Hux says it with a smile, because somehow, he always seems to have his lips curving in the right direction. If my brother is anything, he’s happy-go-lucky. Which does beg the question why he married such a sourpuss like Mackenzie. I guess opposites really do attract. And it’s worth mentioning, he’s the world’s best uncle to Ella.
“Huxley.” Mackenzie snaps the word out and her voice could freeze the Atlantic.
“What? They are.” He adjusts Mack, who’s gone full noodle in his arms. My sweet nephew is wearing tiny red shorts and a blue shirt with a star on it, and he’s about three seconds from being completely unconscious.
Same, little Mack. Same.
Hux laughs. “Remember sophomore year when that girl—what was her name? Brittany?—posted that video of you falling off the mechanical bull? And tagged every fraternity on campus?” He pauses. “You weren’t wearing any clothes.”
Mom moans. “Oh honey. Please tell me someone got that footage so I can delete it.”
Mom is still figuring out how the internet works.
“That was ancient history,” Mackenzie grits through her teeth.
Hux tips his head. “Or junior year when they left you at that bar in Boston becauseyou wouldn’t split the tab for bottles you didn’t drink?” My brother is still smiling, but his eyes have gone sharp. “Or last year when they forgot to invite you to that Hamptons weekend?”
Mackenzie’s jaw clenches.
I’ll admit, a part of me might be enjoying this a touch too much.
Time to redirect,Mom thinks, clearly sensing this is about to get ugly.Let’s talk about something nice.
“So!” Mom says brightly, turning to Mackenzie and Huxley. “Are you two all set for your trip to Santorini next month? That business development conference sounds wonderful.”
Mackenzie’s expression shifts immediately, tension melting into excitement. “Yes! Two weeks. We leave right after the August town council meeting.”
“Business development,” Huxley says with a grin. “Also known as sitting by the pool with fancy cocktails.”
“Networking is important,” Mackenzie defends.
I’m watching this exchange and trying to do the math in my head. Santorini for two weeks isn’t cheap. And Mackenzie and Huxley have that obscene mortgage on their waterfront house—the one with the gourmet kitchen and the media room and the backyard that looks like it belongs inArchitectural Digest.
Huxley’s been working part-time ever since Mack was born because he didn’t want his son raised by nannies, which I respect, but still. His part-time legal eagle income amounts to next to nothing, plus a small-town mayor’s salary?
I was sure they’d be eating rice and beans for the next thirty years.
How in the world are they affording this?Mom thinks,clearly doing the same mental gymnastics I am.
Good question, Mom. Very good question.
“Anyway.” Huxley kisses her temple, completely unbothered by the death glare she’s giving him. “I’m taking this little guy home before he wakes up and demands to swim in the ocean at midnight. I’m leaving Cane here, though. He and Candy are having a moment.”
As if on cue, both white Samoyeds—Candy and Cane—come barreling past in a blur of fur and what can only be described as aggressive flirtation. It’s true. My sister and my brother’s respective cute fluffy pooches sort of have a thing for each other. And that’s when my sweet fur-babies, Fish and Sherlock, tear after them, followed by Emmie’s golden retriever, Gatsby, and her labradoodle, Cinnamon.
Then out of the blue, a Jack Russell terrier I’ve never seen before rockets through the group like he’s got somewhere very important to be.
Move, move, MOVE! That kid dropped a hot dog and I SAW IT FIRST!The perky terrier’s thoughts blast through my brain at maximum volume before he disappears into the crowd.
“What a cutie,” I say. “Whose dog is that?”
“Probably one of the guests,” Mom says. “He’s a sweet little thing. He was begging for a cookie earlier so I had to share mine. I’m a sucker for big brown eyes.”
“Join the club,” Georgie grunts. “I’m a sucker for big brown eyes, and big blue eyes, and big green eyes, and whatever other color big might come in.”
Mom nods. “And you’ve got a bottlecap collection in your bedroom to prove it.”
It’s true. Some people put a notch on their bedpost, Georgie prefers bottlecaps. And let’s just say her collection isbig. At this rate, Georgie is going to need a storage unit for that bottlecap collection.
