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Wren wasn’t kidding when she said she was excited by this idea. My basic little sketches feel silly beside the actual damn blueprints the woman has laid out on a table in the middle of what will be a fully functioning crèche in two weeks.
“You really think they can do all that so quickly?” I ask her, casting my eye over the designs. “Like, with contractors and everything?”
She wants to put in a small washroom with a child-sized toilet, sink, and baby change area. They will have to get builders, carpenters, and plumbers. The works.
“Oh yeah, two weeks will be all it takes,” she assures me, sounding confident. “Trust me. Aric will throw whatever money we want at this. He wants Lena happy, and the best way to make Lena happy is for her to be able to come back to her first baby – the clubhouse café.”
“It seems a lot of work for two babies.”
There is a telling silence, and I glance at Wren, chewing on her lower lip, and looking everywhere but at me. My eyes narrow on her. I think my cushy job got a little bit harder.
“Well, when I mentioned it to Lena, she may have mentioned it to a few other people.”
“How many is a few?”
I’m right to be suspicious.
“Well, Hope has her two boys. Lena has Ethan and Lillian, and I have Arianna. Nan has little Jack, and Kayley’s about to pop any day now, so she’ll eventually want to bring her kid here….”
My mind is racing. Six. Soon to be seven. Hope’s oldest is almost five, so he will be going to school soon. So, six. Six kids. I’m going to need help.
“You wouldn’t have them all here at the same time… I’m sure,” Wren offers.
Smirking, I roll my eyes at her. “I’ll manage. I’ll keep an eye out for an assistant.”
Wren grins, looking relieved. I suppose she thought it wouldn’t be fair to have me only looking after Lena’s two kids and Arianna. Special treatment and all that. Still, six kids. I’ll keep my ear to the ground. Hopefully, I’ll find an assistant soon. Otherwise, I am going to be run off my feet.
My head is still spinning, trying to wrap itself around the idea of looking after six kids when Merch comes to collect me. He looks over the blueprints, making one or two suggestions to Wren before dropping his arm around my shoulder and steering me out of the clubhouse.
The bar is starting to fill up with the guys from the auto garage, which has just closed, but we don’t stop there. We don’t bother getting on Merch’s motorbike either. He keeps walking out of the compound and down the road.
“Where are we going?” I ask, looking around at the industrial warehouses.
I’ve driven through here many times, but I’ve never walked, and I’ve never paid much attention.
“You’ll see,” he replies absently, still steering me along. Okay. That’s cryptic.
A busy strip mall comes into view, and I blink in surprise. It’s a tattoo parlor. I wouldn’t have thought they would be busy in the middle of an industrial area, but they and the gas station and convenience store are heaving with people.
The sign outside the tattoo parlor saysHawks Ink, so I guess they’re associated with the club. That would explain the four gleaming motorcycles parked out the front.
Inside, a cute strawberry blonde is chatting with some of the waiting customers, and five tattoo artists are all bent over people on benches. A heavily pregnant woman shows a guy into a private room through the space. One of the tattoo artists lifts his head, shooting her a glare as she grins, blowing him a kiss.
He sets his tattoo gun down, smearing ointment over the calf tattoo he has finished, wrapping it in plastic wrap. The guy gets up, gingerly walking over to the counter.
Before anyone waiting can stand, Merch steers me through the room, his hands on my shoulders, pressing me down until I’m sitting on the black leather bench.
The tattoo artist looks up, a lotus flower blooming out of his Hawks Ink T-shirt up his neck, and smirks at us.
“Merch. I heard a rumor you might be in here soon.”
I have no idea what that means, but Merch smirks down at him, a growl of satisfaction rumbling out of him.
“A little birdy, huh?” Merch asks. The guy grins, shrugging and picking up a sketch pad.
“Not so little. She’s ready to pop any day now.”
Oh, the pregnant woman. I realize that she must be Kayley, who Nan mentioned was due soon.
