Page 46 of Feast

Esme sighed, long-suffering and exasperated, but her eyes were shining. “Fine.”

Amused, Spence gave Tuck a back-slapping hug. “Later, asshole.”

“You love me,” Tuck said, returning the hug.

“Yeah, but you’re still an asshole.”

Esme sniffed, brushing at an imaginary tear. “This is so touching.”

Spence just rolled his eyes and headed for the door. “Enjoy your nap.”

“We will,” Tuck said cheerfully and scooped a giggling Esme off her feet. “Lock the door, would you pal?”

Spence grabbed his coat off the hook. “Sure thing.”

Dragging on his coat, he paused in the open doorway to watch Tuck carry his wife, still giggling, up the stairs. Then he locked the door, closed it firmly behind him, and trudged through the falling snow to his truck.

The drive home was quick and uneventful despite the heavily falling snow, and soon he was climbing the stairs to the apartment above his shop, grateful he’d thought to salt them before he left. He let himself in, shook the snow off his coat, then sat on the bench under the front window to peel off his boots.

When his phone rang, he fumbled it out of the pocket of his jacket. The name on the screen made him wince, and he was tempted to let it go to voicemail. But since that would only put off the inevitable, he thumbed the screen to answer and put it on speaker. “Hi, Mom.”

“Hi,” came the cheerful response. “Did you see that play?”

Since she sounded happy, he relaxed. “What play?” he asked, setting the phone on the bench beside him so he could tackle his boots.

“Oh, you’re not watching the football game.”

“Just got home,” he said, grunting a little as he fought with wet laces. “Had brunch with Tuck and Esme.”

“Oh, that’s nice. Is Esme still tattooing?”

“Yep.” He managed to get the first boot off and went to work on the second. “You in the market?”

“I’m thinking about it,” she admitted. “Will it hurt?”

“It’s a needle punching into your skin, Ma,” he reminded her. “Of course, it’ll hurt.”

“Well, maybe someday,” she hedged.

Since she’d been saying that for at least ten years, he didn’t bother to respond. Pulling off his second boot, he set it on the mat beside its mate and stood. “How’s Stephen?”

“He’s good,” she said, her voice warming. “He said to tell you hi.”

He picked up his phone and carried it with him to his bedroom. “Hi back.”

“He’s actually not here right now,” Heather continued. “Halley’s moving this week, so he’s helping her pack up the apartment.”

He set the phone on the bed. “Halley’s moving?”

“Yes, to Grand Rapids,” Heather said. “I told you that.”

She hadn’t, but he didn’t bother to correct her. “Sure, I remember.” He pulled the sweater he’d worn to brunch off over his head and reached into his closet for a flannel shirt. “Does she need a hand settling into her new place?”

“Well, I already told Halley to call you if she needs help—”

He just shook his head.Of course, you did.

“—but she said it’s mostly clothes and books and other odds and ends, and she and Madison can handle it.”

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