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TOM

F uck. That got out of control fast. And not just the fire that had ignited between me and Callie. Crew was about thirty seconds away from breaking his neck. Every chair and couch cushion was in a pile, and he was ready to launch his little body headfirst into the mound for fun.

Once I saved him from his recklessness, I snapped a picture of the pile of couch cushions and sent it off to Kelsey and Sam in our group chat.

Me: I swear, he did this in less than a minute.

Sam: I should have warned you. My Dad showed him that last time he was in town. He’s been pulling apart every piece of furniture since.

Kelsey: Sorry. Is he still in one piece?

Me: Yeah. All good. I lost about four years off my lifetime though.

Sam: How’s the nanny?

I took a long, deep breath before replying. The last thing I wanted to do was to create suspicion in Kelsey and Sam. At least he was asking via text and not on Facetime. There was no way I could maintain an unbothered expression.

Me: She’s good. Great with Crew.

You would have thought I had written a novel in response with the number of times I reread my response before sending it. It was a stark reminder that whatever was happening between Callie and me could threaten everything.

“Everything okay,” she asked, approaching from behind and helping Crew pick up the mess he’d created.

“Yeah, I was just sharing this with Sam and Kelsey. Turns out this is something Crew learned from Sam’s family.”

“Eek looks like something the fun, irresponsible uncle would do.”

“Or the grandfather who thinks wild toddlers are hilarious,” I said. “Have you changed your mind yet?”

“About what?” she asked, grabbing Crew and tickling him until he giggled.

“Oh, I don’t know. About being responsible for a little human that seems dead set on putting himself in mortal danger at least once a day?” I asked, only somewhat jokingly.

Crew took off, running down the hall to his room. “Swim time?”

“Almost,” I said, chasing after him, not trusting him to go anywhere without adult supervision. I guess there wouldn’t be a nap before the cookout, though maybe I could distract Crew by getting him dressed and letting him help me make the pasta salad we were bringing to the potluck.

By the time I had dressed Crew, Callie had water boiling and had peeled a massive pile of potatoes.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“I figured I’d help with the potato salad.”

“You mean pasta salad?” I asked her, scrolling through my texts, and she went through hers. It turns out Mariana had sent us both something different.

“Huh, okay,” I said, pulling out another pot and setting it to boil. “Guess we’re bringing two side dishes.”

Crew did his best to help, and while he was successful at getting in the way, he was at least not in danger at the moment. When he mixed the pasta salad with the dressing I had made, I thought he would dump half of it on the floor.

Callie covered her mouth, doing her best not to laugh at us. And while the kitchen was an absolute mess when we finished, I already dreaded having the place to myself once they returned to Boston in a little over a week from today.