Page 155 of Micah

Loud.

Comfortable.

Like sisters who decided five minutes ago that I'd been adopted into the family whether or not I liked it.

“We figured you might need breakfast,” Esme announces, unloading bagels onto the counter.

“And fruit.”

“And eggs.”

“And bacon.”

Bit starts unpacking cream cheese, paper plates, and what looks suspiciously like homemade muffins.

“How’d you know I was here?” I ask, stunned but not ungrateful.

“Well, Micah told the guys about last night,” Esme begins, and she’s worrying her lip between her teeth. “We’re so sorry, Sloane. If you want to talk about it?”

“Oh, thank you. It’ll be okay,” I say and shrug.

I don’t want to burden them with my family drama.

“Anyway,” Bit says, catching on to my reticence, for which I am eternally grateful. “This morning, they told us you were here,” she says, “and we figured you could use some sustenance.”

She reaches into another bag.

“Oh! I almost forgot.”

She triumphantly holds up a beautiful bottle of French vanilla creamer.

“I remembered from one of our chats that you like flavored creamer, and Micah drinks his coffee black enough to strip paint.”

I burst out laughing.

“That sounds about right.”

“I knew it!” Bit beams, handing me the bottle.

“Thank you so much. You are a lifesaver.”

I grin and start to open the bottle. Esme busies herself putting bagels on a plate and opening up the flavored cream cheeses they bought.

Is that strawberry jalapeno?

Oooh.

“No problem. I can’t have coffee right now, so I’m living vicariously,” Bit replies and places her hand on her softly swollen belly.

She studies me for a second. Then smiles knowingly.

“So...”

My stomach flips.

Uh-oh.

Here come the twenty questions.