Page 28 of Crocodile Tears
“But what about all the other future kids and spouses,” Mom insisted.
“We can worry about that when the time comes,” Finch called from the other end of the table.
“Yeah, Mom,” I added. “I don't think we'll need to be setting more spaces at this table for a long time.”
Right as I proclaimed that ill-fated statement, I was jinxed by a knock on the door.
Confused, we all looked over as Hannah popped up—which was a feat in her current state—and shouted, “I invited him!” as if she were confessing to a crime.
My stomach plummeted. “Him? Him who?” I had a terrible feeling I already knew.
Hannah slid me an apologetic glance as she moved around the table toward the front door.
“No.” I groaned. “Please, dear God, no.”
“I'm sorry,” she whined. “I'm going to be up to my eyeballs in diapers for the foreseeable future and it was a push present to myself to have dinner with Deacon freaking Harrow, okay?”
“How dare you use my nephew to make me not shout at you!” I whisper-hissed at her as she pouted and rubbed her belly, knowing full well that it would work.
Curse my best friend and her adorable, sad, pregnant face!
Hannah waddled the rest of the way and opened the door. Meanwhile, Mom quickly whisked a chair out from her office and set another place at the table between her and Wren.Of course he has to sit directly across from me.By the time Deacon rounded the corner, it appeared a place had been set for him all along.
“Hello, Lachlan clan.” Deacon greeted us with a wave. “Thanks for the invite.”
He breezed into the room holding a bottle of wine that was probably absurdly expensive and completely wasted on my feral family. He wore a cashmere sweater and gray slacks, looking like he was the face of a Ralph Lauren campaign . . . which he might’ve been actually. I couldn't remember.
His deep blue eyes landed on me and his stubbled cheeks dimpled. “Good to see you all again,” he said to the room but kept staring directly at me.
Hannah erupted into a fit of giggles like he'd just said something hysterical, and Hawk came around to gently steer her back to her seat. “Come on, Hazard,” he whispered affectionately.
Deacon took a seat, beaming, like this was his favorite place on Earth. “I missed Sunday Funday Fondue Day. I don’t think I’ve had fondue since.”
“You never missed one the entire time you lived here,” Mom mused as she gave his muscled arm a playful swat.
“Do you still play ‘It’s feces but what species?’” he asked, and the table erupted into laughter.
Jeez, none of my family could keep themselves from flirting with him. Crane seemed to forget he was a reptile keeper who was two seats away from a species killer. When had Deacon weaseled his way back into Crane’s good graces?
Finch whipped out her phone and showed Deacon a photo of what was clearly kangaroo poo. “Go on, Deacon, it’s feces but what species?”
Even Finch is entertaining him. Finch!My one hope. But Deacon was like a magical unicorn level of attractive. We were all powerless against it. He totally knew what he was doing too. His eager talk of animal poop was a perfect strategy to con my family into accepting him again. But I spotted his scheming from a mile away.
“Uhhh.” Deacon inspected the brown, little circles on Finch’s phone.
He shot me a sideways glance and I shook my head. “YouknowI’m not going to help you.”
Wren put two fingers on the table and hopped them across her plate in a quick jumping motion.
“Kangaroo!” Deacon proclaimed, and the group cheered as I gave my littlest sister a death stare.
“Et tu, Brute?” I mouthed at her.
With an innocent little smile, Wren just shrugged at me.
“So,” Deacon said, rubbing his hands together before grabbing a fondue skewer. “What have you all been up to the last fifteen years?”
The whole table laughed again, so easily charmed by him as he swirled a piece of bread in the fondue and ate it, slotting right back in like the little kid who used to constantly be at our house.
