Page 63 of Tossed into the Mob
“I like being prepared!” He started pureeing cooked carrots, and I wondered what herb they contained. It couldn’t be just plain old carrots. Not from Grandpa’s kitchen.
There was a loud crash from upstairs, and we both froze. Shifters had great reflexes, so for something to have fallen was a big deal. I assumed everyone was still alive.
“Is that a hole in the wall?” That was my mate, and he didn’t sound happy.
I mouthed to Arnie. “A hole?” Treyton and the cousins, minus Flint and minus my brother-in-law, Madd, who Rudy had roped in to do something, were supposed to be finishing the nursery, not breaking it.
“It was Hunter.”
“Was not.” Hunter wasn’t having any of it.
Maybe that pair should have their own nursery because they were imitating toddlers. Grandpa shrugged and went back to his purees. It was no big deal and pretty much what to expect when the Durands got together outside of work.
He gave me a taste of a different puree and asked me to identify it.
“Apple?”
“And butternut squash.”
“It’s delicious.”
He planted a kiss on my brow. Our little one would have to take cooking lessons from him, and maybe I should too.
There was another loud crash from upstairs. It sounded like a toolbox. I went to the bottom of the stairs and shouted, “That hole had better be fixed when I get up there.”
Dad wandered downstairs covered in flecks of paint. “They’re very enthusiastic.” He peered at the baby food. “And they’re not the only ones.” As he turned, he bumped the jar on the end, but I caught it. Thank gods because Grandpa would have been upset at having some of his food ruined.
“Sorry.”
Arnie held up the tablet. “I’ve listed every recipe, numbered the jars, and suggested age ranges. Once they’re cool, we can freeze them.”
Dad peered at the tablet over Arnie's shoulder. “You've thought of everything.”
“Well, almost everything.” Arnie chewed his bottom lip. “I haven't figured out what to do if the baby prefers store-bought food.”
“We’ll have a family party where the theme is baby food,” I assured him.
The front door opened with a bang, and Tony called out, “We brought reinforcements!”
“And supplies!” That was Matt.
“So many supplies,” Odell muttered.
A passel of kids tumbled in after their dads, and Arnie, Dad, and I got kisses before I steered them into the den, and Arnie took in a tray of refreshments.
Matt and Odell appeared in the kitchen doorway, each carrying bags of what looked like more baby supplies. Tony followed with his arms full of shopping bags.
“Please tell me you didn't buy more stuff,” I said, though I was touched by their thoughtfulness. “The nursery is already bursting.”
“Just a few essentials,” Matt said innocently, which immediately made me suspicious.
“Twenty-five baby blankets is not essential.” Odell sighed. “I told him to stop at ten.”
“You can never have too many blankets,” Matt protested. “Babies spit up. A lot. And there are different weights for different seasons, and different materials for sensitive skin…”
Tony started unpacking his bags on what little counter space remained. “I brought bottles, sippy cups, and every type of pacifier known to humanity. I want to make sure you’re prepared for every possible preference.”
“There are seventeen different types of pacifiers?” I picked up a package.
