Page 72 of The Way We Win

“Why are you saying it all weird like that?” Dylan fusses, waving a hand. “Cubanelles are spicy!”

Craig’s eyes meet mine, and we both frown for a half second then we say it at the same time. “You’re pregnant.”

“What!” Dylan’s voice goes high. “Why would you say something like that?”

We both close in on her at the table, and she takes a step back, holding the half pepper she’s preparing to stuff.

“Cubanelles are at the bottom of the Scoville scale.” Craig sounds like a cop questioning a suspect. “It’s the first pepper that has a heat index above bell peppers.”

“You’ve dropped like three hundred thousand on the scale!” I made that up, but it’s close to true.

Dylan blinks fast, looking from us to the pepper and back again. “Logan’s baby hates peppers!” Her tone is horrified.

“You’re pregnant!” I throw my arms around her, jumping up and down.

“You’re going to have a little pepper-hating baby just like me!” Craig throws his arms around my arms, and we’re both jumping up and down.

“I thought this pepper was so hot.” Dylan’s voice is dejected from the middle of our cuddle dogpile.

“It’s okay, little mamma.” Craig pets her head, stepping back. “You can return to eating Satan’s fruit in nine months.”

Her eyes widen, and she grabs his arm. “Don’t tell anybody. I’m supposed to be keeping it a secret. Logan’s going to kill me.”

I give her another hug. “He must be so happy!”

“What are we going to do about this dish?” Craig frowns, pointing to the rows of sweet peppers waiting to be baked. “It is not daring at all.”

“We’ll tell them you made it.” I grab two pans, sliding them into the oven. “We’re taking a break from the off-the-charts heat of Pepper X and habañeros.”

“Nobody’s going to like that,” he grumbles, thumbing through his playlist. “What should I play to make it up to them?”

My lips twist, and I can’t resist. “What about ‘Lips on You’ by Maroon 5?”

“An oldie but a goodie.” Craig taps on the front of his phone. “I’ll follow it with ‘Ride’ by Chase Rice. That should make them happy.”

“So no warning? Just dig in?” I look at Dylan as she pulls off her plastic gloves and eye shield.

“I guess not. Unless the warning is for Logan.” She snorts a laugh. “His wimpy tongue would probably be burned by this one.”

“Hardly.” Craig shakes his head. “Even Kimmie Joy can eat this dish.”

We put the final pans in the double oven and set the timer. I dig through the cabinets for paper plates and napkins. No need for ice cream tonight.

The buzzer sounds, and we pull out the sheet pans, arranging the mild offering on serving trays.

“That’s a strange scent.” Craig frowns. “What is it? I can almost place it.”

“It’s making me think of breakfast…” I look up at him, tilting my head.

Stomping noises come from out front, and I glance at the clock. “Nevermind. Let’s get out there. It’s already going to be a tough sell.”

“It shouldn’t be!” Dylan argues. “Everyone can eat this one, I guess.”

Craig grabs his blond wig and the three of us march out carrying two trays each. Cheers and clapping fill the large dining room, and we go to the picnic tables arranged in the corner near the small bar.

Jack leans on the bar beside Zane and Garrett, and my stomach tingles. Craig puts his trays down, going to the PA systemto link his phone to the Bluetooth. I can hardly breathe, waiting to see how Jack will respond when the song plays.

“Tonight we’ve got something for everyone!” I announce as the crowd waits. “Craig has prepared a special family recipe for us, stuffed Cubanelle peppers that should be safe for all to enjoy!” A grumble moves through the crowd, but I push on. “Come on up and help yourselves, but please only take one at a time.”

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