Connor’s brows pinch in this conceited fashion. “By history alone, I’m the most qualified to reason with their parents.”
“We should’ve talked about it,” Lo snaps. “This affects everyone, Connor.”
Connor’s jaw muscles tic, a single sign of his true emotions. “No offense, but I didn’t feel the need to ask for your permission or for Ryke’s when my wife and my daughter were shot with a water-gun on our front porch.”
“Fruit punch, not water,” Rose corrects him. “And they owe me a new f**king dress.” I didn’t see it happen. Yesterday, Rose was alone with Jane, switching out the welcome mat to a fall-themed one. She had Jane in her arms when the teenagers sprayed her with fruit punch.
I kinda wish I saw Connor’s reaction when he returned from work and learned about the ordeal. But maybe this was it. He was livid enough to storm over to the house and confront their parents.
“I said a water-gun. I didn’t say that water was filled in it,” Connor retorts.
Rose whips her head to him. “One detail, Richard. You were wrong about one small detail.”
“If that were true, I’d agree with you,” he says smoothly, his lips beginning to rise. “But it’s not, Rose.” Normally I love a good flirt-fight, but the nerd stars need to cool it right now because we’re still partially in the dark about the teenagers and parents.
Rose sighs heavily and glances at Jane in his arms. “I pray that your narcissism isn’t seeping into our daughter.”
“Narcissism can’t seep. It’s not tangible, and who are you praying to, darling?”
“Any god that will tell me why I procreated with you.”
He grins fully, a blinding million-dollar one. “Because I love you just as you love me.”
Rose presses her lips together, but she shifts closer to him. “That wasn’t meant for you to prove that you’re a god, Richard.”
He laughs into a brighter smile and then he kisses her forehead.
“Can we please get back to the real problem here?” Lo asks with a narrowed stare. “You talked to the Patricks, and you haven’t even said how it went.” All Connor mentioned was that he spoke to the Patricks that live three houses down from ours, and that was enough to put my mind in a tailspin.
Connor seems casual and calm, but his smile has vanished from sight. “If I knew that I was trying to reason with a household full of morons, I would have dumbed down my opening speech.”
It went badly then.
Lo glares at the sky like why, God, why? Our son wiggles in a navy-blue sling across Lo’s chest, and he rocks him a little.
I have to catch myself from staring too hard. Lo holding Moffy in the sling has topped the cuteness charts. Even Celebrity Crush featured photos of them calling Lo “one of the hottest celebrity dads.”
It’s undeniable.
“I don’t like paraphrasing, but the conversation was honestly too aggravating to repeat,” Connor says, adjusting his daughter as she wakes from her nap. Just before Jane lets out a boisterous wail, Rose digs into her black Chanel diaper bag and retrieves a soft stuffed lion. The moment Jane’s tiny arms cling to the animal, she quiets.
I think we’re all glad Jane has grown attached to the toy.
“The cliff notes version.” Lo waves Connor on.
“They repeated the same phrase at least five times. It was a water-gun, not a real gun.” He pauses, and I can kinda tell that he’s struggling to remain composed. “Their argument was that all teenagers like to have fun, and I should remember being their age and doing the same exact things myself. As a result, I should let this pass.” Connor lets out a weak laugh, and he shakes his head. “But I was never a normal teenager. I didn’t do the same exact things, and a deep part of me believes I shouldn’t let it pass.”
“But you’re going to?” Lo says like Connor needs to stick to the original “wait it out” plan. The uneasiness makes me queasy. I just don’t want this to escalate any further, but I also don’t want to cause a media uproar.
“I’m not going to file a complaint,” Connor says. “If a tabloid hears the story, their headline will make me seem juvenile and obtuse, and it’ll help no one.”
Lo nods a couple times, digesting this news. And then Sam and Poppy approach, the former dressed in khaki’s and a white-collared Fizzle shirt. They both have Ziff bottles in hand, and I notice their daughter staying back by the shady picnic tables with our mom.
I spot cameramen and just regular people with crossbody purses and hats walking down the dirt path towards the roped off area. Food vendors are set up underneath white tents, and the sweet smell of kettle corn fills the breezy air.
“You all ready?” Sam asks us. His gaze darts around our bodies, as though searching for—
“Where are your drinks?” Poppy asks with a frown. She shields the sun with her hand. Apparently Maria snapped her sunglasses on the ride here; a sign, Rose said, of their daughter being a bigger terror than hers.
“My hands are full,” Lo lies. But he demonstrates by wrapping his arms underneath the navy-blue sling. Moffy smacks his lips together and then gurgles a noise like ahh.
My smile cannot be stopped.
Connor adds, “Same.” He lifts Jane to illustrate his predicament. Her lips part in a half-sleep, cuddling with her stuffed lion and then tucking into her father’s chest for warmth and security.
Rose scoffs. “You both are seriously using our children as scapegoats?”
Lo flashes her a half-smile. “You’re only bitching because you wish you were holding Jane right now.”
She crosses her arms but doesn’t deny it. Ziff tastes that gross. Last week, Ryke goaded me into trying a sip, and afterwards, I gargled mouthwash for a solid ten minutes to avoid gagging.
It’s not to be sipped a second time. Nope.
Sam collects two bottles from the pyramid, and my eyes pop out again.
“We can’t break the pyramid formation!” I suddenly shout. I even wave my arms spastically. I heat all over in embarrassment.
Sam doesn’t miss a beat. He shoves the bottle in my hand. “There are plenty more to rebuild the pyramid.”
The silver label crinkles against the plastic as I clutch the bottle. The Blue Squall flavor is more like Blood Squall. Maybe if I try imagining myself as a vampire, I’ll have a more delightful experience.
Sam lowers his voice. “You don’t have to drink much. You can even pretend to take sips. We just need pictures, and the public needs to see you too.”
“Wow, Sammy,” Lo says, “you’re a modern day crook.” Lo touches his chest with a free hand. “I’m too honest to associate with people like you.”
Connor arches a single brow, his grin growing. I’d stay to hear Sam’s reply, but I have a feeling he’ll stick with the eye roll.
“I’m going to check on Daisy and Ryke.” I don’t think I said the words loudly enough, but I dart away regardless. I plan to carry the Ziff around and act like it’s delicious.
I near the cliff where Ryke stands. He’s shirtless with low-slung gray shorts and a chalk bag around his waist. He also holds a brunette girl’s hand.
My heart skips, and the sight takes me aback. I stop dead in my tracks.
52
LILY CALLOWAY
I focus on the brunette girl.