Chapter 8

“So…” Mama said, crunching her way through one of the free cannolis we’d gotten for free-cannoli night at Rudy’s. Every Saturday was free-cannoli night. And every Saturday, like clockwork, Mama and I made our way here.

I was too old to worry about the fact my mother was my best friend.

Sure, if I’d still been in my twenties I might’ve felt some embarrassment that the highlight of my week was the time I spent with my mom, but I was well past that now.

After losing Dad, it’d become all too real, all too quickly just how fast we could lose the people we loved. And I’d made a point to call her every week after that, even when I lived in New York, or when I was still in school. I’d hardly had time to breathe, and yet I’d still found time for her.

A fact I knew she appreciated.

Now that I had moved back to my hometown, things were different.

It wasn’t a harried phone call we shared. It was cannolis. And all the fun moments in between when I picked up Jane and Rosie from her house after work, and we spent a solid forty minutes telling each other about our days over cocoa.

“So…?” I echoed right back, cleaning up the last of the cream from my plate before taking a long sip of water.

A sip of water that I promptly choked on when her next words came out.

“Robin Johnson, hmm?” Her eyes slitted, lips pulling into a Cheshire-like grin. “Matilda caught you making eyes at him the other day.”

“Oh, stop.” I waved her off, my cheeks hot. Couldn’t tell her to ‘fuck off’ like I could with my brothers. I was forty-five, and despite what I’d just said about being too old for those sorts of games, I would never be too old to respect my mother.

“Also—did you really think I wasn’t going to bring up the sledding?” she teased. There was a dark lock of hair curling around her ear from where it’d slipped free of her updo. I reached out to tuck it behind her ear, and she smiled gratefully, though that didn’t stop her from giving me more shit. “Your brothers are in a tizzy about it. Everyone is.”

“It’s been three days. How can that possibly be?”

“I have my ways,” she tapped her nose. “The whole town’s talking about it.”

“No, they aren’t.”

“They are.” Her eyes danced.

“How could the whole town possibly know?” I glared at her. “Unless…someone told them?” Like Jason at the general store. Jesus fuck, he had a mouth on him. And I didn’t mean that in a sexy way.

“I may have accidentally let slip to Becca that you have a soft spot for him…”

“Oh lord.”

“Who was talking to Baxter about it…”

“No.”

“When he was picking up his bulk order of cocoa from?—”

“ Jason .” Jesus fuck. That explained all the weird looks I’d been getting since Wednesday. And also the odd “congratulations” that had been tossed left and right at me as I walked down Main Street to get my daily dose of caffeine before my shift every day.

“What do they think is going on?” I asked, eyebrow twitching.

“Everyone in Belleville is incredibly happy that you’re in love , Ben.” Mama reached out to pat my hand. “There’s no need to look so offended.”

“I’m not in love—” I countered, even though that felt like a lie. “I just…I mean.” My cheeks were bright red. “How could I be in love? That would make it love at first sight. Which only exists in books, not real life.” I laughed, because that felt ridiculous, and also horribly on the nose. I was an author. I wrote about these things, but I’d never once thought they could be real.

“I’ve never even seen you have a boyfriend, Benjamin.” Mama’s voice grew kinder. “Never seen you so much as glance at another person. And yet…”

Ugh.

Why was she doing this to me?

“And yet, here you are…organizing a sledding expedition for our fancy-little-city-visitor. Going out of your way to interact with him. Buying him dinner, dressing him in your clothing?—”

“I get it—” I cut her off, cheeks hot. “I get it.”

At least she hadn’t seen how giddy I was to hop onto the back of his sled. I’d never hear the end of it.

“He’s only in town for the holidays,” I added, trying to douse water over the flames of her excitement. “It’s not like it means anything. It’s casual flirtation. That’s all.”

“If I know you, Ben—” Mama squeezed my hand tight. “And I do. I birthed you after all?—”

“Jesus.” Why did she always bring that up?

“Then I know nothing you’ve ever done has ever been casual.”

