Page 22 of Tossed into the Mob (The Wolves of La Luna Noir #4)

TWENTY-TWO

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I stared at the mountain of tiny jars covering every surface of Grandpa Arnie's kitchen, now our kitchen. We’d moved in months ago, and though we’d made the place our own, with the man himself in the house, I couldn’t help thinking it was his place. Technically, he did still own it.

“Children need a home with a yard,” he’d insisted when we were deciding where to live.

Though I was certain Treyton’s grandpa had never been in the army, his food preparation resembled a huge military operation.

There was one baby in my belly, but Grandpa was assembling enough food for ten.

The room smelled like how I imagined a restaurant kitchen did, with multiple aromas fighting for dominance.

I picked up a jar labeled “Sweet Potato and Sage Puree #3” and compared it to “Sweet Potato and Sage Puree #7.” I didn’t mention that perhaps babies didn’t like sage. I’d find a use for it, but for now, everything was going into the massive freezer in the basement.

“You’re going to so much trouble, Grandpa. Don’t you want to rest?”

“You can never be too prepared.” He bustled between the stove and three different food processors. “And babies go through growth spurts. One day they won't eat anything, the next they'll eat everything in sight. Plus, what if your little one has allergies?”

With Treyton being a shifter and me not suffering from any food allergies, I hoped we’d bypass that, but again, I kept quiet.

“I've made different versions.” He pointed toward a section of jars with purple lids. “Those are dairy-free. The green lids are nut-free. The yellow lids are both.”

I pictured the future with my mate and me eating nut- and dairy-free baby food for months after our little one spat out both versions.

I counted the jars. There had to be close to fifty, with more batches simmering on the stove. “Grandpa, this is amazing. I can’t thank you enough, but the baby won't start solid food for months.”

“Which gives me the opportunity to perfect the recipes!” He held up another jar, this one containing what looked like green mush. “Pea and mint puree with a touch of lemon. I think it'll be a winner. And mint is great for digestion.”

I pictured even more dirty diapers than the norm—whatever that was—in our future.

Dad appeared in the doorway, took one look at the jars lining the kitchen counter, and backed away slowly. “I'll just... go help with the nursery.”

Smart man. But I couldn't abandon Treyton's grandfather. This was his first great-grandchild, and he was determined to spoil them. Everyone in the family was excited because our child was the first baby of this generation. Madd had no kids and neither did Gale’s children.

“What's the difference between puree number three and number seven?” I asked, knowing I may regret it.

“Number three has a pinch more sage, and I steamed the sweet potato instead of roasting it. Number seven is roasted sweet potato with less sage but a hint of cinnamon.”

Oh. How would I remember all of that? But Arnie tapped his tablet, saying he’d recorded everything, and I remembered he used to run a less-than-legal old-school betting ring when he worked for La Luna Noir.

The baby kicked me as if to say, “I prefer the roasted sweet potato, please.” Or maybe they were as overwhelmed as I was.

I kissed Grandpa because he was so excited about the baby and he’d be such a loving great grandfather.

Flint told me Arnie and Rudy used to argue about who would hold Lottie when she was born.

The kitchen timer chimed, and Grandpa rushed to the oven, pulling out what looked like tiny muffins. “Sweet corn and zucchini bites,” he announced. “For when the baby starts on finger foods.”

“That won’t be for over a year.”

“I like being prepared!” He started pureeing cooked carrots, and I wondered what herb they contained. It couldn’t be just plain old carrots. Not from Grandpa’s kitchen.

There was a loud crash from upstairs, and we both froze. Shifters had great reflexes, so for something to have fallen was a big deal. I assumed everyone was still alive.

“Is that a hole in the wall?” That was my mate, and he didn’t sound happy.

I mouthed to Arnie. “A hole?” Treyton and the cousins, minus Flint and minus my brother-in-law, Madd, who Rudy had roped in to do something, were supposed to be finishing the nursery, not breaking it.

“It was Hunter.”

“Was not.” Hunter wasn’t having any of it.

Maybe that pair should have their own nursery because they were imitating toddlers. Grandpa shrugged and went back to his purees. It was no big deal and pretty much what to expect when the Durands got together outside of work.

He gave me a taste of a different puree and asked me to identify it.

“Apple?”

“And butternut squash.”

“It’s delicious.”

He planted a kiss on my brow. Our little one would have to take cooking lessons from him, and maybe I should too.

There was another loud crash from upstairs. It sounded like a toolbox. I went to the bottom of the stairs and shouted, “That hole had better be fixed when I get up there.”

Dad wandered downstairs covered in flecks of paint. “They’re very enthusiastic.” He peered at the baby food. “And they’re not the only ones.” As he turned, he bumped the jar on the end, but I caught it. Thank gods because Grandpa would have been upset at having some of his food ruined.

“Sorry.”

Arnie held up the tablet. “I’ve listed every recipe, numbered the jars, and suggested age ranges. Once they’re cool, we can freeze them.”

Dad peered at the tablet over Arnie's shoulder. “You've thought of everything.”

“Well, almost everything.” Arnie chewed his bottom lip. “I haven't figured out what to do if the baby prefers store-bought food.”

