Page 173 of Make the Play

“It’s enough that your frontal lobe is still downloading.”

“Good,” he says, leaning back in. “Means there’s still room to installeverything about you.”

I bite back a smile. This is how he always gets me, with the truth. Sometimes it’s wrapped in filth, sometimes it’s wrapped in flirting, but it’s always honest and no-hesitation devotion.

Still, I can’t let him win that easily.

“Walton.”

“Yeah?”

“Calm down before you accidentally impregnate me with your eyes.”

He laughs, breath warm against my skin. “Gimme exactly one minute and a dark room, sweetheart.”

***

The brunch chaos eventually settles into lazy, happy quiet. Kids curled into laps, coffee mugs half-drained, Reid asleep with his head tipped against the back of the couch.

I retreat to the kitchen to rinse some plates that don’t need rinsing. Theo’s asleep in the bassinet by the window, sunlight drifting over his little face. It’s the soft, sleepy kind of quiet that only happens in houses filled with love.

Charlie appears at my side, but I don’t look at her.

“Want some help?” she asks, already grabbing a plate.

“You’re supposed to be recovering from childbirth.”

“I’ll allow myself one dish,” she says, nudging the plate into the suds. “Especially from someone who’s been pretending to fake date her soulmate for the past few months.”

I nearly drop the mug I’m drying. “Jesus. Can we start with a hello?”

Charlie shrugs. “You were too busy dry-humping Chase to say hello.”

“We were not dry-humping,” I mutter. “There was a baby in my arms.”

“There was avibein your arms,” she says. “And also a baby.”

I roll my eyes and switch to drying cutlery. “He’s just… intense. He gets like that.”

“You’re callinghimintense?” Charlie turns, arching one perfect brow. “Zoe, you called him emotionally unwell and then rocked my child in your arms while practically glowing. You looked like a mum in a holiday commercial.”

I flush and focus very hard on a spoon. “We’re not telling anyone it's real yet.”

“You’re nottellinganyone, or you’re notadmittingit to yourselves yet?”

“Charlie.”

She softens, nudging me with her hip. “I’m not judging, I’m happy for you. I’vebeenhappy for you since, like, the second you let him touch your coffee order.”

“That was fake.”

“Nothing about that man’s face when you walk into a room is fake,” Charlie says. “And neither were those photo booth pictures from the wedding.”

I blink. “How do you—”

“Tamara showed me,” she says with a shrug. “She said they were too cute not to print extras. Eli agreed. You were wrapped around each other like a damn rom-com poster. You werebeaming, Zo. And he was looking at you like—”

“Charlie.”

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