Mama’s words followed me around the rest of the night. When I got home I thanked Becca, my niece, for babysitting, slipped her an extra twenty—because I knew she was saving up to buy a car—and settled onto my couch with a depressed sigh.

The grandfather clock ticked and ticked and ticked.

Annoyingly loud.

Distracting.

Why the hell had I bought a grandfather clock?

It’d seemed like a good idea at the time. Classic. Old-school. The way I liked most things. But now the steady tick, tick was doing nothing but pissing me off. If it cuckoo’d I was going to scream.

Against my better judgment, my thoughts spun and spun and spun.

Eight weeks. Give or take a few days.

That was as long as Robin was staying. He hadn’t told me that. I had texted Trent to confirm, and there was very little I could do about that. I’d blink and our time together would be up. Easy as that.

If I was being completely, brutally honest—something my therapist recommended I practice, at least in the privacy of my own head—I knew that if Robin were staying here in Belleville indefinitely things would’ve been different for us.

My approach would’ve been different.

I would’ve acknowledged the fact I liked him long ago. Would’ve asked him on a date properly. Something fancy, just so I could see his face light up when I got the bill for him again. I would’ve brought him flowers. Would’ve asked for his number. Would’ve already been planning our second date before the first had even ended.

“Nothing you’ve ever done has ever been casual.”

The truth of Mama’s words haunted me.

Robin made me laugh in a way no one ever had before. He was funny, sweet, and entirely too sexy for his own fucking good. Energetic and bright, he made whatever room he stepped inside fill with life. Like he was a walking ball of sunshine, and everyone else couldn’t help but turn toward him.

Beneath that, though, he was…fragile.

Maybe because of the tumble he’d taken last year on stage? Thank you, Google. Or maybe it was simply the job itself. The fact that he’d been away from his family. I couldn’t imagine living a life at the level of fame he possessed. That was an incredible amount of pressure, even when he wasn’t actively touring.

If there was one thing that didn’t make sense to me, however, it was the fact that Robin Johnson had left Miles and Bubba behind. He seemed more likely to be the kind of oddly doting uncle you saw in movies. Always around. Heavily reliant on his family to make him feel seen, and appreciated, and loved.

And without that…

I wasn’t sure how he’d survived.

At least, judging by the way he watched Miles and Bubba with wide, starved eyes.

The only answer could be that he left because he had to. He left because—like he’d uttered to me in the dark, his secret cracked open—he thought that he was poison.

Like Beckett, in the book I was writing. The character that he’d been most invested in.

I didn’t blame Belleville for being curious. Mama had been right. I had never done things by halves. And it made sense that they’d all be fascinated that for the first time in my life, serious stalwart Ben Montgomery was actually interested in someone.

But that didn’t mean that I could pursue this without accidentally hurting Robin.

And I didn’t want to do that.

Hence my frustration.

Because I didn’t want to spend any more time worrying about my newest tiny-black-coated shadow, I rose from the couch and headed into the twins room to check on them. The light was off, only their matching nightlights casting a glow about the tidy room. We allowed messes in our house, but under the condition that the twins were responsible enough to clean up after themselves, and that had always worked.

There were a few stains on the carpet that were never coming out—despite the fact our home was still fairly new—but the floors were always tidy, the toys always put away.

Unsurprisingly, Rosie’s bed was empty.

She often did this.

Climbed in with her sister, like they were two halves of a whole, and she could only relax when they were together. Wearing separate blankets, purple and green respectively, Jane and Rosie were curled up on the left bed, their blonde curls spilling across the dark bedspread.

I’d let them pick the decor.

And unsurprisingly, they’d chosen something more fitting for the children of Gomez Addams than me.

I didn’t mind, though. I liked to let them express their creativity and personalities wherever I could. Even though I was quite aware that some of their interest in the little kids’ version of Edgar Allan Poe’s stories, and their obsession with black came from missing Trixie, their mother.

Trixie was as soft-hearted as a person could be.

Gentle. Kind.

