Page 85 of Houston, We Have a Problem
The one thing I’m almost certain of is they are thesameperson. And I was an idiot for not figuring that out sooner.
“Something tells me we need brownies,” the new guy says with a frown. “Ben, you know how to make brownies, right?”
The fourth guy rolls his eyes at the same time Cam says, “Are you seriously assuming I don’t know how to make brownies, Oliver?”
“I’m sure you do, but you’d probably throw spinach or protein powder in them or something. That’s the last thing this guy needs.”
Before I can say anything to the contrary—anyone who can put those things in brownies and make them taste good deserves a medal—Kit frees himself from Oliver’s arm and approaches me, holding out his hand. “We can go for a walk or move into the kitchen. Either way, we’re talking. What’ll it be?”
As intimidating as it feels to insert myself into this group of friends who I’m pretty sure have known each other for years, this situation feels big enough that having multiple perspectives might be nice.
“Kitchen,” I say, though it comes out more like a question.
“You only get to pick once,” Kit warns.
I examine the three guys for a moment, realizing if they have Kit Morgan for a friend, they have to be decent guys. They look nice enough, and Cam did just talk me down from a panic attack without me even realizing what he was doing.
“I could use all the help I can get,” I mutter and grasp Kit’s wrist, letting him pull me up onto shaky legs.
It isn’t until I’m settled on a barstool between Oliver and Ben that I notice it’s just the guys here. “Where’s Skyler?” I ask Kit as he and Cam go about gathering ingredients and mixing bowls.
“Girls’ night,” all four guys say at once.
A glance around the room tells me all of them are married, and something in my chest throbs. “Do they do that often?”
“Every other Saturday,” Oliver says, twisting back and forth on his stool. “You unfortunately picked my wife’s turn to have the kid.”
“Why is that unfortunate?” I’m not sure I would be able to handle a kid right now.
Kit chuckles. “Because my nephew is ridiculously adorable and would have melted away all your problems by smiling at you and calling you Dada.”
“It’s so stupid,” Oliver moans, dropping his head onto the counter. “Orion knows, like, a hundred words. Why does he call everyone Dada but me?”
I frown. “What does he call you?”
Everyone except Oliver snickers.
“He calls him Poopy,” Ben says lightly.
“I’m pretty sure he’s going for Papa but missed the mark,” Oliver groans. “I swear he’s smart.”
“On that note,” Kit says, “how about you give us the CliffsNotes version of why you’re here, Houston.”
I don’t even know where to start. “I’m in love.”
“Yes, a great reason to panic,” Cam says as he measures out flour. He sounds serious, but he must have a really deadpan sarcasm or something because he’s wearing a wedding ring like the rest of them.
I push forward despite the confusing response. “With my next-door neighbor. Well, my tenant, actually.”
Ben winces beside me. “That sounds complicated.”
“That’s not the worst part. You know that reporter, Tamlin Park?”
“The hot one?” Cam cringes as soon as the words leave his mouth. “Ignore me.”
“She’s beautiful,” Kit agrees. “But I thought you didn’t like her.”
“I…” This is all too confusing, and though it’s not what I mean to say, what comes out of my mouth is, “I’m in love with her too.”
