Page 27 of Coast

“Zoe?”

Her name was out of me before I even realized I was about to say it.

“Coast,” she said, swallowing hard. “I… hey. I, um, delivered the food.”

“Right. Yeah. You do that.”

It sounded like I forgot that fact. But I’d honestly been thinking about ordering a bunch of food just to see if she might show up since she’d dropped me off at the convenience store.

The fact that she was probably one of dozens of delivery drivers and the low chance of her being the one at the door was what held me back.

What a fucking twist of fate to have that proven wrong.

“I, yeah. So, this is your party.”

“It’s the club’s party,” I clarified.

“Club,” she repeated, brows pinching.

It was right then that Dixon came out the front door, loudly declaring that the food had arrived.

“This is one of those body shots and titty parties,” Zoe said after Dixon took the bags inside.

“Seems like it might—” I broke off as Lainey let out a loud, angry cry from the backseat of the car.

“Sorry. One second,” she said, rushing to the car and checking on the baby.

But Lainey wouldn’t be soothed.

Zoe pulled her out of the car seat, putting her to her shoulder and rocking.

“Come on, baby. It’s okay. I promise I can get you a bottle when we get back home.”

“Fuck that. We got water,” I said, waving at the house. “Get the baby some food.”

Zoe glanced at the house, then back at her wailing infant.

“Zo, come on. Get her a bottle,” I said, going around to the driver’s side to pull the key out of the ignition and grab thediaper bag off the floor well of the passenger seat. “Come on. Just keep her away from the bird when we walk through the kitchen,” I warned.

“Bird?” she asked, but saw soon enough who I was talking about as Mackie froze while climbing halfway down his cage. No doubt trying to make his way toward some sort of food. Caught, he climbed back up, looking real pissed about it too.

“Oh, he’s beautiful,” Zoe cooed at him, but made sure she kept Lainey far away from the can opener Mackie called a beak.

“He’s got a mouth to rival mine,” I told her. “You want me to make the bottle or hold the baby?” I asked.

Zoe turned to me, head cocked to the side. “You know how to make a bottle?”

“It’s not rocket science. She’s, what, three months?”

“Yes. How did you know that?”

“So she’s on… four to six ounces?”

“Four.” Zoe’s lips parted as she looked at me.

“Two scoops then,” I said, pulling the travel canister of formula out of the diaper bag along with one of the bottles.

“How… how do you know that?” Zoe asked as I ran the water.

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