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“Sure, if you’re quick. I’ll get with Emberleigh and George just to confirm, but I should know by the end of dinner. Does that work?”
Exton nods and continues rubbing Willa’s back.
“I don’t know if the place has been cleaned. Frankly, I left all of that to the two of them.”
“I don’t need much. And I expect it to be a quick trip. We’re weeks out, not days.” He splays a palm on Willa’s belly. “But I’m not going to risk it.”
She looks into his face, and her love for him is practically palpable. “And this one might fuss, but I’m going to ask another favor. Can she stay with you while I’m gone?”
“What?” Willa turns fully to face him. “I’m pregnant, not a child.”
“Would you prefer the ranch?”
Willa scrunches her nose. “The smells are so potent right now. I love it there. You know that. It’s a second home to me. But the smell of warm poop…” She covers her mouth and runs for the powder room.
Layton seems to be watching the movie of his brother and sister-in-law and be caught in the middle. He pops another cucumber in his mouth. “She’s not wrong about the smell.”
“I’m sorry. And thank you. She’ll balk, but I just need her to be safe. And for our baby to be safe. And for me to know someone has an eye on her while I’m gone.”
“Exton, she’s always welcome here. Your whole family is. And if it’ll make you feel better, and she agrees”—I look pointedly at him—“then absolutely.”
Layton grabs his phone and taps his thumbs across the surface. Exton does the same, sliding his back into his pocket just as Willa returns to the room.
“I didn’t puke. But it was touch and go for a while. And there was no reason to be in there and not pee.” She stares at her belly like she’s arguing with her unborn baby. “Now what can I do?” That question is for me.
The four of us enjoy dinner and chat about everything under the sun. Willa asks about my home and how I feel about missing the beach. I tell her about my flamingo pink bungalow with its picket fence and small yard, but that I had a view of the water.
“What are you going to do with it?”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Are you going to sell it? Rent it out?”
“I haven’t thought of anything actually. I don’t want to sell it, and I really don’t want to be a landlord. At some point, I’ll figure out my job situation, and the house will be an easier decision at that point.”
Layton seems surprised by the comment. “You have a job. And a home.”
“I’m planning on working my way out of the job, thank you very much. If I’m needed too long, I’m not worth my salt as a therapist. The point is to put myself out of work.”
“You don’t have to work.”
“Now who sounds like Braxton?”
Willa’s eyes bug out, and she makes a face that I read asOh, no, you didn’t.
“I’m just saying,” Layton retorts.
I squeeze his knee under the table. “Can we put this argument on the back burner until a time when it matters? We have goals, first and foremost, of getting you back into fighting shape. Arguing over what comes later is a pointless exercise.”
His frown is visible, and he pushes food around on his plate as if that convinces me he’s eating.
“Combat boots,” I whisper.
“Combat boots,” he replies while Exton and Willa try to decipher our code.
Layton twirls a bite of pasta and spears an artichoke. We may be getting somewhere.
I clear the plates and load the dishwasher, noticing Willa’s hands on her hips juxtaposed against Exton’s calm demeanor attempting to soothe her.
