Page 128 of Lemon Crush

Nobody answered.

I popped up from my face-down position on the pillow, my hand hitting fur before redirecting to my bedside table to answer the phone.

“Sorry Merlin, but you really need a trip to the dentist because your breath is vile,” I told him.

Then it hit me that it was two in the morning and that was Morgan’s ringtone.

I was awake now.

“What’s wrong?” I asked immediately, my heart in my throat as I had a sudden flashback to the day we got the call about Mom. Morgan and I were together when it happened, and I’d never forget the look on her face as I dropped to my knees in shock. “Are you in the hospital? Is Gene in thehospital?”

“Breathe, August.” Morgan’s voice was still as croaky from sleep as mine was, but I heard the smile in her tone and took a calming breath.

She was okay.

“It looks like the baby has the Hudson stubborn streak. First, she waits until the last day of September instead of her scheduled arrival, and now she can’t hold off until the grownups have had a decent night’s sleep to make her entrance.”

“The baby? The baby is coming? Phoebe’s in labor? With a baby?”

I wasn’t sure how many new ways I was going to say that until it sank in. Thankfully, Morgan stopped me.

“Yes, to all of those questions. I see you still wake up like that. I’m on my way to their house right now. She said you promised to be there, so I thought I’d give you a call to see if you needed a ride.”

Much to her excitement—and Bernie’s dismay—Phoebe had gotten the all clear for a home birth at her last doctor visit and immediately converted their living room to a makeshift water birthing room. That meant we wouldn’t need to drive that far.

“It’s three minutes away,” I said. “I can meet you.”

“You don’t sound awake enough to drive.”

“I’m already out of bed.”

Mostly. I did a hopping, one-legged dance as I tried to untangle my ankle from the sheets and then pawed through the clean clothes pile I’d forgotten to put away, throwing on the first piece of clothing I could find.

That’s when I realized Wade was missing.

Where was he?

My bedroom door flew open before I had something new to panic about. His hair was sticking straight up and his eyes were wild. He looked exactly how I felt.

“Phoebe’s in labor and asking for you, so get that sweet ass covered and let’s get going. We’ll take my truck.”

Wade was diving over the bed for his jeans and T-shirt like some thirty-years-younger parkour champion on a sugar high when I heard my sister repeat, “Sweet ass?”

Yep. She’d heard that. And there was nothing I could do about it now. “We’re on our way, okay,Morgan? See you soon.”

After I hung up, he swore and wrapped me in his arms for an apology squeeze. “I should have known you’d get a call too.”

“Bah. It’s fine.”

It was mostly fine. It was one thing to have a mad affair with your sister’s bestie and invite him and his dog to live with you. But providing middle-of-the-night proof that you were sleeping together might be a little too in-your-face for this early in the relationship.

We were in a relationship now. We were living together. Should I be freaking out about it? About how much more complicated it might get if things went south?

Wade pulled on his socks, then stepped into his boots and bent down to lace them quickly. “The good news is, Phoebe is going to make sure no one has time to butt into our private life for a while.”

I looked up at him, my smile reappearing as all my minor, insignificant problems disappeared. “Because the baby is coming. You’re about to be Great-uncle Wade.”

He reeled like I’d slapped him. “Jesus.”

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