Sweet Obsession(5)

She cocks her head with a glare. I take a step back. Easy, Rocky.

The door chimes, followed immediately by Joey’s booming morning voice.

One volume. The man has one volume.

He hooks his thumb over his cashmere covered shoulder in the direction of the window. “Did you see the yoga studio across the street? What is that mess about?”

“Not just yoga,” I correct him. “Hot yoga. Lots of sweaty women with camel toe, being forced into ungodly positions.”

Joey makes an amused sound in the back of his throat. “Sounds like somebody’s high school years.”

“Yours?” Dylan throws out, resting her hands on her swollen belly. “Didn’t you wear an alarming amount of spandex back then?”

Joey spins the carrier on the display case, tugging out the cup with his name scrolled on the side. “I’ll ignore that jab, since you’re carrying Joey Jr.”

“His name isn’t Joey Jr.”

“What?” Alarmed eyes flick between myself and Dylan. “Okay . . . Joseph? I’m fine with that.”

“I’m afraid not.”

I smile against my cup. “Excellent. We’ve settled on Brookes then? Suck on that, McDermott.”

Joey glares at me over the top of his cup. I glare right back, laughing a little.

Dylan gently sighs. “Sorry. We’re going with Blake. That’s the name we both like.”

“Who’s we?” Joey squawks, his face suddenly two shades redder. “I don’t remember that name being on the table for discussion. And I definitely don’t remember receiving a phone call, asking my opinion before you started getting shit engraved.”

“Why do I need to call you? And engraved? Really, Joey? Who got anything engraved?”

A soft noise comes from the kitchen, followed by the familiar quick tapping of tiny feet on tile.

Joey sweeps his free hand around the shop. “I’m sure there’s something around here with that name already on it. Is it possible to fill out the birth certificate before the birth? Has Reese figured out how to do that?”

“Joey.” Dylan exhales exhaustively. “Fucking relax, all right? You haven’t heard the middle name yet.”

“Momma!”

Ryan comes barreling into the shop, her dirty blonde hair pulled up into two little sprouts on top of her head. Wearing a polka-dot dress and rainbow tights, she bounces up and down behind the counter, her hands grasping at the air.

“Momma, wook! Wook at my pwetty dwess.”

Dylan laughs, leaning down to kiss the top of her head. “You look so pretty, baby. Did Daddy let you pick out your clothes?”

“Uh, huh. Wook. My shoes, Momma. I wove dem.”

I risk a glance at Joey, catching the quick work of his finger along his cheek, no doubt catching a tear.

“You okay?” I ask quietly, stepping closer as the tiny voice continues to shout up at her mother.

He hesitates, then gives me a sly smile, mischief dancing in his crystal blue eyes. “Middle name. Did you hear? Suck on that, Wicks.”

“Whatever.” I shove against his shoulder, moving him a few inches away.

Not that it matters much to me. I was only tossing my name into the ring to rile up Joey.

Success.

“Aunt Bwooke!”

I turn around, set my coffee on the glass case and rest my hands on my knees. “Hey, girlfriend. I love your dress.”

Ryan spins, fanning the material out around her.

“Daddy says I’m his pwincess. He’s wetting me dwive to Nana’s today.” She dances away, twirling in circles around the shop.

“Is that so?” Dylan puts her hand on her hip just as Reese steps into the room, diaper bag on his arm, baby carrier in his hand, guilty as shit grin on his face.

Mm. Busted.

“What’s that?” he asks, his voice catching. Looking between his two girls, a cooing sound from the carrier draws his attention down. He smiles at Drew, Lord, the man is whipped, then focuses back on Dylan. “I never said that.”

“Sure you didn’t.” She lifts her head up, welcoming his kiss. “Brooke got your coffee.”

“Mm. Might not need it. I’m wide awake after that little shower session this morning,” he mumbles all too loudly against her mouth.

“Good Lord,” Joey says, almost groans, from my right.

I turn my head, expecting to see him still standing next to me, engaged in this conversation since I’m positive he just reacted to it, but instead I find him staring out the glass window, intently fixated on something.

“What’s up?” I ask, joining his side, sucking the warm mocha off my lips.

My eyes follow his across the street, widen, then nearly pop out of my skull and roll around on the floor.