STELLA
When I get homewith Maisy, I step into a house I barely recognize. Lark Bienvenue is pacing the kitchen floor with a fussing infant over his shoulder and a giggling toddler clasped to his left leg.
“Fastew, Unca Lawk! Fastew!”
“No-can-do, little man. Lola doesn’t like it when I go fast—Oh.” Lark pivots like a peg-legged pirate when he sees me. “Hi.”
Only now do I spot the burp rag draped under the baby. And is that? Yep, that’s spit-up down the back of it. A whitish dribble has missed the cloth and stands out on his brick red T-shirt.
“Oh, wow.” It’s really all I can manage without laughing.
“Mama, who dat boy?” Maisy asks, possibly more taken aback than I am.
“Whoisthat boy,” I annunciate. “And my guess is Mr. Lark’s nephew?”
Lark nods, patting the baby’s diaper as he does. Against the little one’s body, his hand looks huge. And strong. And gentle at the same time.
“This is Grayson,” he says, pointing an elbow down to the boy using his foot as a carousel horse. “Grayson, the little one is Maisy and the big one is Stella.”
“Hey, I’m bigger than him!” Maisy protests, standing to her full forty inches.
I smooth a hand down my dress.The big one?
Grayson hops off Lark’s foot, frowning at Maisy. “How old awe you?”
Maisy folds in her thumb and shows him her hand. “Four. How old are you?”
His cropped head slumps in defeat. “Three.”
Assured of her unquestionable supremacy, Maisy preens. “Wanna play?”
The little boy perks up. “Yeah!” He tilts up his chin to Lark. “Can I Unca Lawk?”
Lark’s eyes go to me first. I give a silent nod. “Okay, but no messes,” he cautions. “And play nice.”
“C’mon.” Maisy races to the swinging door, and Grayson wastes no time chasing after her.
“Grayson?” Lark calls in a voice that even has me coming to attention.
The little boy screeches to a halt before hitting the door. “Yeah?”
Lark holds up two fingers. “What two things did I say?”
Grayson’s eyes are wide. He stares at his uncle. Behind him, we all hear Maisy stage whisper, “No messes and play nice.”
With no shame at all, Grayson parrots, “No messes...” And then the door is swinging closed behind him.
I look back at Lark and find him shaking his head. “That little turd.”
I beam. I can’t help it. Wearing a newborn on his shoulder and that frazzled expression, Lark is ten kinds of cute.
“I’m apologizing in advance. Grayson is shit at sharing.”
I blow out a laugh. “And you think Maisy knows how to share? She’s an only child. She gets her card pulled at school for fighting over toys at least once a week.”
Lark’s mouth quirks. “Well, this’ll be interesting. Who’ll be the winner? My money’s on Maisy.”
“Damn right,” I say, making him laugh.
