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Maximoff and Farrow. I recognize their new car, and soon enough, my best friend is unloading his brood. Arkham hops out first, but the brown Newfie waits dutifully for an almost two-year-old boy. Farrow lifts Ripley out of his car seat, and once the little boy is on the ground, he hangs onto Farrow’s pant leg, looking tentatively over at me and Luna.
“Sometimes I think he’s scared of me,” Luna says to me under her breath. She hasn’t been around Ripley too much recently. “Like he knows I’m not all the same.”
“Nah, he’s timid around everyone at times. Except for his dads.”
Maximoff hasn’t left the car for some reason. Not even as Farrow comes over with their daughter in a carrier, and Ripley walks off-kilter with tiny baby steps beside them, picking up speed when he sees Orion.
“Loonie’s Doggie!”
Orion bounds for the baby, and I grab air instead of the leash. The dog barrels into Ripley, a full-on suplex, and the boy goes down in the grass.
“Shit,” I curse.
“Orion, no!” Luna yells.
We all spring forward.
Farrow is at his son in seconds, carrier set down. He helps Ripley to his feet, speaking quietly with his son, who nods in reply. Farrow’s head swings to the car like he knows Maximoff would be freaked seeing their kid take that impact.
Sure enough, the car door is cracked open. Maximoff is halfway out, about to come rushing to the rescue—literally one sole on the driveway. But a phone is to his ear.
“He’s fine, wolf scout!” Farrow calls out.
“All good, Papa,” Ripley says, brushing imaginary dirt off his kneecaps (he fell on his back), then looks to Orion with these toughened blue eyes and hugs onto the puppy’s black fur in an embrace. Arkham greets his littermate with a wagging tail.
I’m smiling. Farrow would be smiling too if his concern wasn’t beelined to his husband. “We’re good!” Farrow calls out to Maximoff, who finally relents and returns fully to the car.
He must be on an important call, I realize. Through the windshield, I spot distress in his eyes.
Farrow’s gaze finds mine, and he just shakes his head likedon’t bring it up.
I won’t.
“Looks like your kid wants to be a pro-wrestler,” I tell him instead.
Farrow’s smile stretches while chewing gum. “And just yesterday he cried over a goldfish cracker.”
Luna chimes in, “Goldfish crackers are kinda sad. They’re dried up like they’ve washed ashore and crusted in the sun.”
His smile grows fonder on her. “Hey, Luna.”
She waves in a rainbow pattern, then eyes the newborn. “Can I hold her?”
“You don’t even have to ask,” Farrow says. He bends down and picks up Cassidy out of the carrier, cradling her. She looks fast asleep, her little lips puffing out air every couple of seconds.
Luna scoops Cassidy into her arms, stroking her soft cheek and whisperinghellos.She really loves babies, and my stomach tries to clench.
Farrow is keeping an eye on Ripley, but I ask him, “You home for the holidays?”
“Yeah. We’re staying here or going to the lake house. Whatever the families decide.” He chews his gum slower, looking me over. “What about you?”
I run a hand against the back of my neck. “I’ll go wherever Xander goes.”
“Okay, but if he doesn’t need a bodyguard here, where are you going?” Farrow asks.
I glance at her. “Wherever Luna goes, unless her dad—”
“He won’t,” Farrow says, “and if he does say you can’t spend the holidays with us, then my family will be spending them with you.”
