Page 113 of The Grump I Loathe
“Not possible.”
“Now the big question,” Eddie said, “is do we name the baby Hot Sauce or Quesadilla?”
I snorted. “You’re not serious?”
Eddie flashed me a wicked grin. “You’ve got about eight months to convince me otherwise,” she said. “Or else Baby Dragon’s Exhale is coming to a nursery near you.”
“Not gonna lie,” I laughed. “That name does sound pretty badass.”
“I know.” Eddie beamed at me. “Look at us, already crushing this parenting thing.”
“We’ve gotta get all our practice in before we start planning for a sequel.”
“A sequel, huh?” Eddie tilted her head. “How many of those are you wanting?”
“I’m open to suggestions,” I said, staring into her eyes. “But at least three.”
“In that case,” she said, tugging me toward the stairs with a sultry smirk. “We better get practicing.”
“You took the words right out of my mouth.” She giggled as I chased her up the stairs, and I smiled after her, knowing I’d spend the rest of my life making sure she had everything she ever wanted, because she’d given me more than I could have ever hoped for.
35
CONNOR
The grand ballroom of the Ebell of Los Angeles had been transformed for Mom and X’s nuptials. The historic women’s club, built in 1927, boasted Renaissance architecture and old-Hollywood elegance which perfectly suited the vintage cinema theme they’d chosen. Everything was decked out in ivory and sepia, and Sierra had even helped Mom out with a custom twenties-inspired dress for the occasion.
Everything had gone off without a hitch, and now that the reception was in full swing, we were finally able to just kick back and relax.
“Drinks?” Liam asked, glancing around the table. “Who needs a refill?”
Heads nodded, and both of Finn’s arms shot up in the air. “A double for me,” he said.
Sierra leaned into his shoulder, chuckling. Finn was in an extra good mood this weekend since he’d officially green-lit theRun ’n’ GunWild West prequel of his dreams. Seven-month-old CJ gurgled from Mia’s lap, attempting to imitate Finn before slamming his adorablychubby fists down on the table, rattling the dishware and making us laugh.
Liam leaned over and pecked CJ on the cheek. “Atta boy.” He looked up at us. “Maybe I’ll just get a bottle for the table then?”
“Speaking of a bottle,” Mia murmured, reaching down into the diaper bag that held CJ’s dinner.
“Just a ginger ale for me please,” Eddie requested before Liam walked away. June had brought our six-month ultrasound. The baby was healthy and thriving and hitting all of its milestones, and Eddie was positively glowing.
“Can I have a Shirley Temple?” Grace asked, glancing over at me. I nodded.
“Me too?” Alannah said.
“If you come and help me carry everything,” Liam told the girls.
They popped out of their seats, trailing after him as they slipped off toward the bar, dodging merry wedding guests and the occasional glammed-up celebrity X had befriended over the years.
“Oh my God,” Mia hissed, her head snapping around as someone waltzed by in a fancy burgundy tux. “Was that Grant?—”
“Taylor?” Eddie finished. “Yeah. I bumped into him at the dessert table while we were both stuffing our faces with brownies.”
My lips twitched. Eddie’s tastebuds changed by the day with this pregnancy, but she’d yet to go off chocolate. I grabbed her hand and squeezed as she gushed about rubbing elbows with the high-profile singer/songwriter.
“Apparently, X knows his dad or something,” Eddie continued, voice hushed.
Mia made a mind-blown action with her hand. “You think he’s going to sing?”
