“His dress.” I step out and brush her cheek with a kiss before dotting a dozen on Roman’s face, only stopping when he’s giggling like a lunatic. “Hug me after I drop it. It weighs a ton.”
Well, the dress doesn’t. But the jewels definitely do.
“I meant less the box and more the dog.”
Rushing into the apartment, I see Brennan’s in the living room, which comes as a surprise because I know how busy he is.
“What are you doing here, Mr. Grumpy?” Tossing the box onto the couch, I amble over to his side, Yipper in tow.
When I plunk my ass next to him, he heaves a put-upon sigh, liftshis arm, and gives me a hug. “Funny how you can find me on my couch in my living room in my apartment when I live here.” He stares at Yipper. “I hate dogs.”
As Camille plops Roman on Brennan’s lap, Yipper decides to join him, breaking out of my purse just so she can do zoomies around a still-giggling Roman.
It’s hilarious how Brennan is a grump par excellence and his kid is the happiest toddler in the tristate area.
Chuckling, Camille drops onto his other side. This time, no sigh is required. He lifts his arm, she snuggles into him, and he hauls her closer than close, encompassing his family within his embrace, all while staring at Yipper as if I invited an alien into his apartment.
Honestly, it’s too freakin’ cute. I love this for Camille.
“Oh, before I forget, Aoife heard you were coming and made up a bunch of food for you to take back to Poughkeepsie.”
“Brownies?” I give her the puppy eyes.
“Brownies!” Roman crows.
“Yes. Until Romey and I ate them.”
“BRENNAN! You didn’t.”
His lips curve as Roman squeals. “She only gives so many out for free.”
I gesture at his living room. In his penthouse. In Manhattan. “Because you’re suffering in this economic downturn.”
“He’s messing.” Camille urges Roman to stop playing with my pup’s ears. “They’re attached, baby.”Whoa. Mini-Maxim alert.“There are two pans in the refrigerator.”
“Aoife is the literal best.”
“I think we should be offended,” Brennan drawls in the tone that’s about as close to teasing as he’s capable of.
“She put some meals in the freezer too.”
I clap my hands together. “Shay and I aresolucky.”
“At least you know that. Brat.”
Ha—something else Brennan and Maxim agree on.
When I blow Brennan a raspberry that Roman immediately emulates, Camille glances between my box and my dog. “So, sister mine, what mischief are you making?”
“Moi?! I’m making no mischief.”
“Lies,” Brennan argues. “What’s going on? Camille said you were coming to get changed or something? There was no mention of a dog. I’d have made sure to be out.”
“Awww, B. Did you miss meeeeee?” I drop a kiss onto his cheek and smirk when he glowers. “You did!”
Camille’s laugh is like a tinkling waterfall. No shit. She’s all grace and beauty and demureness—until she bites off someone’s dick, that is.
No wonder Brennan treats her like she’s cut glass—she could cut glass! With her teeth!
