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Axel
You’re not even on the island anymore, wtf do you care?
Kaia
The knowledge of the bleach required to sanitize when I come back is plenty distressing. I’m worried I’ll get an STD by proxy.
Axel
Mama raised gentlemen. I wrap it up every single time.
Jameson
What is it with you people and using the family thread for this shit?
Axel
Not all of us go to therapy, Jameson.
Kaia
And it shows.
Jameson
Stop making your problems all of our problems.
Axel
Kaia started it.
Finn
I never know wtf I’m gonna open this thread to.
Snickering,I tucked my cell into my pocket and straightened to check my reflection in the mirror, tightening my half-ponytail before clipping in an Emerald Bay bow. In the week since Ollie and I officially signed on the dotted line, we’d broken the news to two—mercifully elated—kids, and I’d gotten the full rundown on the house, security protocols, the panic room, and a long-ass list of routines and classes.
And honestly? It was fucking awesome.
I’d been more than a little hesitant when Ollie pitched the idea at Thanksgiving—so much so, I’d called Mom to hash out the pros and cons. Maybe her advice would’ve differed if she’d known about Halloween, but the truth was, this job was a goddamn miracle. I loved Mattie and Beau to the depth of my soul, and Ollie wasn’t half bad either, when he wasn’t sticking his perfect nose into my fuckups. In the seven weeks since Chad—the human-shaped yeast infection—canned me, I’d depleted the last of my savings, maxed out a credit card, and found out I was medically disqualified from donating plasma for grocery money. As if being rejected from the few interviews I’d actually landed wasn’t humiliating enough, now not even my bodily fluids were deemed ‘qualified.’
‘Stressed’ didn’t even begin to cover it.
But Ollie handed me a check for my first month the moment I poured my coffee in his kitchen Monday morning.
Twenty minutes after I got home that evening, a knock at the door revealed a man with very little hair, many, many freckles, and the too-confident smile of someone in on a secret. He held out a sleek black box wrapped in a red satin ribbon, and a jaw-droppingly gorgeous bouquet of asters and morning glories.
Scowling, I asked, “What’s this?”
“Couldn’t tell ya,” he replied with a shrug that screamed bullshit. “Mr. Hart said to personally see that it was delivered.”
Nothing about him radiated innocence, but the glint in his eye had me glowering between the outstretched offering and his sparkly face. I arched a speculative brow.
“Can you hang onto those?” I asked, nodding to the flowers as I slid the box off his palm.
“You got it,” he said, craning his neck slightly as I peeled open the lid.
My mouth popped open.