Page 122 of Perfectly Grumpy

“Baby shopping,” Sloan chirps.

“Again?” he asks. “We’ve practically filled our entire bedroom, the nursery, and half our garage.”

“Yeah, and we still need more,” Jaz says lovingly, then kisses him on the cheek. “Bye, babe.”

Brax shakes his head as the back door slams. “I’m going to need to take out a second mortgage just for this baby.”

“Welcome to the rest of your life,” Rourke says, smacking him on the back. “Which is why I’m staying single forever.”

“Never say never, Rourke,” Vale warns.

“This time I mean it,” Rourke says, but there’s something defensive in his tone. “That Janie Bennett was the last straw.”

“The kindergarten teacher?” Leo bursts out laughing. “She actually seems nice. No wonder she doesn’t like you.”

“I’ve done everything she’s asked, and she still won’t go out with me. Thinks I’m a player with a bad reputation. I’ve asked her out three times, and you know what she did?”

“Put a restraining order on you?” Brax says with a grin.

“No. She asked me to dress up as a book character for her summer reading program. So I did, and shestillturned me down. All that work for nothing.”

“Who did you go as?” I ask.

“Scrooge,” Rourke says.

We all burst out laughing.

“Scrooge?” Leo barks. “You tried to win over a kindergarten teacher by channeling a miserable old miser who hates joy?”

“I wanted her to think I knew the classics like Tate,” Rourke argues.

“Huh,” Brax says. “You’ve always dropped women at the first whiff of commitment. Must hurt to get rejected, for once.”

“You guys do not understand,” he growls. “I’m over her. Completely and totally.” But when his phone dings, he practically dives for his pocket. The disappointment on his face when he reads it is almost painful to watch. “It’s just Brendan, waiting for us at the gym.”

“Tell him we’ll be there as soon as I get these scones out,” Brax says, sliding on Jaz’s flowered oven mitt as he turns to me. “Want to join us for one of Brendan’s torture sessions?”

“I’ll be there after I talk to my mom,” I say. “She left a message earlier.” I grab my suitcase and head upstairs to my room, needing some quiet for a while. When I dial Mom’s number, she picks up on the second ring.

“Hi, Tate.” Her voice is warmer than it’s been in months.

“Hey, Mom. How are you doing?” I settle on the edge of my bed, realizing how much I’ve missed talking to her regularly.

“Better, actually. That’s part of why I called. The real estate agent came by this week, and we’ve started packing some things.”

The words don’t register at first. “Packing for what?”

“We’re selling the house.”

The phone feels heavy in my hand, my voice strained. “You’re—what?”

“I know it’s sudden.”

“Sudden?” I shake my head. “Mom, that’s our home. Where I grew up. That’s where Hope…” I can’t finish the sentence. The house where my sister lived, where we shared stories late at night, where her room still holds her things.

“I know, sweetheart,” Mom says quietly. “I know how hard this must be.”

I stand up, pacing to the window, trying to wrap my head around this. “I thought the separation was temporary. I thought you and Dad were just taking some time to figure things out—a trial period.”

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