Page 130 of Spies Don’t Fall for Their Best Friend

His hand drops. “Nothing.”

“Miles. You’ve done that several times since we’ve been here. I saw you doing it several times last night, too.”

“My back is just bothering me a bit. It’s no big deal.”

“Did you get injured during a mission?”

“Nope. Not doing training, either.”

“From some made-up game with your brothers? Foot volley, perhaps?”

“No—I didn’t do anything to it. My back never hurts there. It just feels wrong.”

Wrong? What does that mean? I’m studying him, trying to figure him out, when he says, “I’m sure it’s nothing. Sometimes backs just hurt. Then they get over it.”

He looks fine. Maybe a little tired, but fine. Adelaide begins wriggling, so Miles sets her down, and she toddles toward her mother.

Miles puts his hand to his back again, and I eye him suspiciously. “That doesn’t seem like nothing.”

He drops his hand. “Better?”

“No. Now you’re just hiding evidence.”

Before he can respond, Charlie calls everyone toward the far side of the lawn for the next game.

Miles leans close enough that his shoulder brushes mine. “Saved by baby-related competition.”

“You underestimate how persistent I am.”

“I would never,” he says, then kisses my temple before putting his hand in mine and walking with me to Charlie.

If anyone is ever looking for a way to bring out the competitiveness of a Lancaster, creating a baby-carrier obstacle course is definitely a way to do it. There is a course set up across a section of the lawn using cones, folding chairs, hula hoops, balls, and pool noodles used in rather creative ways.

When it’s each person’s turn, they have to strap a baby doll to them in a carrier, and then go through the course without the baby falling, before placing the baby in a portable crib at the end.

Somewhere between when Jace starts us off with a time no one has managed to beat yet and Emerson nearly dumping his doll right out of the carrier when he ducks beneath a pool noodle, I notice Miles has been shifting his weight.

For a long while, Jace’s time remains the fastest. Then Mackenzie’s sister Mari—the one with the two boys—comes in with the fastest time. If I had to put money on it, I’d bet that this obstacle course is going to remain up after the party is over, and Miles and his brothers will run the course as many times as it takes to beat Mari’s time.

The kids start running their own version of the course while carrying foam blocks. One of Mackenzie’s nephews does a somersault over a pool noodle. I’m no spy expert, but I’m pretty sure it could qualify as a tactical roll.

Miles shifts the way he’s standing again and presses the heel of his hand into his right lower back.

I go over to him. “Is it getting worse?” He nods, so I say, “You should sit.”

“I was—I just can’t get comfortable.”

Miles isn’t one to complain about discomfort. He barely even acknowledges actual injuries. If he can’t find a position that doesn’t hurt, that worries me. But Charlie announces the next game, and everyone is called to tables where piles of baby dolls, diapers, tiny clothes, and socks are waiting.

“Come on,” Miles says. “We’ve got baby things to do.”

“The rules are simple,” Charlie says. “Everyone, choose a partner. One person can use only their right hand, and the other can use only their left. Keep your other hand in your pocket or behind your back. Then together, you have to remove the diaper that’s currently on your doll, replace it, then dress the doll in a onesie, pants, and socks. Fastest team wins.”

Miles and I team up, of course, and he says he’ll be the left hand.

I eye him. “Are you choosing the left hand because you know mine has the fine motor skills of a preschooler wearing mittens? Or because you want your right hand free for putting on your back when the pain gets too bad?”

“My back is only mildly uncomfortable. But your left hand is a threat to mission success.”