And I’d never seen her wear anything that hadn’t been ordered from an occult catalog, wasn’t blacker than the night sky, and covered in lace. I could admit seeing my children dressed the way they preferred sent a pang of longing for their mother through me whenever I let it catch me off guard.

She’d been my best and only friend when I’d moved to the city.

We’d bonded over our love for books and our aversion to public transportation. And despite the fact I’d never made a real friend before, we’d quickly—and effortlessly—become two peas in a pod.

It helped that Trixie was as gay as I was. We’d had a lot of mirrored experiences as teens, though she’d kept the eyeliner, and my style now leaned more toward Tom Ford.

Trixie had been the one to tell me I should contact agents. She’d been the one who read my first book and quietly proclaimed—over tea one day in her favorite tea shop, because she was a tea drinker—that if I didn’t send it off to be published, she would.

My platonic soulmate.

In all the years I’d known her, we’d never fought once. Not even when we were planning to have children. Not even when she’d been pregnant with our twins, and I wouldn’t stop hovering. Always panicking, always overbearing.

She was my biggest fan. And I was more than a little happy that she’d finally broken into her dream career in L.A., but that didn’t mean I didn’t miss her, especially at times like this.

I ran my hand over Jane’s fuzzy head, and then Rosie’s, sighing softly as I crouched down on the ground beside their bed, moving slowly to make sure I wouldn’t cause my back to spasm.

Trixie would know what to do in this situation.

I wanted to ask her for advice.

But I was more than a little worried she knew Robin personally as they ran in the same circles. And I didn’t want to betray his privacy like that. Not that I ever thought she’d do something as awful as spread my concerns over his health—or rumors about us.

She would never.

It was simply the principle of the thing.

As someone who was incredibly well-known, there was very little privacy Robin had left. I wasn’t about to betray that, not even to my best friend.

Jane made a snorting sound, and I bit back a laugh, fingers combing through her silky curls as she snuffled against the mattress.

I didn’t want to disturb them, so I remained quiet, soaking up their little sleep sounds and finding peace in them like I always did. When it was far too late to be up any longer, I rose with a pop, biting back a groan as my back twinged—just like I’d hoped it wouldn’t—and I made my way to my own bedroom to do the physical therapy I’d been neglecting.

Robin was on my mind as I brushed my teeth.

He was on my mind as I set my alarm—bright and early—for Sunday, my designated day with the girls.

He was on my mind as I pulled on sweats and slid beneath the covers.

And when I dreamed, I thought of green eyes.

Chipped nail polish.

Bruises.

And laughter.

And the fact I didn’t want to half-ass this thing with him at all.

“Don’t forget to breathe!” I cheered, stopwatch in hand, as Rosie huffed and puffed. Her little chubby limbs worked double time, hands clutching tight to the spoon she was strangling, and the egg it balanced atop it. The snow had melted earlier in the week, leaving grainy brown patches, here and there, the soggy-soaked leaves beneath it squishing beneath her booted feet.

It’d been a lovely Sunday so far.

We’d had pancakes this morning—with chocolate chips—my specialty. We’d watched an hour of Jane and Rosie’s favorite cartoon—LilPoe. It was a child-like retelling of a lot of Poe’s work. Their favorite was the Cask of Amontillado episode with the wall. And we tended to watch that over and over and over, on a never-ending loop. They knew every single line and would shamelessly quote it while staring at the screen like it was hypnotizing them.

Afterward, we’d made lunch together, chicken wraps that were more cheese than wrap. And now that the twins were full of energy and dressed to fight the cold, we were at the park down the street, training.

Training…had not been my idea.

After the Pie Festival last fall and our inevitable loss during the relay race, the twins had become determined to win the following year. Sure, I doubted we would. I wasn’t as fast as Paxton or Trent was, and therefore would be hard-pressed to beat them in the race. And if I had the twins roped up to my legs for the three-legged portion, we would lose for sure, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t going to support them when they wanted something—however misguided it was.

I figured there was a lesson in losing, just like there was in winning.

And I was proud of them for wanting to work hard toward something that wasn’t a guaranteed success.

