Page 89 of It Must Be Fate

“She’s the youngest with Hana, so she needs us,” Suki adds.

“You’re right.” I nod thoughtfully. “You’ll tell me if Sarah gives you any more trouble?”

“What are you going to do if she does?” Ivy asks.

I smile innocently. I think it comes out as a grimace. “Talk to her.”

“Mummy says it’s bad to lie,” Suki points out.

“I’m not lying. There’ll besometalking involved.”

Astra gives me a look that says she doesn’t believe me while Suki gives me one that says she can protect her friend if it comes to it.

“Anyway, how’s Rhodes? I, uh, haven’t seen him in a while,” Astra adds conversationally.

That piques my interest. “Why are you asking?”

Her gaze flicks over to Ivy who flushes tomato red. Color explodes on her cheeks, contrasting with the currently pale green hue of her hair.

“Just wondering,” Suki interjects. “So, uh, how’s everyone’s froyo?”

“Strawberry is so good. I’ll definitely change it up next week though.”

That’s what Ivy says every week and she always sticks faithfully by her favorite flavor. We continue eating and talking, the girls giggling and telling me the latest about their fellow classmates.

The information I gather during these froyo sessions rivals the kind CIA operatives spend years in deep cover to get. I file it all away for later, not missing a single morsel.

Not even how they asked about my oldest son before smoothly changing the conversation.

***

I’ve parked the car in our ten-space garage but am still sitting behind the wheel when the door opens and Rhodes bursts in.

His gaze moves swiftly over the cars and lands on me in the front seat of the Range.

He makes his way over to me, glancing with affected nonchalance into the back seat. The windows are tinted so he can’t see through them, but he tries his best, squinting like an old man.

“What are you doing?” I ask, intrigued.

“Are you…” he clears his throat. “Did you drop them off back home already?”

“Obviously. Did you think I was bringing them here for a sleepover?”

Rhodes’s ears turn a light shade of pink and his lips thin into a straight line.

Interesting.

“No,” he mumbles.

I get out and shut the door, locking the car behind me with a loud double beep. “Anyone in particular you wanted to speak to?”

His ears go pinker. “No.”

He turns on his heels and walks back down the garage and away from me before I speak again.

“Not even Ivy?”

That stops him. My six-year-old son stiffens and spins back around to face me. “Can I keep her, Dad?”

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