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Meanwhile, her brother is scanning the room. His search noticeably lands on a man sitting alone. “Hey, mister!”
Mortification preemptively scorches my cheeks. “Bradley, you’re not supposed to talk to strangers.”
The stubborn five-year-old isn’t hearing me. He only has eyes for his intended audience. I dip my chin, preparing to hide my flaming face if necessary. When the guy glances toward our table, Bradley begins flailing his arms in an unmistakable signal for attention.
“Wanna marry my nanny? She’s suuuuper nice and fun and needs a husband. Really bad. I guess she does boring adult stuff on the weekends. But I think you’d like her.” His voice might as well be spoken through a megaphone.
“Oh, my gosh.” I peek through my fingers to see the little troublemaker point at me, just in case the entire room isn’t already staring.
The man waves in a kind gesture, then points to the wedding ring on his left hand. He mouths an apology before returning to his coffee.
“How embarrassing,” I grumble.
“That’s poopy,” Bradley huffs.
“No potty talk please.” But my muffled tone doesn’t hold authority.
His lower lip juts out. “I did my bestest, Grace. It looked like he coulda used some company. How was I s‘pose to know he’s married?”
The urge to bury my head under a pile of napkins is strong. I’m not even sure how to respond to that. But as it turns out, I don’t have to.
“Thought I recognized you,” comes an amused voice.
I straighten in my chair at the sight of Harper and Sydney. “Oh, hey.”
“Quite a performance.
“Caught that, huh?”
The spunky bartender laughs. “Pretty sure the entire town did.”
My shoulders hike to preserve what dignity remains. “A new level of desperation has been achieved.”
“Don’t get too bent out of shape. Kids are clever. They have a sneaky ability to read the fine print we assume they can’t comprehend. That intuition can come in handy at the right time. Just air out the laundry.” Her smile is directed at the little girl attached to her hip.
Before I can respond, Harper’s daughter takes the notion as an opportunity to be acknowledged. Sydney bounces on her toes until she’s next to me. “Hi, Grace. We’re twins, remember?”
Our conversation at the spring festival several weeks ago floats to the present. “You have a great memory, Sydney Grace.”
“Well, duh. I’m very smart,” she preens.
Laughter bursts from me in a fluid stream. Harper joins in, shrugging to indicate this is precisely what she meant. Five minutes in her presence would confirm the same. In addition, I’ve heard rumors about this cutie pie’s accomplishments. Her confidence is definitely well-earned.
My grin reflects the natural ease between us. “It’s a fabulous name, even stuck in the middle.”
She beams at me. Then her focus moves to the siblings, specifically narrowing on Bradley. “Who are you?”
He gapes at her with cartoon hearts in his eyes. If he hadn’t already finished his ice cream, the frozen treat would be forgotten. The sight of him instantly smitten is precious. I slouch in my seat while watching the inevitable unravel. This boy doesn’t have a clue about what’s in store for him.
Sydney blinks at his prolonged delay. “Why aren’t you answering? I know you can talk, and I don’t think you’re shy. You just yelled super loud at that guy over there. Did a cat get your tongue? My daddy says that can happen. It’s never happened to me. Maybe ‘cause people call me a chatterbox. Does it hurt? Do you need help?”
The kid is struck by a rare silence, too enamored to find his voice. Only a soundless squeak escapes him. Not that I can blame him. Sydney possesses an endearing quality that leaves the rest of us speechless.
“Are you gonna tell me your name?” She waits for a breath. “You have one, right?”
A loud whir from the espresso machine knocks him from the stupor.
“Bradley,” he finally sputters.