Rosie wheezed in a breath—finally remembering that air was a thing she needed—before she crossed her designated finish line and cheered happily in triumph. Except, when she cheered, she threw the spoon upward, and the egg flew and?—

Yep.

Smashed right into Jane’s coat where she’d been waiting at the end.

Jane looked down at the yolk, slowly dripping down her coat, pulled in a long, labored breath—and…

“Oh, honey,” I knelt down immediately, pulling the wet wipes I brought with me at all times out of my coat pocket. “It’s okay. It’s just a little?—”

A high-pitched wail filled the air, loud enough to startle a few birds out of the roost they’d made. Indignant, they squawked at the three of us like we were Satan himself.

“I’m sorry,” Rosie said, her own little voice wobbling. “It was ass-dent.”

“Accident,” I corrected gently.

“Ass-dent,” Rosie agreed, wetter this time. “I didn’t mean to.”

Jane stopped wailing, but by that point, all was lost. Because now that the waterworks had begun, there was little I could do to stop them. Rosie sniffled, sucked in a long breath of her own, and I braced myself for two screaming, blubbering toddlers at once.

I knew they needed to be distracted. But Jane also needed the egg off her coat, otherwise it would just set them both off again. So I moved quickly and efficiently to clean her up, all the while murmuring soothingly to both of them and using my free hand to stroke over their shaking little backs.

“It’s okay, my angels,” I promised, trying not to panic when the pitch of their cries stabbed directly into my brain and made me feel shaky and overstimulated myself. “I promise. See? It’s gone. All gone.”

I swiped a fresh wet wipe over Jane’s coat, clearing the last of the yolk, my heart aching for my two favorite little people. At this age, they had such big feelings, so big they couldn’t figure out how to regulate them most of the time. I tried to help as much as I could, but there were times when feelings just needed to be…felt.

“It’s okay,” I promised them both, settling them against my chest and placing a kiss on each of their little heads. I wasn’t sure if they’d feel the kiss through their hats, but I hoped so. “Papa’s got you.”

The hug seemed to help for all of thirty seconds.

But then Rosie started blubbering more apologies, and Jane discovered there was egg on her shoe too—and I had to pull back to grab more wet wipes.

The last thing I expected on a sunny, brisk autumn afternoon was for Robin Johnson to appear like the guardian angel he apparently was, and save the day.

But he did.

Because Rosie sucked in another breath, ready to wail again—and instead—a peal of laughter escaped her. Wild and twinkly and bright. Jane turned to see what she was looking at and her eyes widened, a little shark-like grin lighting up her face too.

“Ow!” a familiar scratchy voice yelled. “That hurt .”

Swiveling, I tried to see what they were looking at, only to be shocked and endlessly amused when I realized it was Robin.

Robin.

Dressed in head-to-toe black like usual.

Hopping around on one foot like an overgrown cartoon, Robin had a comically shocked expression on his face. It was obvious he was faking, and my heart lurched as he slowly, ridiculously, pretended to trip. Face-planting against the ground with an exaggerated thud, he raised both hands above his head toward us and gave us a double thumbs-up.

“I’m okay!”

The girls cackled, like watching him get hurt was the funniest thing they’d ever seen. Which…I supposed it was. He’d really put his back into that one. Something I couldn’t do, all things considered.

I cracked a grin of my own, a startled laugh escaping me when Robin hopped onto his feet again, looking proud of himself. The sun doused him in dappled shadows from the trees lining the park, dancing over his body as he took a step toward us?—

And promptly fell again.

But this time for real.

More riotous laughter escaped the twins, these howling little guffaws that made me light up from the inside out.

“Should we go help him?” I asked them, only to be met with twin nods and an adorable view of my babies waddling their way over to where Robin lay prone on the ground. There was no thumbs-up this time, only an embarrassed laugh, as Jane and Rosie latched on to his hands and tried to pull him up to no avail.

