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Mitch shifted his stance. “Nothing bang-able here.”
“And absolutely no glitter either,” Raz added, then cringed.
Jesus, these men.
The trio of children shared a look, then turned their appraising gazes her way and frowned.
What had she done to deserve that reception?
At least she hadn’t been binging on porn two seconds before they arrived like their male caregivers.
“Harper,” Sebastian said with a stern bend to his crisp British accent.
She straightened her posture. “Yes?” she answered warily.
“We heard you talking to your plant when you got here,” Phoebe said with a heavy dose of side-eye.
Oscar nodded. “You said a bunch of bad words.”
“Yep, you said theB-word, H,” Phoebe added, shaking her head. “That’s a bad choice.”
It was the least bad choice she’d made in the last week, but she’d keep that nugget to herself.
She cleared her throat. “I don’t think I said it twice.”
“You called yourself a badass bitch,” Phoebe belted.
“We heard it twice when we were leaving the donkeys’ barn,” Sebastian added.
“And you could have tapped them out,” Phoebe continued, followed by a disapproving huff.
These three were a force to be reckoned with.
“Shit,” she uttered, then gasped and surveyed her friends, who looked ready to laugh their badass bitch asses off, but they held it together.
“There’s another one you should have tapped out,” Oscar chided, shaking his head.
“Well,” she began, then remembered the erasers. She plastered a grin on her face. It was time to turn the tables on the pint-sized language police. “I have presents for you guys.”
At theP-word, the curse word brigade halted their interrogation.
“What did you bring us?” Sebastian trilled.
She knelt but kept the erasers hidden in her hand. “Are you sure you want your present now?” she asked and jiggled her fist to heighten the anticipation.
“Yes, now, please,” the kids hooted.
She glanced up to find Landon watching her again. With a neutral expression, he was probably calculating the date when he could divorce her cursing badass ass.
She returned her attention to the vibrating seven-year-olds and slowly opened her hand.
“Erasers!” Phoebe hollered, shooting off another round of fake bullets.
Ah, the power of cool school supplies.
“Here’s a hot dog eraser for you, Miss Phoebe, a camera eraser for Oscar, our photographer, and a little donkey for our burro racer, Sebastian.”
Phoebe and Oscar investigated their tiny treasure, but Sebastian frowned at his.
