Page 183 of You've Got Hate Mail
Heath looks at me.
My heart pitter-patters, and I smile, unable to help myself.
“Text if you need me,” he murmurs.
“Nobody’s sexting today.” Pip shakes a finger at him. “And in front of your daughter?”
“What’s sexting?” Lav asks.
“It’s all about the number seven,” Ten says. “Sextuplets are when someone has seven babies at a time, which is a terrifying thought. Did you know Pip’s afraid of sevens?”
Heath opens his mouth.
Closes it again.
Sucks in a smile.
None of us correct Ten onsexbeing aboutsix, not seven, when talking numbers.
“Good to see you too, daddy-dude,” Ten says to Heath. “Nice job making this kid grow.”
Ten flings an arm around both me and Pip. “Gotta go, though. I’ve got two hot dates all day today so that Mabel doesn’t lose her shizz.”
Now Heath’s eye twitches.
“Beer later?” Ten says.
“Sounds great,” Heath replies mildly.
“Wicked.”
I look back at Heath as Ten marches us back along the path.
Lav’s watching us like she wants to come, but Heath has a firm grip on her shoulder.
Good luck, he mouths to me.
I blow him a kiss.
Actually, I blow it toward Lav, but the way his cheeks go pink too—he knows.
He knows it’s for him.
If I thought I was chaos—I’m as chaotic as a butterfly compared to Ten.
This weekend suddenly got a lot more interesting.
32
LOOK WHO’S SCHEMING
Heath
It’safternoon before things are settled enough at the house for me to leave Lav with Dori and Ginny and Caro and go in search of Cricket, who, to the best of my knowledge, hasn’t eaten yet at all today.
She shared her location with me so that I can track her through the winery—like a girlfriend would—and so I follow the trail to the fermentation building and the secret door to the barrel cellar.
Images of Cricket naked amongst the barrels fill my brain, but I need to focus.