“I think I’m good here,” he told them, muffled into the dirt. “I’d like to die a slow death please.” His embarrassment was obvious. Even if I hadn’t been able to see how pink his ears had suddenly gotten.

“My uncle died once,” Rosie proudly told him, voice still full of giggles.

“He’s okay now,” Jane added, her tiny voice morose.

“Y’all are creepy,” Robin countered with a laugh, gamely letting them help him out of the dirt. I could’ve helped. But…I didn’t want to miss a single moment of this. Didn’t want to ruin it. The girls hardly ever opened up to new people. They had a hard time with strangers, Jane especially. “Lucky for you...” Robin was finally on his knees again, a toddler hanging off each arm. “I like creepy.”

I stepped in then, because I didn’t want to be an asshole and kinda wanted my own turn with Robin. Moving forward, I helped him to his feet, brushing off the wet leaves that clung to his knees and the dirt that smeared across his chest.

“You okay?” I asked, voice low and far sweeter than I’d meant for it to be. I was always asking him that, but I couldn’t seem to stop.

Robin tipped his head up, meeting my gaze, his own eyes soft. “I’m good,” he told me. His fingers wrapped around my wrist, halting it as I pulled on the hem of his shirt to tug it back into its proper place. And then, low—low enough only I would hear, Robin whispered. “Did I help?”

My heart cracked right open then.

Right down the middle.

I nearly kissed him.

Nearly grabbed his sweet pink cheeks and tasted those lovely, chapped lips.

“You did,” I promised, huskily. “You did so well, Robin. Thank you. ”

He lit up.

Praise kink.

Definitely a praise kink.

And then, because I couldn’t help myself, and my mouth apparently had a mind of its own I added, “You’re such a good boy.”

In response, Robin released this high-pitched, muffled whine that made my knees instantly weak. It was so quiet, I wasn’t sure he’d even realized he’d been the one to make it.

Oh god.

That’s the prettiest sound I’ve ever heard.

I cataloged every aroused detail on his body. The way his chest shuddered. The way he melted. The way Robin’s pupils flooded wide and black as he stared up at me like I was nothing less than a miracle.

Robin seemed to realize at the same time I did that we’d kinda just been standing there staring at each other because he hopped back quickly, releasing my wrist like it’d burned him. Before I could even blink, he’d turned his attention back to Jane and Rosie.

“What’re you guys doing out here, anyway?” Robin asked.

I wanted to ask him the same thing, but didn’t, content to let this play out.

“Training,” Rosie told him seriously. Jane didn’t speak again, but the once had already been more than she’d done with anyone aside from Mama.

“Training for what?” Robin asked, cheeks still bright pink.

“To beat Uncle Trent’s ass,” Rosie told him.

Goddammit.

I covered my laugh with my shoulder, then did the responsible parent thing and asked her not to swear. To which she nodded very seriously, before immediately swearing again.

“Gonna beat Uncle Paxton’s ass too,” she added, faux innocently.

“ Rosie, ” I countered, because apparently she wasn’t in the mood to see reason. Usually she was better about listening, but I think between the crying and the laughter, both little girls were feeling quite overstimulated. I could relate. I felt that way too. Skin jittery, heart fluttering.

Anxious.

“Sorry,” Rosie immediately replied, eyes wide, because she hardly ever got in trouble, and obviously didn’t want to now.

“It’s okay,” I promised, keeping my tone gentle. “Just don’t make me repeat myself a second time, please. It’s not nice.”

Sometimes I had to remind her what things were “nice”. It was the easiest way to get her to understand when she’d crossed a line.

Robin, because he was darling, didn’t interrupt, and instead, he dutifully waited his turn. He watched me curiously, cheeks heating up when my voice dropped low again, his slick pink tongue flickering out to wet his lips.

His eyes searched mine, waiting for permission.

Which I eagerly granted, excited to see what he would say next.

“How and why are we beating your uncles?” he asked, turning his attention back to Rosie.

“In the race,” Rosie replied.

“The relay race,” I added because now that Robin was here, an idea was…oh yes. An idea was forming. “Every year during the Pie Festival there’s a relay race,” I explained, watching Robin raptly. “Last year we lost. The girls would like to win this year.”

