Page 47 of Purrfectly Outfoxed
He’s never looked more attractive.
“Welcome to parenthood,” I say, grinning at him.
“Yeah. But I still can’t believe we literally had a litter. I mean, what the hell? I was joking about that.”
I laugh. “Biology had other ideas.”
“Biology is a dick.”
“Biology gave us three perfect, healthy babies who just happen to have fox and cat DNA running through their veins and therefore think sleep during the night is optional.”
“I love them,” he says quickly. “I love them so much it’s actually painful. But also, I’m so tired I might actually die.”
“You’re a shifter. We heal fast. You’ll survive.”
“Will I though?”
From downstairs, Bea’s voice rings out, “Are my grandbabies ready yet? The parade starts in twenty minutes!”
Jasper and I exchange a look—the same look we’ve been exchanging approximately forty times a day since the triplets were born. The look that says ‘what have we done’ and ‘I wouldn’t trade this for anything’ and ‘please let them sleep tonight’ all at once.
“Coming!” I yell back, grabbing the diaper bag that’s roughly the size of a suitcase.
We make our way downstairs—a production that involves three babies, two shifters, one overstuffed bag, and a concerning amount of coordination. Bea is waiting in the living room, already dressed in her witch costume.
“Oh!” she gasps when she sees us. “Look at them! My little fox-kits and kitten! They’re perfect!”
“They’re demons,” Jasper mutters, but he’s smiling as he says it.
“They’re wonderful,” Bea corrects, immediately swooping in to take Amber from my arms. “Yes you are! Yes you are! Grandma Bea’s precious little Amber!”
Amber, who was screaming ten minutes ago, immediately coos at Bea like she’s never misbehaved a day in her short life.
“How does she do that?” I ask Jasper.
“Magic. Or witchcraft. I’m not ruling anything out at this point.”
Bea has been an absolute godsend since the babies were born. When I went into labor three months early—terrifying for us, apparently normal for shifter triplets according to the one shifter midwife we managed to find—Bea didn’t even blink. She just rolled up her sleeves and became the best grandmother three chaos babies could ask for.
She watches them when we work—me at the café three days a week, Jasper doing handyman jobs around town. She rocks them when they cry. She changes diapers without complaint. She makes us meals and reminds us to sleep and tells us we’re doing great even when we feel like we’re drowning.
She’s family. Real family. The kind we chose and who chose us back.
“Now then,” Bea says, settling onto the couch with Amber while Jasper and I wrangle the boys. “Are we ready for our second annual Halloween parade?”
“Ready as we’ll ever be,” I say.
“Are we wearing costumes this year?” Jasper asks hopefully. “Human costumes?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Bea says. “The entire neighborhood is expecting Sox and Whiskers to make an appearance. You can’t disappoint them.”
“We’re married adults with three children,” Jasper protests weakly.
“And?” Bea raises an eyebrow.
He sighs. “And we’re wearing the costumes.”
“I already got them out of storage.” She gestures to the pet costumes lying on the coffee table—the same tuxedo and witch outfit from last year. “They’re tradition now.”