Page 29 of Rubber Duckie Shifter Next Door

“Good thinking, Sis,” Lisa scrambles up after her.

“Oh yeah!” Noah lights up. He drops Sig—who can’t get hurt in duckie form—down next to the castle and takes off.

“Wait! Noah, you need to move Sig.”

It’s like the boy doesn’t even hear me.

“Don’t shift, I’ve got this,” I tell Sig, then shout, “Girls, grab the stool and check the peephole.”

“We will,” Lisa yells back. Thank goodness for that.

I push off the couch and waddle toward Sig. “I feel like a duck. And not in a good way.”

And there is a good way. Sig’s proven that in bed and in the tub, over and over again.

And duck sounds much better than whale, which is a much more accurate description of how I feel… and look. I place my hand on my belly. Any day now, little one. Any day now.

“It’s Reaper,” Lisa shouts from the foyer, distracting me. “He’s got food.”

My mouth waters, because Sig’s best friend’s cooking is so good, it puts cruise ship food to shame. And the ships I’ve worked on hired some of the best chefs.

“I’ll be right there,” I call out and stare down at duckie Sig. I’d have to squat down to pick him up, and there’s a good chance I’d lose my balance and end up destroying the kids’ castle in the process. “I’ll just send one of the kids to come grab you.”

Sig doesn’t reply. He can’t, since he’s in duckie form.

“I’ll be quick,” I add as I waddle away. Quick-ish.

The delicious smell of Ada’s baking wafts into the hallway from the kitchen, and my mouth waters as I join Reaper and the kids.

“Hi, Reap,” Noah cries, throwing his arms around the man, who’s struggling to balance two large trays above the boy’s head.

I’d offer to take them, but I’m not sure I’d manage, either.

“Careful, Noah,” Lisa scolds. “Hi, Reaper. We really need your help.”

Anna nods. “Sig’s too big, but you’ll fit.”

Reaper sends me a questioning glance, and I decide to leave him guessing. “Noah, can you please go get Sig?”

“Oh yeah.” The little boy takes off.

“Come on in, Reap.” I give him a quick side-hug so my belly and his food trays don’t clash and gesture at the ottoman. “Why don’t you set those down there? They smell delicious.”

“I’ll be right out, Reaper,” Ada calls from the kitchen just as Noah runs back in, carrying Duckie Sig. “I’m just finishing up in here.”

“No rush, Ada,” he calls back. “I made fried chicken, meatloaf, and mac and cheese.” Reaper sniffs the air. “Whatever you’ve got in the oven smells even better.”

“You mean this baby?” I glance down at my belly innocently.

Reaper bursts out laughing and so do the twins. Ada chuckles from the kitchen, and I imagine Sig’s laughing too—though silently, since rubber ducks can’t laugh.

Noah just looks confused. “It’s apple pie,” he says proudly. “We helped Nana mix the ingredients.”

“You did well, kids,” Ada calls out. “Can you three set the table? It’s almost time for dinner.”

“Coming.” Lisa takes off, shouting, “Last one there has to fix the roof.”

Her siblings run after her.