Page 22 of Sheep Calm and Merry On
“Hey, do you think she’ll tell us the kid’s name in advance? We could match the lambs’ names.”
“Or you can try to get her to name her kid on theme. But like, subtly.”
Devon’s eyes lit up. “Oooh. I like the way you think.”
Noah bowed. “Thank you. That reminds me—did you pick a theme for this year yet?”
The toaster popped, and Devon slathered the two halves of the bagel with peanut butter. “Oh yeah, didn’t Amber tell you?”
When would she have had time? Noah had spent four days renting an apartment he’d probably never see, and every other moment he’d been here, Devon had been with him. “No.”
“Since I’m officially no longer in hockey withdrawal, we’re retiring that trend.” Instead of just handing Noah his half of the bagel, Devon stuck it directly in his mouth. “This year we’re doing Muppets.”
Keep Reading
for an excerpt from
Love It or List It
by Ashlyn Kane and Morgan James
Chapter One
AUSTIN REALLY needed a dishwasher.
So he told himself, cursing, as he scoured his kitchenette for any clean vessel he could put in the microwave. None presented itself. This was a problem. After ten hours in the garage putting on winter tires and sweet-talking a very temperamental BMW, Austin was starving—hangry even.
He should probably buy another bowl. More cutlery too, while he was at it. He didn’t have time to clean the caked-on macaroni out of the ones he’d left in the sink. He might die first.
Could you put SpaghettiOs in the microwave just in the can? Metal wasn’t a problem anymore, right? Or did that depend on the microwave? Austin couldn’t remember and didn’t want to find out the hard way.
Was it safe to eat this shit cold?
He was debating the merits of rolling the dice on that when his cell rang.
Austin was off the clock, technically. He only had one phone and didn’t use it for personal reasons. But he also hadn’t been a small-business owner long enough to just ignore calls. And the call ID was from a lawyer’s office. Lawyers had fancy cars, and that meant fancy repairs. “Taylor’s Repairs, go for Austin.”
“Hello,” came the polite, professional voice on the other end of the line. Not a service call, then. “This is Josephine Kelly from Keller and Associates. Am I correct in assuming that I’ve reached Austin Taylor?”
Oh fuck, he wasn’t getting sued or something, was he? “Uh, yeah. That’s me.”
“Mr. Taylor, are you acquainted with a Diedre Mitchell?”
The dull ache that had lived in Austin’s chest for six months gave a sharp throb. “DeeDee, yeah. Out on County Road 8?”
Austin didn’t have a lot of friends. Actually, now that DeeDee was gone, Austin didn’t have any friends. If it were left up to him, he wouldn’t have had her either, but little old ladies who lived on their own in ramshackle farmhouses knew how to get their way. He was called out to fix her riding lawn mower over a year ago, and somehow he’d gone back to fix something or other once a week after that. DeeDee always insisted he stay for lunch. In the spring, they ate on her side patio, soaking up the weak sunshine; in the summer, they took refuge in the shade of her crumbling front porch. He’d never actually been inside.
Then she died, and now he never would.
“Yes, that’s correct. I’m pleased we’ve reached the correct Austin Taylor.”
Were there a lot of them? Austin wondered. “Can I ask what this is regarding?”
There was a click of a pen or a keyboard on the other end of the line. “One of our clients, Chris Mitchell, has been named executor of Ms. Mitchell’s estate.” Pause. “Most of it was divided up between her relatives, but there is the matter of the house.”
Austin blinked, feeling hollow. “The house?”
Josephine made an affirmative-sounding hum. “Ms. Mitchell has listed you as a co-beneficiary of that particular asset.” More tapping—definitely keys this time. “We’ve been trying to track you down so the ownership transfer can be finalized. Would you be available tomorrow to go over some paperwork?”
