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He wraps an arm around my waist. “Did you tell Dakota and Nadia to get down here for breakfast?”
As if to answer his question, their footsteps thunder down the stairs. They’re arguing about something. Typical. When Peter and I married, they were seven and became fast friends. Now, not so much. Last week, they were competing against each other to get some boy’s attention. Who knows what the drama is this time. Whatever it is, they’re sure to have forgotten about it by the weekend.
Dakota gives me a once-over. “I can’t believe you’d wear that.”
I glance down at my clothes. They’re casual but acceptable. Not like the yoga pants and pajama bottoms a lot of moms wear to drop their kids off at the school.
Peter gives his daughter a sharp look. “Be nice.”
“What? That outfit is so last year.”
Dakota’s mom is a big-shot at an expensive department store, so fashion is her life. Clearly the passion rubs off on her daughter.
“If Angelina is happy with it, that’s all that matters. Besides, she looks amazing in it.” He kisses my cheek.
“Ew,” Nadia and Dakota say in unison.
At least they agree about something.
We all sit to eat a quick meal and discuss the day’s events. Dakota has cheer practice after school, and Nadia needs me to drive her to an extra Tae Kwon Do class because she has a competition coming up. The littles have gymnastics after preschool. Peter may have to cover for another anesthesiologist at the hospital and might be home late.
School bus brakes squeal a few blocks over. That’s the daily cue for our eighth graders to grab their bags and get outside. After the whirlwind of them gathering their things, saying goodbye, and slamming the door behind them, Peter picks up their plates.
“I’ll get those,” I tell him. “You have to get to work.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. You made breakfast, so I’ll clean up.”
I swear we have the same conversation every morning, and I love it. After three years married to Bryant—which was three years too many, except that I got Nadia out of it—I appreciate a husband who believes in sharing all the chores. His insistence on it is even more commendable considering I don’t have a job outside the home.
The man is a saint, I swear. His patients and coworkers all agree. Everyone talks about how personable and kind he is. Even the most anxiety-ridden patients end up smiling before he puts them to sleep. People actually request him.
And I’m married to him. Everyone should be so lucky. Except Bryant. He deserves someone whose personality mirrors his.
Peter gives me another kiss and then tells Owen and Sophie to get dressed for preschool. They wrap their arms around his legs, and he picks them up and tosses them into the air. After patting them on their backs, they race up the stairs, laughing the whole way.
“You sure you don’t mind if I’m home late tonight?” Peter grabs his jacket.
“Not at all. Jack has covered countless shifts for you when we’ve been on vacations. The kids and I will be fine.”
“You’re the best.” He squeezes me tightly, and I take in the woodsy scent of his cologne.
Just as he’s heading out the door, my phone rings. The screen shows it’s my mom.
This can’t be good. She only ever calls if she has bad news.
ChapterThree
Itake a deep breath and down the rest of my coffee before accepting my mom’s call. Something must be wrong with either my brother or my dad.
“Are you there?” Her voice blasts through my phone before I have a chance to say hello. “It took you long enough to answer!”
“I’m getting the kids ready for school. Do you need something?”
“Yes!” Judging by her tone, it’s up to us to stop World War Three.
“What is it?” I struggle to keep my tone light as I make my way upstairs to check on the littles. Owen is already dressed, but Sophie is twirling around in a princess costume.
