Pop.
“Can you NOT?” Fitz hissed, his arms full of stuffed animals.
Pop.
“I’M TRYING TO BE QUIET!”
Pop. Pop. Pop.
“Oh, for bloody hell’s sake!” Fitz started.
“LANGUAGE!” three voices shouted at once.
The kitchen was still a disaster. Nathan was loading the dishwasher at superhuman speed while Fitz wiped down counters, both of them moving like they were competing in some kind of extreme cleaning sport. The dishwasher started with a loudWHOOSHthat made everyone freeze for a second.
“Is that supposed to be that loud?” Hayden asked.
“I don’t know. I’ve never used a dishwasher that costs more than my car!” Nathan shot back.
Thirty-one minutes.
“Cate!” Fitz spotted me, nearly tripping over a bin of toys. “Where do these go?” He was holding up three different types of flour—all-purpose, bread flour, and what looked like almond flour.
“Pantry, top shelf, doesn’t matter which order...”
KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.
Everyone froze.
The knock came again. Firm. Official. The kind of knock that said, “I’m from the government, and I’m here to evaluate your entire life and find you wanting.”
“No,” I whispered. “No, no, no, they’re early. They’re not supposed to be here for another thirty-one minutes. That’s not—that’s not how appointments work. You don’t just show up early to a home evaluation. There are RULES. There’s supposed to be TIME!”
This is it.
This is how it ends. Not with a bang but with a premature knock and a house full of broken china and medical professionals holding flour.
“Cate.” Gabriel’s hand landed on my shoulder, warm and steady. “Breathe.”
“I can’t breathe. Breathing is not an option right now. Breathing is for people whose houses are clean and whose social workers show up on time and who don’t have four grown men hiding in their kitchen with armfuls of baking supplies...”
KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.
Louder this time. More insistent.
She knows.
She knows we’re in here, panicking.
She can probably hear us panicking.
“Okay.” Gabriel’s voice was calm. Controlled. The surgeon voice that he used when someone was bleeding out on his table. “Here’s what we’re going to do. You and I are going to answer the door. We’re going to step outside and talk to them. Give everyone time to finish.”
“Outside?” My voice came out strangled. “We’re going to talk to Child Services outside? Like we’re hiding something? Like we have something to hide? Which we do. We’re hiding a DISASTER ZONE and four medical professionals and approximately seventeen pounds of flour—”
“Cate.” He turned me to face him, his hands on my shoulders. “We’re going to step outside because it’s a nice day and we’re friendly people who enjoy fresh air. That’s all. Can you do that?”
I nodded, even though I absolutely could not do that.
