As much as I already love the boys—because I do—it’s wonderful to have time alone with just Josephine again, like old times. It seems she’s of the same mind, energized to have my sole attention as we set up the Bluetooth speaker in her room to play her favorite pop star’s newest album. We sing loudly as we dig through her boxes, set up her shelves, and organize her art supplies on her new desk. Yeah, I don’t feel the least bit guilty about Autumn.
We’ve just finished lining up Josephine’s army of Squishmallows on the corner of her bed when the doorbell rings, my phone chiming from my doorbell camera with the notification that someone is at my door. “Dinner’s here!” I call out as I carry the pizza boxes that were just delivered. I set them on the eat-in kitchen table with a padded bench seat built into the back wall. Josephine grabs a stack of paper plates and napkins to set the table while I prepare a bottle for Benjamin.
“Finally. I’m starved,” Autumn says, turning the corner with Benjamin on her hip and holding Sebastian’s hand. Both boys are wearing fresh pajamas, Sebastian’s wispy strands damp and combed neatly to the side. He’s even smiling…until hesees me and wraps his arms around Autumn’s right leg, her feet bare.
I’m absolutely struck dumb, frozen just after lifting a slice of pizza from the box. The cheese and tomato sauce slide off the crust and land on the table with a splat.
Autumn’s top lip curls. “Stop looking at me like that.”
I swallow. “Like what?”
“Like you want to put a baby in me.”
“Jesus Christ, Autumn.” This infuriating woman has a filthy mouth and balls bigger than mine. “Who says things like that?” Immediately, I cut my gaze to Josephine, who, thank all that’s holy, isn’t paying us any mind. “And I’m not looking at you like…not like that.”
“Yes, you are,” she says with a huff, helping Sebastian onto the bench. “It’s the same look my brothers-in-law give my sisters. So stop it.”
I drop the sad pizza slice on a plate and snag a napkin to clean the table. “You’re being ridiculous. And crude. And completely?—”
“Right on the money?”
“No! And you can’t say stuff like that, especially in front of the kids,” I tell her, flicking wide eyes back to Josephine.
Autumn doesn’t catch my look of panic as she plates a slice for Sebastian and helps tuck a napkin into his collar.
“Seriously,” I say when she still hasn’t responded.
After grabbing Benjamin’s bottle, she takes the chair at one end of the table so she’s close to Sebastian, propping Benjamin on her lap.
“You’re not even my type,” I blurt while cutting Sebastian’s pizza into smaller pieces, and I’m immediately mortified.
We’d passed each other a few times in the hallway, but it’s not until now, I realize, that Autumn finally nails me with direct eye contact, making me shiver. She stretches her legs out onto the chair beside me, opposite the bench, and crosses herdelicate ankles. My mouth turns dry when her toes wiggle in my periphery.Why can’t I stop looking at her feet?
A cat-like smile slides onto her face. “Whatever you say, BigDawg.”
“Type of what?” Josephine asks, having seated herself next to Sebastian.
Her voice snaps me out of my stupor. “Huh?”
“You said Autumn is not your type.” Through a mouthful of pepperoni pizza, she asks, “Type of what?”
Chapter Five
Autumn
It’s positively hilarious watching Forest squirm to answer Josephine’s question. I am, of course, absolutely no help as I start shaking my top foot back and forth, the dangling gems of my ankle bracelet clinking together. He’s just too easy to mess with, tugging at the collar of his—clean—white T-shirt, dressed down in nice denim jeans. Bailey would be proud of me if she were here and could see how much I fluster Forest. My dress is her creation—one of the dozens she’s designed and sewn for me with expert precision. Dad had tutted the whole way here when I wouldn’t change into something more casual. Mom had just shaken her head.
As for the pie, I hadn’t actually intended to make one, but surprisingly, Mom encouraged me—after I promised I wasn’t trying to jump into Forest’s bed. Definitely not. As a Special Events Manager at a fancy hotel nearby, Mom is an expert at making people feel welcome, especially neighbors, since she regularly hosts parties at our home for the whole community. She doesn’t expect anything less from her children.
Good thing she isn’t here, or she’d be disappointed in me.
Oh, Forest, Forest, Forest.Though he told me I’m “not his type,” he’s visibly struggling to ignore me throughout dinner, practically sweating as I shift my feet, crossing and uncrossing my ankles as I dig into my pizza.
He clears his throat, turning slightly to give me his back. In an effort to redirect Josephine’s focus, he says, “Why don’t you show Autumn the painting you’re working on?”
Josephine’s eyes light up, and she scoots from the bench, skipping down the hall. She’s shy when she returns, holding a canvas almost as large as she is, clutching it against her chest.
“Go on, show her,” Forest says.
