Page 92 of Her Billionaire Bargain (Kensington Square)

“I know. But it doesn’t have to be a baby.” She kicked the back of my seat until I made the slashing motions again in front of my neck, which somehow seemed to be understandable kid language.

Hey, whatever worked.

Shelby’s dad was rocking on the porch swing when we drove up. The minute he saw us, he rose and made a show of hiding something behind his back. “What do we have here?” he asked in a booming voice as Berry giggled so like her mother and ran up the steps to try to see behind his back.

“C’mon, let me see! It’s for meeeee.” Berry looked back toward me and her mom. “I already had to see them kiss so c’mon!”

Shelby buried her face in her hands while I laughed.

Berry paid us no mind as she square danced with her grandfather in an effort for him to give up the goods. He held out admirably until she shot around him, grabbed the dog, and squealed loud enough to break the sound barrier.

“I have my own Bob!”

I sat down next to her on the swing to admire her new stuffed pug while Shelby and her father went inside to talk, probably about Berry’s possible diagnosis. It wouldn’t be quick, involving testing and potentially therapy, but if they were on that road, Shelby was smart to keep her parents informed.

While Berry and I swung back and forth and chattered about dogs and kittens and koi fish and if koi liked dogs, Shelby’s mom pulled up in a battered Ford Bronco that immediately made me want to play Santa and replace it.

If Shelby wasn’t even sure about letting me pay for meals, I could just imagine how she’d react if I sprung a new vehicle on her parents.

Second fight, starting in 3-2-1…

“Are you going to marry my mom?” Berry asked abruptly, stopping the swing with her foot as her grandma hauled a bag of groceries up the walk.

I was so stupefied by the question that Mrs. Wilde had made it all the way to the top porch step before my manners kicked in enough for me to take the bag from her. “Let me get that, Mrs. Wilde.”

She handed over the overflowing bag without a qualm. “Oh, you’re back. Did she make you pay?”

“Why? Are you hoping she did?”

“Just checking. Berry, look at you and that dog.”

“I’m naming her Bobbie,” Berry announced. “She’s Bob’s sister.”

“Younger or older?” her grandmother asked.

“Older because she’s wise.” Berry patted the dog’s head. “She can be the flower girl when you marry my mom,” she tacked on, apparently oblivious to the fact I was still on the verge of hyperventilating from the last time she’d mentioned marriage.

Shelby’s mom cast me a dubious look. “I was only gone an hour.”

I shrugged. “I’m not involved.”

She laughed and patted my back. “Guess that means you’ve given your blessing then?” she asked Berry.

Berry shrugged. “They already kissed, so why not?”

She had a valid point.

“Oh, is that the deciding factor?” Shelby’s mom took my spot on the swing and gave it a push with her foot. “Tell me more.”

Apparently, my cardiac issues weren’t a cause for concern, so I made do with rooting through the bag of groceries until I found a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos and dug in.

Berry stopped talking about marriage and held out a hand. “Gimme.”

“Berry, is that how you ask for something?”

“Hedidn’t ask.”

Another valid point. She was racking them up today. I just handed over the bag.

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