Page 243 of Twins for Three Bad Boys

He stays for a minute or two after that, just enough to help us reorganize the display now that half of it is gone, just enough to put his hand on my back when I stand again, just enough that I can breathe him in and feel the solid comfort of him in the middle of all this bright noise and motion.

Then he kisses my temple lightly and heads off again, probably to check on the others or make sure nobody in town decides to inconvenience me within his line of sight.

Millie watches him go, then sighs theatrically. “I’d like one order of emotionally repressed silver fox with surprise domestic competence, please.”

I laugh so hard I have to grab the edge of the table. “Get your own,” I shoot back when I can talk again.

“I’m jealous is all,” she admits with a grin.

“I knew it.”

The afternoon blurs a little after that in the best kind of way.

People come and go. We sell more toys. A couple with a little boy buys one of the larger sensory boards after I show him how the wooden leaf wheels turn and click. An exhausted-looking mother of young twins—apparently, the universe thinks visiting twins on someone is hilarious—picks up two matching teething rings and tells me they’re the first beautiful baby things she’s seen that day that don’t look like they belong in a beige cult.

Millie nearly cries with joy.

At some point, the town photographer wanders by and snaps a picture of the stall because, he says, “It’s too charming to ignore.” Being in the paper for all to see when I look like a beached whale makes me feel like maybe I should duck under the table and hide, but Millie instantly strikes a pose with a fox toy in one hand and drags me into the frame before I can object.

I’m still laughing about it when the first real pain hits.

It catches low across my stomach and wraps around my back hard enough that I stop mid-sentence.

Millie notices instantly. “What?”

I press a hand to the table and breathe through it.

“Nothing,” I say automatically.

She makes a face. “That was not a nothing face either.”

The pain eases.

I straighten slowly, waiting.

The twins shift again, but this feels… different.

Maybe.

Or maybe I’m just tired.

“How long?” Millie asks, eyes narrowed on me.

“What?”

“That thing your face just did.”

I laugh softly, trying to shake it off. “I’m okay. I think one of them just found a new organ to attack.”

“That seems medically rude.”

“Oh, they are. Very.”

She keeps watching me for another second, but them some customers step up, a tourist couple, definitely out-of-towners by the looks, all hiking boots and expensive sunglasses, and the moment moves on.

I help them choose a painted stacking set and a pair of sensory keyrings. Millie wraps everything in tissue paper like she’s preparing them for a royal audience.

The market hums around us.