“Oh, that’s cool,” Robin nodded along, though he looked somewhat confused. I could understand. I’d lived in New York, after all. Though I’d had Belleville as my background, I could see why someone who lived in a large city would be surprised by the intricacies of our little town’s social engagements.

“We could use another adult,” I hummed, eyeing him up and down. “You look fast.” Faster than the toddlers, anyway. “How would you like to be on our team?”

“Be on your…” Robin stared at me, then the girls.

I wasn’t sure what I expected.

Maybe for him to laugh? To say, “Hell no.” Or for a polite yes, best case scenario. What I didn’t expect, however, was for his eyes to grow wet. For his lips to curl into a wobbly little smile. For a certain sort of reverence to spread across his features as he nodded his head jerkily. “You really would…you know…want me on your team?”

My heart lurched.

Oh, sweet baby.

Sweet, sweet baby.

Unable to help myself, I reached out and gave his shoulder a tight squeeze. “Of course we do,” I told him, suddenly grateful I hadn’t given myself time to overthink this. “We would be honored.”

“ I’m the one that’s honored,” Robin sniffed, smiling at me, then the girls. “I’m not really fast though,” he admitted. “I dunno what really goes into these things, and I’m not sure I’ll be much help. Someone else would probably be better.”

Suddenly, I no longer cared about winning.

And I didn’t think the girls did either, because they didn’t seem put off by this at all. Their little faces were bright with excitement, bodies vibrating with glee. “That’s okay!” Jane promised, piping up a second time. “We want you. Even if you’re a loser.”

Jesus Christ .

“I’ll teach you,” Rosie’s chest puffed up with pride. “I’m the best .” Jane looked at her dubiously, which was fair, seeing as Rosie had just launched an egg at her.

“Yeah?” Robin laughed. His eyes were still wet. I wanted to bundle him up and never let him go. What a sweet, sweet creature he was. “I mean…as long as you’re cool with putting in the work. And know I might not be all that great.”

Both girls nodded exuberantly.

Robin’s eyes met mine again.

They asked, is this okay?

They asked , am I really welcome?

They said, I’m poison, I’m poison, I’m poison.

To which there was only one honest answer.

“We meet on Sundays around two,” I told him. “You’ll need warmer clothes than that.”

“Okay,” Robin nodded seriously.

“We’ll go get cocoa and have dinner after.”

“I like food.”

“I’ll bring water for you and the girls, so don’t worry about that.”

“Yes, Daddy,” Robin joked—though even I could tell it was strained.

“He’s not your daddy,” Rosie countered, annoyed. “He’s mine.”

Robin, because he was adorable, turned bright red. His eyebrows shot up, and a startled laugh escaped him as he nodded. “Right. My bad. Sorry. Won’t happen again.” His voice cracked.

Glancing over him, I couldn’t help but scan his chest for those lovely perky nipples he kept flashing. They were hard, as per usual, the cold making them poke against the fabric even worse than the piercings did.

I licked my lips, bit back a groan, and forced myself to focus.

“On second thought,” I dragged my gaze back to his face. “I’ll take you shopping. I don’t think you know how to properly dress in this kind of weather. You’ll need a guide.”

“My very own Vermont-ian expert. Vermonter? Vermontian-er.” Robin frowned, obviously confused by his own bullshit. “Okay.” His cheeks were still bright red.

“What are you doing now?” I asked, plans already forming in my mind.

“I was just walking to the hardware store,” Robin answered immediately. “You know…for paint. For the thing ?” His eyes bulged like he was trying to communicate to me telepathically.

“The…thing?”

Oh. The haunted house.

Huh.

I was more than a little surprised he was still working on that. Days had passed and I’d assumed with his radio silence that the haunted house had just been an excuse to come see me that first day. Which…maybe it had been. Maybe now it had turned into something more.

“Oh, the thing ,” I agreed, nodding along.

