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Ripley: To ask who?

Me: All of you with a kid.

Renn:

Bianca: *gulps*

Me: I need to borrow one of them.

Jason: One of what?

Me: One of your kids.

I roll my eyes at their ineptitude. Can’t any of them follow along?

“Do you see that guy?” Mimi asks, pointing at the screen.

I glance up to see five cowboys who all look the same. “Sure. What about him?”

“Can you imagine that guy fighting with his woman about where to eat? Hell, no. He’s taking her to dinner and then back home to eat, if you know what I mean.” She smirks. “And that's what women want.”

There’s nothing I can say to that without painting a picture that does not need painted.

Renn: Yeah, hard no. But thanks.

Bianca: I’m in Florida. Sorry!

Gannon: Did Tate just ask to BORROW A BABY?

Ripley:

“Having any luck?” Mimi asks, her eyes pinned to her cowboy.

“Not yet. I’m working on it.”

“That timer should be going off any second.”

Me: I don’t need it for long. An hour, tops.

Gannon: Did you just call my daughter an “it”?

Jason: I’m so curious but too scared to ask questions.

Ripley: You can borrow Pancake and Waffles.

“Do puppies work?” I ask Mimi.

“Yes, but they aren’t as effective.”

Me: I’m happy to take them to the doggy park any time, but they won’t work for this project.

Gannon: Our children are not … You know what? I’m not having this conversation.

Me: You’re hateful.

Renn: Why do you need to borrow a baby?

Ripley: Can we go to prison if we hear this explanation?

Bianca: I don’t think so …

Me: Mimi says that women love men who have babies. Well, not men who have babies but men who hold babies.

Renn: Yeah, Arlo isn’t available to be your wingman. Good idea, though.

Me: It’s not like you need him. You already have Blakely. You’re being selfish.

The timer rings from the kitchen, and the blueberry smell grows thicker. My stomach rumbles as I get to my feet.

“My family won’t share their kids,” I say, offering my arm to Mimi. “They’re so rude.”

She loops her arm through my elbow. “I can’t give you a baby, or I would.” She shakes her head as we walk into the kitchen. “I’d give you ten babies, you little stud.”

Wow .

“Where are my oven mitts?” she asks herself as she piddles around the room.

I sit at the table and catch up on the texts.

Ripley: I’d let you borrow my kid, buddy. But I don’t have one.

Gannon: You would not.

Jason: On a serious note, we have a request for a jet for the Raptors next week. Do you still need that, Tate?

How would I know? A slow smile spreads across my lips. But I do know someone who does …

My fingers fly across the keys.

Me: No clue. Let me check on it.

Jason: Do it ASAP, please. I have to send one to pick up Mom in France on the same day. It’s a fine balance over here until all the aircraft are up and running.

Me: I’ll get back to you. The rest of you—go be stingy with your babies.

I click out of the chat before I can read their responses … and because I have a great excuse to call Aurora.

My body buzzes as I imagine hearing her voice. I wonder if she has anything to say about our conversation yesterday. Does she replay our chats like I do? Does she pick them apart to see what she might’ve missed?

“Tate, this is one pretty pie,” Mimi says, admiring my handiwork.

“It smells amazing.”

“It’s going to taste amazing, too. But we aren’t cutting it until it cools, you little monkey.”

“I cut one pie hot, and it’s all you remember.” I make a face at her. “I need to make a very important call.”

She shoos me away with her hand as she heads to the recliner again. “Go outside because I’m about to turn this movie up.”

I step outside onto her small concrete patio. The air is warm and still, and the sky is bursting with purples and pinks around the setting sun. But I don’t have time to appreciate it.

I scroll through my contacts list to see whose number I have from the Raptors. I haven’t bothered to save many contacts yet. The only one I can find is Tally’s because I had to call her yesterday about some of Charlie’s paperwork that went missing. Luckily, she knew where to find it.

The line rings once, twice, and then, on the third time, she picks up.

“Tally Thatcher,” she says.

“Hey, Tally. It’s Tate.”

She clears her throat. “ Oh . Good evening, Mr. Brewer.”

“I’m trying to reach Aurora. Is she in the office?”

“Sir, it’s five thirty. Everyone's gone but me and the cleaning crew.”

I pace in a wide circle. “Why are you still there?”

“Because there’s work that must be done.”

I really like this girl.

“I told Aurora that I would take care of a few things so she could enjoy her night,” she says.

She ends the sentence with a little dry laugh, almost as if she’s sharing information she shouldn’t be. What’s that about?

“Do you have a number where I can reach her?” I ask, slowing my paces.

“Of course. But I wouldn’t plan on reaching her tonight.”

I stop moving. “And why is that?”

“Because she’s on a date.”

She’s on a what?

My jaw pulses as my brain accepts this information.

She’s on a date? Aurora? What the fuck?

“She left here about twenty minutes ago,” Tally says. “There was just enough time for her to run home, get cleaned up, and then get to Caesar’s by six.”

The way she says each word makes it clear she’s intentionally dropping information.

I really, really like this girl.

“You know what? Forget the number,” I say, my brain two steps ahead of her. “I’ll contact Aurora another way.”

“I think that sounds like a great idea, Mr. Brewer. You should do that.”

I smile. “Tally?”

“Yes?”

“Go home. You’ve gone above and beyond today.”

She laughs as I end the call.