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Gregor picked up a bundle of pink yarn. "What is this for?"

I placed my hands on my hips as I surveyed the yarn options. "Alina's grandmother."

He smirked. "No, I figured that. What is she making—a scarf, a hat, a sweater?"

I gestured with my hands. "What are those blankets with all the squares?"

Damien chimed in. "Afghan."

I pointed to him. "Yes! Afghan. She's making an afghan for one of the nurses who takes care of her."

Selecting an eye-catching teal yarn, I held it up for their inspection. "What do you think about this one?"

Gregor shook his head. "That's acrylic."

My brow furrowed as I looked at the yarn in my hand and back at him. "So?"

"You only use acrylic for the baby shit." He gestured to the store manager who was hovering at the end of the aisle staring at us. "Back me up on this."

The woman's eyes widened as her mouth dropped open. After trying to form a response, she shook her head and ran off.

Gregor frowned. "Trust me. I'm right."

Damien nodded. "He is. You want to use the goodstuff," he offered as he picked up a soft gray yarn. "This is wool. It's better."

I snatched the yarn from his hand and stared at the lion on the label. "How do you two know so much about this?"

Gregor shrugged, his massive frame dwarfing the display. "I'm a dad. You learn this shit fast."

Damien pointed to his chest. "When you're married to a designer you learn to pay attention to this crap if you want to get laid."

I nodded sagely as I grabbed a few yarn packages. "How many do you think we need?"

Damien held up his cellphone. "We could call Boris in Chicago. He knits."

"Oh, good idea."

Gregor shook his head. "Just get them all. She can always make matching armchair covers with anything leftover."

Damien intervened. "Wait. You can't just get all gray."

"Why not?"

"The blanket will be boring if it's all one color."

I tapped my temple then pointed at him. "Good point. The scarf Alina is knitting for me has at least four colors."

Gregor gave me a knowing look.

I raised an eyebrow. "What?"

He lifted one shoulder. "Nothing. I just remember a couple of cocky assholes arriving in America a few months ago spewing bullshit about how me and my crew had gotten soft and lost our edge and now…" He swept his arms wide. "We're in a fucking JoAnn Fabrics."

He wasn't wrong.

It was startling how dramatically my brothers’ and my lives had been changed since arriving in America. It was hard to believe that all three of us were happily married to three amazingly beautiful, intelligent, and strong women.

Gregor had every right to take every derogatory thing we'd said about his domestic bliss and shove it right up our asses.