“We brought all their supplies.” I set up the playpen near the window. “Plus extra bowls, a few favorite toys, and enough wipes to serve a small biohazard event.”
“And, of course, lots of food,” Cami says, unloading a bag. “They’re on a mix of formula and canned food. Half and half. It’s all labeled.”
“Don’t forget their probiotics,” I add. “Only a pinch sprinkled in.”
“Ooh, fancy,” Margo calls from the kitchen. “Shall we mix it with sparkling water and call it a spa day?”
Elena breezes in with a notebook and pen like she’s about to take minutes. “Did they eat?”
“Yeah, about fifteen minutes ago, like little monsters,” Cami says with a giggle.
Millie kneels beside the playpen, gently guiding the kittens in. “Our babies are gonna be spoiled rotten. You may never get them back.”
“That’s what we’re afraid of,” I mutter, only half joking.
Margo walks in from the kitchen and hands Cami a small tote bag. “Road snacks. Trail mix, cucumber sandwiches, candy, electrolyte packets for you, honey.” She winks. “And a road-trip card game calledWould You Rather: Couple’s Edition. In case things gettooquiet.”
As if things between us have ever been quiet.
“Thank you,” Cami says, her smile flickering into something fragile. “This is really sweet.”
“Yes, thank you all. For everything.” I clear my throat. “We’ll only be gone a few days.”
“Oh, take your time,” Millie says, rising to her feet with a hand on her lower back. “Tell your grandparents we’re thinking of them. And let your grandma knowIstill make the best appleberry pancakes.”
I bite back a laugh, remembering Millie and Grandma having a years-long appleberry-pancake rivalry, and how, when I spent summers here as a teen, I always wound up being the judge. “Will do.”
“We’re all praying.” She squeezes my hand. “Your grandpa will be fine.”
Cami hugs the Triplets, then crouches to press a kiss to the top of each kitten’s head as they paw toward her.
I follow, giving Stripe a scratch behind the ears and Shadow a chin rub. Leaving them, even with the Trouble Triplets, feels like handing over tiny pieces of us.
“Be good,” I coo in a way I never imagined. “And don’t let Auntie Margo teach you how to play poker.”
“Too late.” Margo winks.
“Safe travels, and don’t forget to text when you get there!” Millie says, hands on hips.
We step into the hush of morning, Crystal Cove’s sky beginning to blush. Cami’s fingers find mine, and the world sharpens into focus again.
“You okay?” she asks as we head toward the car.
“Yeah.” I give her hand a squeeze. “Better now.”
Highway 91 stretches in front of us, the sun cresting through puffy clouds. A nineties playlist slips to the periphery as thoughts of Grandpa’s fall sink heavy in my chest. He’s seventy-nine, and even the word hip feels different at that age.
One last glimpse of the coastline flashes in my rearview—glittering water and lazy gulls—before it fades into scrubby pines and the rhythm of green signs.
Cami’s quiet beside me, her thumb tracing the seam of her jeans. Her reflection in the window catches the light, thoughtful and a little far away.
Glancing down, I thread my fingers through hers, lifting her hand to my lips for a kiss that lingers just long enough to say what I don’t.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
A smile lines her face as her gaze flicks to mine, searching, like she’s deciding whether to let me in. “You know…if I hadn’t panicked about those attic squeaks, I might not be here right now.”
My pulse catches. Is she teasing or testing me?
