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We hug, and after we break apart, I see Lincoln rolling his eyes. “I’m too sober for this.”
We laugh at him and make our way over to a table where Nate, Sierra, Roman, and Kiara are sitting.
“Give me that baby,” Sheila says, grabbing the tiny pink bundle from Kiara’s arms. The six-month-old is sleeping as she cradles the infant, kissing her on the forehead. I peep at her tiny face, her long eyelashes causing a shadow on her chubby cheek against the pub lighting.
“It’s Karissa, right?” I ask, embarrassed because I’d only met the baby once since she was born.
Kiara smiles. “Yep.”
“She’s as pretty as a picture,” I say, rubbing her little cheek with my finger.
“Thanks,” Kiara beams.
I glance at Roman.
“Don’t look at me,” he says. “I hardly had anything to do with it. That child is a spitting image of her mama.”
“You shouldn’t spit,” Rhett says.
I look down at him, and he’s so cute in his little suit and tie. “That’s right, buckaroo. Spittin’s gross.”
“Hey, lady. Where’s your sling?” he asks me.
“Oh, I got rid’a that old thing months ago. And call me Auntie Quinn, silly goose.” I shake my head at him. “How’s your arm, anyway?” I ask, regarding the sling he had to wear last year when he broke his elbow.
“Good as new,” he said. “I’m in kindergarten.”
“Is that right?” I ask. “Are you learnin’ anything?”
“Yep, I can write all my ABCs and my own name.”
“How are you liking being a big brother?” I ask.
He wrinkles his nose as he fiddles with the straw in his drink. “She stinks. I told Mom to take her back to the hospital where she got her from, but she won’t.” He shrugs. “So we’re stuck with her.”
I hear a chuckle behind me and see Lincoln standing there. He looks at Roman. “Is that kid ever not a smartass?”
He shakes his head. “Nope.”
Rhett holds out his hand to Linc. “You owe me a quarter for saying the A word.”
Lincoln’s eyebrows hit his hairline. “You literally said the F word at our company picnic.”
“Yep. That cost me a quarter, too. Pay up, buddy.”
“I carry no cash. Sorry, bud.” He ruffles his hair while Rhett scowls at him.
I laugh at look at Sierra, who looks tired, but happy. She holds a tiny bundle in her arms. I crouch down. “Can I see him?”
The baby was born literally hours after we got back from the Bahamas three weeks ago. We were too tired to go to the hospital, so this is the first I’m seeing him.
She pulls the blanket away from his face. “Nathan Archer Silverstone, The Third, meet your Aunt Quinn,” she says.
The baby’s big blue eyes are wide open and looking around.
“Well, hello, little buckaroo. I’m gonna be your favorite auntie. I promise.”
He just stares at me, then his eyes look like they’re growing tired and he closes them.
