. Did their conversation actually go well? Doing a quick inventory of the kitchen, I don’t see any blood. No pots and pans askew, no broken glass.
Just two guys and a baby.
“Uncle Abel!” Katie bounds past me into the kitchen. She’s still wearing her helmet. “Isn’t my baby sister the sweetest? She loves me best, but I think she loves you too.”
Abel sniffles. “She’s very sweet, yes. She looks like you.”
“I know. I’m beautiful.”
The adults in the room burst into laughter. I cross the kitchen and lean down to wrap her into a hug. “The mostbeautiful five-year-old there ever was. Are you hungry? Would you like some shrimp?”
“I love shrimp! They help me grow big and strong. They also help me poop.”
Abel lets out another bark of laughter, startling the baby.
“Oh! Oh, I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he coos, gently bouncing her. “There. That’s better. Go back to sleep. There we go. I’m so sorry.”
Maren stands beside me and shakes her head. “Reese is used to loud noises. Second child has to be.”
“Is she usually this chill?” Abel asks, shifting the baby so that he’s holding her in a football grip. She’s face down, belly pressed against his forearm. The position soothes their little tummies or something.
Tuck shrugs. “She’s chill until she isn’t.”
“Right now, she seems very chill,” I say, watching as Reese dozes off again.
Maren nudges me with her elbow, a knowing grin on her face. “Did you know Abel was a natural with babies? Because I sure as heck didn’t.”
“I—no. Nope. But he is good with her, isn’t he?” I manage.
Abel meets my eyes. “I remember the football hold from when Katie”—he nods at the table, where said five-year-old sits engrossed in some foil art—“was little. That colic was brutal, and this was one of the only things that helped.”
Tuck raises a brow at him. “See?”
“See what?” I ask, heart pounding in the back of my throat.
My brother shakes his head. “Nothing. Just that Abel might be less village bicycle—his term, by the way—and more family man than we originally thought.”
Whoa whoa whoa. Is my brother actually on our side now?
Does he believe we’re right for each other despite the fact that we snuck around behind his back?
Abel’s gaze is still locked on mine. “Had to find the right girl. One who wasn’t afraid of my... less than appropriate side.”
“Sweet thought. But.” Tuck holds up his hand. “Please, for the love of God, don’t explain what you mean by it.”
“Really? ’Cause I kinda want to know,” Maren says.
Tuck groans. “And this is how we ended up with you, Reese.”
“Oh, come on, you like it.” Maren crosses the kitchen and wraps her arms around his waist. The difference in their sizes is laughable. She’s five-foot nothing, and in her flip-flops, she barely comes up to his chest.
He takes her face in his hands and leans down to kiss her. “I don’t like it, I love it, Tiny.”