“We’ll have a family party where the theme is baby food,” I assured him.

The front door opened with a bang, and Tony called out, “We brought reinforcements!”

“And supplies!” That was Matt.

“So many supplies,” Odell muttered.

A passel of kids tumbled in after their dads, and Arnie, Dad, and I got kisses before I steered them into the den, and Arnie took in a tray of refreshments.

Matt and Odell appeared in the kitchen doorway, each carrying bags of what looked like more baby supplies. Tony followed with his arms full of shopping bags.

“Please tell me you didn't buy more stuff,” I said, though I was touched by their thoughtfulness. “The nursery is already bursting.”

“Just a few essentials,” Matt said innocently, which immediately made me suspicious.

“Twenty-five baby blankets is not essential.” Odell sighed. “I told him to stop at ten.”

“You can never have too many blankets,” Matt protested. “Babies spit up. A lot. And there are different weights for different seasons, and different materials for sensitive skin…”

Tony started unpacking his bags on what little counter space remained. “I brought bottles, sippy cups, and every type of pacifier known to humanity. I want to make sure you’re prepared for every possible preference.”

“There are seventeen different types of pacifiers?” I picked up a package.

Tony rattled off the list like he'd memorized it. “Plus backup pacifiers for when the first ones get lost.”

“Perfect timing!” Grandpa marshaled everyone into a line and gave them spoons. “I need taste-testers. We have mango and sweet potato, avocado and banana, and my favorite, roasted parsnip with a touch of vanilla.”

“Roasted parsnips?” Dad looked skeptical.

“Vanilla?” Tony sniffed one of the jars.

“Trust me,” Grandpa said. “It's very sweet.”

We spent the next twenty minutes sampling baby food as if we were at a wine tasting, with Grandpa taking detailed notes on our reactions.

“I'm going to check on how the nursery’s going before they put any more holes in the wall.”

Upstairs Treyton was on a ladder painting the ceiling while his two cousins assembled the crib.

Tools were scattered everywhere, and there was a patched-up hole in the wall.

Grandpa had offered to pay for a professional nursery designer and decorator, but the nursery was personal, we didn’t want strangers taking over.

Besides, the family had been so generous, especially buying Dad and me that apartment and paying for our wedding, that it felt awkward accepting another gift. Though I suspected there would be many more presents in our future.

Flint had snuck in somehow and was putting together the changing table. He was much more efficient than his brothers who were still arguing about how to assemble the crib.

“This is one thing I’m not good at.” Ranger peered at the instructions.

“One?” Flint smirked, and Hunter belly laughed.

“A little bird told me you can’t parallel park, even after trying multiple times.” I hid a smile behind my hand.

“Bah! Who’s been blabbing?” Ranger glared at my mate. “I’m convinced that’s a human skill and shifters don’t have the parallel parking DNA.”

“I can do it.” Treyton lifted his hand and dripped paint on the overalls he was wearing.

“Me too.” That was Hunter.

“And me,” Flint said.

“This human can’t, so there goes your theory.”

Ranger harrumphed and returned to studying the crib-assembly instructions.

I laughed and went to examine the children’s books covered by a sheet of plastic.

There were picture books, class fairy tales, educational ones, and stories about multi-cultural families.

I examined the crib mobile, still in its box, that would hang over the crib if it ever got assembled before the baby’s birth.

I unwrapped a package Madd had brought the day before. As he was a tech guy, he’d suggested books on technology, even though by the time they were published, they were almost out of date.

I got an attack of the warm fuzzies at how kind and welcoming the family had been, considering what my father had done. It cemented that I did belong here, this was my place and my extended family.

“Uncle Brock!” Lottie appeared in the doorway. “Can I help paint?”

“Of course, but not up the ladder.” I gave her a wooden picture frame and a small brush and told her to choose a color from the sample tins on the drop cloth.

She chose red and yellow and carefully dipped the brush in one small paint tin.

“Hello, hello.” Rudy had arrived, and I waddled down the stairs to greet him and Madd who was in tow.

“We brought lunch.” The pair held up bags of food. What was it about this family always overstocking? But I guessed to them, food was love, and on the plus side, we wouldn’t have to cook for a few days.

“I thought we were eating baby food for lunch,” Dad joked.

Treyton came downstairs and kissed me hello again, the tenth time today, or perhaps eleventh. I was told to sit, and everyone carried the food outside, and we ate.

I spent the afternoon in the garden with my feet up until Treyton told me the nursery was ready. He offered to take photos, but I insisted on climbing the stairs once more.

It was as we’d designed it on Treyton’s computer.

The walls were a pale gray with pops of yellow dotted around the room in the rug, toys, including a yellow Duckie, and the crib blanket.

The love seat and the rocking chair were in position, and the books were on the shelves. Toys spilled out of the toy basket.

“It’s beautiful.” I cradled my huge bump. “What do you think, little one? Do you like it?”

I got a kick as a response, and I decided that was a yes.

Dad appeared and placed a photo album on the bookshelf. It had photos of me growing up and the one pic of me with Emilio.

“I think we're ready.”

And I couldn't wait to meet our little one.