“Oh my God, you guys, stop,” I finally interrupt, half laughing, half crying. “There will be no beating anyone up.”
I drop Fiona’s hand, stand up, and walk over to Brady, who pulls me down into his lap. I wrap my armsaround his neck and kiss him, not caring that Fi is right there. I can’tnotkiss him after everything he just said.
When we part, I look over at Fiona with an arched brow. “Are you done grilling him?”
Her expression tells me everything. Approval is clear on her face. “For now,” she says teasingly.
The baby chooses that moment to kick. Hard. My hand immediately goes to where I felt it, rubbing the area softly. When Brady’s hand covers mine, our gazes meet.
“Think she’s defending my honour or siding with her auntie?” he asks in a lighthearted voice.
“Definitely siding with her auntie,” Fiona replies, but her face has softened into a smile as she watches us. Then she raises one hand. “You’ve earned my conditional approval.”
Brady pumps his fist in the air.
“But,” Fiona continues, pointing a finger at him, “I reserve the right to change my mind if you ever try to mansplain stuff to either one of us, or are anything less than a supportive servant to Sage’s needs in the delivery room. No puking, no freaking out, and no fainting.”
“Noted,” Brady says, giving her a solemn nod. “For what it’s worth, only idiots mansplain because they don’t know shit. And if I can’t handle it in the delivery room, I’ll be sure to be subtle with my fainting and not take any attention away from Sage.”
Fiona’s lips twitch like she’s holding back a smile. “Good answer.”
The rest of Fiona’s visit is a lot less stressful now that the interrogation is over. After she leaves, Brady and Idecide to order in takeout for dinner and enjoy a rare lazy evening together since neither of us has to work.
I’m just coming back from the bathroom when I notice Brady scrolling through his phone, grinning to himself.
“What’s that look for?” I ask, dropping back onto the couch next to him. Without hesitation, he drapes his arm over my shoulder and tucks me into his side. “I was just thinking, since we’re on a roll with meet-the-family day, how would you feel about calling my siblings?”
The wordfamilyhits me, sending ripples of warm, fuzzy feelings through me. Maybe it’s the easy way he acknowledges that Fiona is my family, or the automatic inclusion of me into his. Whatever it is, I like it.
“You mean, right now?” I ask, sitting up from where I’ve slouched against him. But he doesn’t let me get far.
“Yeah, right now. They’ve been bugging me about getting to meet you.”
“Okay, yeah, let’s do it.”
The warm fuzzies have turned into butterflies that start to swarm in my stomach as Brady dials his siblings. Blair answers, the family resemblance uncanny. “Brady! Hey, you have good timing, Barrett just got here.” She leans in close to the phone. “Wait. Oh my God, is that Sage?” Her voice rises to a fever pitch. “Finally! You’re real! I was starting to think my big brother made you up.”
“Told you she was a handful,” Brady murmurs with a laugh.
“Excuse you?” Blair raises an eyebrow, and I muffle a giggle. We hear a door open and close, andBlair looks off-screen. “B, hurry up and get over here. Sage is actually a real human being!”
“What did you think she was, a blow-up doll?” a deadpan voice says. Then a younger version of Brady, wearing glasses and a polo shirt, comes on-screen. “Hello, Sage, nice to meet you. For the record, I always believed you were real.”
“Hi Barrett. Thanks, I think?” I say, feeling Brady shaking with laughter beside me.
The twins and Brady catch up for a few minutes, talking about school, homework, and all that. It’s fascinating to see Brady in his parental role with them. I feel like I’m getting a preview of what he’ll be like with our own kid one day.
“Okay, enough bro-dad,” Blair says, shifting in her seat. “I wanna talk to Sage. Is he driving you bonkers yet with his book obsession? How many does he have on the go? His record was five. And oh man, he gets mad if you make him lose his page. Trust me.”
I lean into Brady’s side, eyeing the stack of pregnancy books he’s working his way through that happen to be sitting on the table in front of us.
“Let’s just say, he might have beat that record.”
“Wow, I feel attacked,” Brady teases, covering his chest with one hand. “Here I thought you liked the fact that I read so much.” He dips his chin, lowering his voice. “Or was it just the glasses you like?”
I blush furiously at his obvious dig about how I basically jumped him yesterday when I came home from a short shift at the hospital, only to find him shirtless onthe couch, wearing those glasses, reading a book calledThe Fourth Trimester.
“I can’t decide if that’s cute or gross,” Blair says dryly.
