Page 40 of Doughn't Let Me Go

“Can you not tell Wren about this?”

“Not tell Wren what?”

The woman herself appears around the corner, nearly empty plate in hand.

“Kyrie full?” I nod toward the leftover sandwich.

“Someonemissed some crust.” Wren gives her husband a dirty look. “What am I not supposed to know?”

This time she directs her question at me.

I flick my eyes toward Foster, begging him to keep quiet. He gives me a quick nod.

“Porter had a sex dream about you.”

Wren nearly drops the plate she’s holding, barely catching it before it clatters to the floor. Her bright eyes find mine, her cheeks washed in a crimson red.

I shake my head, not even surprised that’s what the moron went with. “I regret moving here.”

Foster laughs. “You do not. You’re glad you’re so close to your best friend and his lady. Even though you secretly lust after her, he trusts you to not try to get with his main squeeze.”

“Jesus, Foster.”

“Which is it? Jesus or Foster?” He wraps his arm around Wren’s waist. “Because last night it wasdefinitelyGod.”

“Please tell me you did not bone while my daughter stayed the night.”

“Don’t worry,” Foster says, pecking a kiss to Wren’s still red cheek and snatching the plate out of her hand. She’s still staring at me. “It was just some over-the-pants action.”

“Foster!” This pulls her out of her trance, and she swats at him repeatedly.

He cowers from her onslaught. “Ow, woman! You’re the one who couldn’t keep her hands off me because Kristoff fromFrozengot you all hot and bothered. All I did was oblige your requests!”

“I’m taking my daughter and leaving before this gets any weirder.”

I head down the hall toward the nursery and can’t help but laugh at the sign taped to the door, which Wren clearly helped her make.

NO BOYS ALLOWED! ESPECIALLY UNCLE FOSTER!

I can hear Kyrie talking to herself through the door, or maybe it’s baby Nellie she’s chatting with. Ya never know with her.

“Ugh.Can you believe Uncle Foster didn’t cut my crust off? HeknowsI don’t like it. I was very pacific on what I wanted, andI’mthe queen so hehasto listen to me. Those are the rules.”

I knock on the door.

“Kyrie?”

“Who?”

I try not to laugh, because she sounds so much like Foster right now it’s unreal.

“Your Majesty, Queen of the Tea Party Room, it’s your father, the king.”

“Gross, Dad! You arenotthe king. Then we’d have to be married like Uncle Foster and Aunt Wren. I know how this works!”

I remember a time when she used to tell me I was the only boy she’d ever want to marry.

I push the door open and find her sitting cross-legged on the floor, baby Nellie in her crib fast asleep.

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