“What thing?” Rosie asked, but Robin sidestepped the question adeptly.

“I don’t wanna get in the way of your day,” he said, biting his lip. His piercing flickered. “I just wanted to say hi.” More like, he’d heard the kids crying and came to rescue me. My adorable goth knight-in-shining-armor. Not that I needed to be rescued from my own children, but still.

What he’d done had been incredibly helpful, and exactly the kind of thing that would make child-rearing so much easier if I had a partner to share it with.

“Let me ask the girls what they want to do,” I hummed, sinking down low so that we could speak, the way we always did. “What do we think?” I asked them, making sure to make eye contact with them both. “Are we done training for now?”

They both nodded.

Which…thank God.

I couldn’t handle any more egg-induced freakouts.

“How would you girls like to go shopping?” I asked them. They wavered, looking at each other for a moment before turning their attention back to me. Simultaneously they both shook their heads. “Okay, so no shopping.”

I did my best to let them pick what we did on our special days together. I worked enough that we didn’t get a lot of time together throughout the week, and because of that, these days were sacred.

I was, admittedly, a little disappointed.

But I pushed that feeling aside, turning back to Robin to tell him we’d go another time when Jane interrupted me, her little voice quiet. “Can Robin come get cocoa with us?” she asked, voice timid and higher than her sisters. “We always get cocoa after training.”

That was true.

He may not have trained with us today, but the fact the girls wanted him to come was frankly adorable. I glanced at Rosie, who also nodded. “He got hurt so he needs extra marshmallows.”

Any time one of them tripped during training that’s what I’d tell them. And the echo of my own words made my heart lurch. My sweet little angels.

“Of course,” I agreed, rising back to my full height and catching Robin’s gaze. “How would you like some cocoa, hmm?” I asked, reaching out to gently push a stray lock of his pale blond hair away from his forehead. “You look cold.”

And then, because I couldn’t help myself, my other hand slid down the lapel of his jacket, tugging on it pointedly as I glanced down at his very hard, very cold nipples. I released him just as fast, but the heat in his eyes haunted me. “Next time, wear the hoodie I lent you.”

It took him a second to get his head back on straight, which was…gratifying.

Robin licked his lips and nodded. “Yeah. I mean. Totally. Cocoa is good. Way good. Super good. Totally the best. Yep.”

“Okay.” I gave his ear a little tug before releasing him. “Time to clean up. And then we’ll go.”

Five minutes later, my bag was packed, the egg was cleared, and every one of our little entourage had piled into my van. Robin had done a double-take when he saw it, muttered something like, “Mom van? Holy shit, you cannot make this shit up,” and then climbed into the passenger seat.

I obviously had not been thinking because it didn’t even occur to me what CD was in the CD player as I flipped the ignition and Robin’s latest album began to blast.

Immediately, the girls perked up in their car seats, screaming along with every word as we pulled out of the parking lot and headed toward the coffee shop across town. They had Belgian chocolate, which was my favorite. It tasted richer, and in my opinion, was far superior to Trent’s powder collection, or Paxton’s homemade variety.

We got our cocoa snobbery from our parents, though admittedly Mom and Dad had never been as bad as any of us kids were about it.

Robin’s eyes were wide as his music continued to play. He glanced at me, cracked an amused grin, then stared at the little girls in the rearview mirror. I turned down the music enough that he could speak because I could see the words ready to burst.

“You guys like this?” he asked, obviously excited.

The girls eyed him dubiously, then each other, obviously annoyed he’d interrupted their jam session.

“This is their favorite singer,” I told him, more than a little amused. After the first time they’d met it’d been abundantly clear to me that the twins did not recognize him. Which was fair, seeing as I don’t think they’d ever seen any of his music videos—there was way too much nudity for that—or his photos on his albums.

“Oh?” Robin’s voice squeaked. “Um. Wow. That’s…” He looked flabbergasted, which was fair. I don’t think he’d expected this. “That’s actually super cool.”

“It is,” I agreed, and then turned up the music again so the girls could unknowingly boost my little bird’s ego.