Page 57 of Finding Hope

Just the thought of that sweet girl taking a cab had my stomach cramping, and so ensued a back and forth argument that eventually escalated to me offering to hire a car and driver to come and get her.

By that point in the evening, after the flirty back and forth and the fun arguments, it was getting really late and neither of us were actually making a move.

In the end, I tossed a pair of Kit’s sweatpants and a Rollin tank at her face and sent her to get changed. We put on a movie thatwasn’tproduced in an animated studio, and we fell asleep exactly where we were; on the couch, with our heads back against the cushions, and our legs stretched out in front of us.

When the twin boys woke at two and I had to rush in and resettle them before they wokeeveryone, I stumbled back to the living room to find Bambie stretched out along the couch with cute pursed lips and soft breath as she breathed deeply and dreamt.

I didn’t have the heart to wake her or ask her to move, so I grabbed a blanket, tucked her in, then I went to sleep in my own room.

I woke again at three to baby Emma whining, then at four to the twins again.

Fuck. My. Life.

How do these people do this every night?

By the time the sun peeks over the estate and my eyes refuse to open, I turn over to find baby Sarah, Evie’s youngest sister, curled up against my back as though she’s my big spoon.

Wild squeals of laughter ricochet from every corner of this damn house and have me groaning.

Shimmying away from Sarah and beggingallthe Gods that she remain asleep, I stumble to the bathroom, then downstairs to the kitchen. Stopping at the doorway before anyone sees me, I step back and watch Bambie work in my sister’s kitchen in a Rollin tank that makes my gut roll.

“Miss T.” Evie moves around her and stops at the cupboard that holds the mugs. “I’m having coffee. You want some?”

“Coffee?” Britt’s eyes narrow.“Coffee?”

“Uh-huh,” my niece answers confidently. “You want?”

Bambie stops flipping pancakes and turns to face Smalls front on. “But you’re eleven?”

“I’m actually twelve. I had my birthday.”

“Your mom and dad let you have coffee?”

“Uh-huh.”

No, they don’t!I laugh silently. She has hot chocolate.

“Last chance, Miss T. You want some?”

“I’m not sure I should let you have coffee on my watch, Evie. Your Uncle Jack will kill me if you’re fibbing. Kids going wild on caffeine doesn’t sound like something he wants today.”

“But we don’t snitch, Miss T. In this family, we never snitch.”

Bambie’s eyes narrow. “No. I’m not comfortable letting you have coffee. Sorry. Go have some juice, the sugar will hype you up almost as much, then we can drown our pancakes in syrup and that’ll get you the rest of the way.”

“But I want coffee.”

Britt points her spatula. “And I don’t want to get in trouble for giving an eleven-year-old coffee, so…” She smiles victoriously when Evie turns on her heels and stomps in my direction.

Grumbling about being twelve, Evie doesn’t expect to be swept up into my arms as soon as she clears the entryway. Spinning her around and pressing my hand over her mouth to silence her squeals, she laughs and kicks out and throws an elbow back into my stomach.

“Nice try, troublemaker.”

She bites down on my palm and has me swinging my arm away. “You little turd. That hurt!”

Giggling, she becomes dead weight in my arms. “Morning, Uncle Jack. I love you.”

I drop her unceremoniously onto the couch. “Morning, trouble. I love you, too. Even when you’re a smartass to my friends.”

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