Page 129 of Surprisingly Us

The front door softly clicks shut, but the babies don’t notice a thing. They’re too enthralled with Lettie. She’s making silly faces, scrunching up her nose and sticking out her tongue. Even with those goofy expressions, she looks gorgeous.

“What happened to all that talk about being honest?” I ask.

“Oh, I’m sorry, did I surprise you with a change of plans? Hmm, that is awfully neglectful of me to not keep you up to date on all the current happenings. Must have slipped my mind.”

“I get it. You’re still mad about the proposal.”

She whips her head in my direction, eyes narrowed.

“I will probably always be mad about the proposal.”

My gaze falls to her left hand. “You’re still wearing the ring.”

“Sometimes I use it as a paperweight. It comes in handy.” She shrugs. “If I told you what we were doing tonight, you wouldn’t have come.”

“That is an accurate statement,” I tease before chugging the seltzer water, the lie easily rolling off my tongue.

Am I excited to be babysitting two infants? No. But I would have come even if Lettie had told me we were getting our nose hairs plucked out. That’s how badly I want to spend time with her.

“Oh, come on. This is fun.” With her legs still stretched out, she’s made a circle with the babies across from her, rolling a ball to one, then the other.

“We have a very different idea of fun, apparently.”

She rolls her eyes at me, then turns back toward the babies to cheer at their ability to drool all over the balls they’re gnawing on. The pillow dam she’s built behind them comes in handy when one of them suddenly tips backwards.

“I think Uncle Rhys is a party pooper.”

Uncle Rhys.

She doesn’t mean it literally. I’m not related to Hunter and Sophie’s girls, but that title awakens something in me. It’s connection. A sense of belonging.

Does that make her Aunt Lettie?

I push the thought aside.

She lifts the tipped over baby back onto her butt, then takes each of their free hands, shimmying their upper bodies as she chants, “He’s a party pooper, he’s a party pooper.”

I watch the scene with fascination and anxiety. I’ve never been around babies before. Lettie, on the other hand, looks like a natural.

Lettie pats the ground next to her. “Come on, Rhys. You can do it.” It sounds like she’s talking to a dog. I shake my head, staying firmly planted on the couch where I can safely observe.

“What are we having for dinner?” I ask.

Lettie pins me with a look.

“What? I was under the assumption we were being served dinner.”

“You heard Sophie. We can order something once the girls are down for the night.”

I glance at my watch. “And when will that be?”

“First, we need to feed them, give them a bath, then read them a book.”

“Read them a book? They can’t even talk.”

There’s that look again. If this is a test, I’m failing. Lettie is giving me another chance and I’m fucking it up.

“You’re right, they can’t talk, but they can listen to us. It’s good for brain development.”

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