Page 7 of One Short Summer

I watch her while she gets some plates for us. It’s familiar, yet something I realize we haven’t done in a while. Just a simple get-together. I actually can’t even remember the last time.

Before I can think about it anymore, I get distracted when Charlie pushes a plate in my direction.

She looks chagrined before a chuckle escapes her lips. “Sorry, Mo. You know I can get a little crazy when it comes to my favorite authors and their books.”

“I do, and you know I love that about you, my little bibliophile.” I stick out my tongue before grabbing one of the pastries from the tray she placed between us.

At least her peace offerings are delicious.

“Are you causing trouble again, sweetheart?” Hudson walks into the kitchen, smiling at Charlie with what is undeniably still one of the sexiest smiles I’ve ever seen. But we all know there are plenty of women swooning over the successful rockstar, not that he seems to notice it much anymore. Mira and Charlie are his world, and he’s only got eyes for his girls. Being around them, it’s impossible to miss their love.

Thankfully, a lot of his more insistent fans have finally gotten that memo too, especially with the latest engagement and pregnancy rumors going around. They haven’t confirmed anything yet publicly, but I’m sure once Charlie starts showing, things will calm down even more in that aspect. Hopefully. The last thing they need is any drama surrounding their expanding family.

Hudson’s wearing his signature look of dark jeans and a white T-shirt, his dark hair hidden under a baseball cap. He and Gabe look so much alike but then so different at the same time too—it’s hard to explain. When I focus just on their features, like their eyes, noses, and mouths, they’re almost identical. But when you look at their faces as a whole, they aren’t. Kind of fascinating, really.

If I might add, both are deliciously yummy though.

Hudson finally seems to realize I’m here too and nods his head in my direction. “Hey, Monica.”

He places the takeout bags on the counter, pushing them away from the edge—no doubt so Mira can’t get her little grabby hands on them.

Like I said, he’s only got eyes for the two leading ladies in his life.

Dreamy.

Mirabelle is still in his arms, now struggling to get down. “Momo, Momo.” She points at me with her little fingers, and once she’s safely on the ground, she runs to me as fast as her short legs can carry her.

Now that’s what I call a welcome.

I slide off the stool and squat down onto her level, enveloping her into a big hug. “Hi, sweet little girl. How are you? I’ve heard some things about you. Have you been giving Mommy and Daddy a hard time?”

She shakes her head as if she knows exactly what I’m talking about before giving me a toothy grin. “Mira good girl.” Then she giggles, and we all have to chuckle at the sight.

Gosh, she’s such a cutie with her blonde ringlets and blue eyes. I’m a total sucker for her.

She’s got everyone wrapped around her little finger, which I bet doesn’t help with the trouble she’s been causing.

Getting close to her ear, I whisper into it. “I believe you, don’t listen to them. You’re the cutest thing ever.”

She giggles again in response just as another set of footsteps enters the room.

“I have to agree with her on that.” Gabe comes up behind me, bending down to take Mira from me.

He throws her in the air before pulling her in for a hug. Mira immediately snuggles into his chest, the same way she does with Hudson. It’s a sight to behold, but then, I’m not surprised. She’s got everyone under her spell, especially the Mitchell men.

Total poison for my ovaries too, or anyone’s, I’m sure.

Even after a year, I’mstillnot immune to seeing either of the handsome brothers hold her. It just never gets old. But who could blame me?

The two siblings both have the same brown hair—Gabe’s is now a little longer than Hudson’s—and brown eyes, but Gabe is built a little broader. After living with him all this time, I know it’s a testimony to him working out religiously. He says it helps him figure out his stories. Not that he needs a reason for it, really.

I definitely don’t mind looking at the result of all those sweaty sessions. I doubt many women would.

His gaze is on me, both of his eyebrows raised. He’s probably wondering why I’m staring at him, even though he’s used to my kind of crazy, barely questioning any of my weird antics anymore.

Except when I put ketchup on my pasta or refuse to drink distilled water, then he pretends like he doesn’t know me. But what can I say? Ketchup is really just a different kind of tomato sauce, and I need my bubbles in water. Now that I think about it, there are probably a lot of things that drive him crazy, but he’s been a good sport about them.

Anyway, it’s not my fault he’s so nice to look at. And I’m pretty sure he secretly likes it too.

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