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He’s handling drag brunch a lot better than I expected. Not that I thought he’d be weird about it. Not only does he have two dads, but Sumner isn’t weird about much of anything.

But he also hates being the center of attention, and The Tipsy Mermaid has never met a man trying to quietly eat brunch that it didn’t want to publicly humiliate.

So far, he’s gotten off easy.

Trace has spent the last few minutes trying not to catch Cherry’s attention. Colston, meanwhile, is up onstage singing into her microphone and having the time of his life.

Sumner’s somehow made it this far without getting dragged into anything. I catch him inching a little closer to me every time one of the queens works our side of the room, which is hilarious considering I’m not exactly big enough to hide him.

I take another bite of my French toast.

The baby kicks so hard under my ribs that I lose my breath for a second, and I stop chewing, my eyes going wide.

Sumner’s Goldie-is-uncomfortable radar pings as his gaze snaps to my stomach. He shifts closer. “Again? Are you okay?”

“Your child’s going to come out with tree trunk legs, I swear,” I huff, rubbing at my side.

Sumner’s hyper-alert expression melts into a soft, impossibly fond smile, and his hand comes up to stroke across my stomach. It’s sweet, but also I’m uncomfortable as fuck and so ready for this baby to be out.

This is probably one of the last times I’ll agree to sit in a crowded restaurant before this kid gets here. My back hurts, my ankles look like gross balloons, and I had to pee twice before our food even arrived.

Still worth it.

Up on stage, the song finally ends. Colston dips Cherry on the final note, earning a roar from the crowd, before she sends him back toward our table and heads off to harass a bachelorette party on the other side of the room.

Colston drops into his seat, still grinning.

Trace looks at him over his empty Bloody Mary glass. “You done?”

“I sounded pretty good.”

Trace snorts. “Calm down, American Idol.”

“Hey, I nailed that last note.”

“You butchered Lady Gaga in front of a room full of witnesses.” Trace smirks. “Straight-up murder.”

Colston gives him a long look, then reaches for his drink, shaking his head as he takes a sip.

“Asshole.”

Trace laughs and settles back in his seat.

Tatum reaches across the table and steals one of Ellie’s breakfast potatoes while she's distracted laughing at them.

Ellie catches the movement out of the corner of her eye and swats at her hand. “Bitch.”

Tatum just pops the potato into her mouth and shrugs. “You weren’t eating it.”

“I was going to,” Ellie grumbles.

“Well, you waited too long.”

I watch them bicker and lean back against the booth, letting out a quiet breath. This is my happy place. This is what Sunday should be.

Good food, great friends, and all sorts of glittery, neon chaos.

Sumner’s hand slides from my stomach to my thigh beneath the table, his thumb smoothing idly over my skin.