Page 89 of Sweet Thing

Of course his father’s death would have affected him, especially given their estrangement. For all his bluster, that connection would be impossible to ignore. “He’s talked about his dad a little, mostly about how he wants to raise Mabel differently.”

“That Sven was a piece of work, by all accounts. And Lars is family, so you’ll keep an eye on him, right? Our girl in Havana!”

“I’ll do my best.”

Aurora finished her martini and tapped into the photos on her phone. “Have you seen my costume for Halloween? Tell me if I’m showing too much leg!”

ChapterTwenty-Four

Adeline

The Kershaw Halloweenparty was a must on the Rebels’ social calendar. Most of the players, staff, and anyone vaguely associated with the org showed up, vying to outdo each other in the costume stakes. Tonight, all the toddlers and infants were gathered like a petting zoo of adorableness. We had a baby goat, two little pigs, a fox, and of course, our Mabel, now christened Moo-Belle, in her cow costume. My mom had put them in a playpen at the center of the living room and instructed the tweens to keep an eye on them, which gave their parents—and temporary nannies—a bit of a break.

I adjusted my antenna headband and took a seat beside Summer, who was wearing a Disney princess dress, a la Beauty and the Beast, though this one had weird detailing in the seams. Like brown and green rosettes.

“What did you come as?”

Summer patted her blonde wig and grinned. “Taco-Belle.”

I looked closer. Those rosettes were minced beef and cilantro-colored pops of fabric.

“Awesome.”

“And you’re Zom-Bee? Love it!”

And I loved not having to explain my costume, a combo of a bee and the undead. Lars had spent an age on my zombie makeup, lovingly applying it with a care that told me he’d missed his calling. Enjoying the domestic comfort of creating costumes and getting ready together as a family were so enjoyable that I hated myself for even going there. But I was also determined to grasp these moments of joy and go with where the flow took me.

“And Lars looks so handsome as a Viking—uh, hockey player?”

“Fantasy Hockey League.” A hockey jersey with a horned helmet and Thor wig was simple but effective. “He objected to every idea until I said he could wear his sweater.”

“Well, it works.” She leaned in close. “And how’s the other thing?”

I played coy. “What’s that?”

“I heard you went on a date with Rowan MacFarlane and Lars pulled a John Wick and punched him while he had the baby strapped to his chest like a weapons holster. I would have paid to see that.”

The embellishments were getting fancier. “Not how it happened. He came to pick me up—with the baby—and I watched her in the car while he went back in to, uh, hit Rowan.”

That sounded worse. I should probably apologize to the poor guy, but he got his wish: a spot on the line with my dad for the next few games.

Summer’s brow wrinkled. “You two are still boss/nanny? No funny business?”

“Yep!” Was that a slight twang I heard in her voice when she said “funny business”? I didn’t know much about Summer’s origins, and I itched to learn more. “So what did you do to my brother?”

Summer blinked, wide and slow, just like a Disney princess. “Hatch? Nothing.”

“I’ve noticed that he’s kind of off with you.”

“I know!” She sounded amused rather than upset. “Anytime he comes into the front office, he’s very ‘just the facts, ma’am.’ I think maybe I called him Hal the first couple of times I saw him? He’s been snippy to me ever since.”

I didn’t buy it. My brother wasn’t the grudge-holding type. I resolved to interrogate him later.

I let my eyes scan the room and rest longingly on Lars for a hot second. Enough to catch his eye, for both of us to recognize the danger, and reluctantly move on. To cover, I waved at Aurora, who had come as a 1920s flapper and was indeed showing decidedly too much leg.

Rosie in the guise of a lady pirate had been chatting with her brother Devon, a rubber chicken. She spotted my wandering gaze, so I jumped in with a question before she could. “How’s the job hunt going?”

She rolled the eye not covered by a fetching patch. “I talked to Harper, but we both agreed the Rebels front office is not for me.”

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