Plan B (Best Laid Plans #2)(60)

“You’re ridiculous.” I’m shaking my head in bemusement when he pulls me in for a kiss. I melt against him for a moment because my husband is very good at kissing and I like doing kissing things with him very much. But then the pieces fall into place. “Wait.” I reluctantly tear myself away from his lips. “What does that kitten by your office look like?”

“It looks homeless, Daisy. Small and homeless.”

“Kyle.”

“She’s black and white. Somewhere around four months old.”

Uh-huh.

“You put Kinsley up to this!” I stab his chest with my fingertip. “You’ve already shown her a picture, haven’t you? She told me she wanted a moo kitty! She’s already named him Moo-McGee.”

“Moo-McGee.” Kyle laughs, the dimple in his left cheek flashing. Kellan has the same dimple and it kills me in the best possible way. He’s Kyle’s mini-me. Calm. Rational. Loves learning and abhors misbehaving. “She’s really clever for three, don’t you think? She gets that from you.” He goes in for another kiss. I stall him with a hand to his chest.

“Kyle.”

“Wifey.” Kyle’s hand slides low on my hip, keeping me close. And distracted.

“Where is the kitten?”

“At the clinic. Getting spayed and all the kitten shots. We don’t have to adopt Moo-McGee though. I’m sure I can locate a nice shelter to take her in, if you’re not interested.”

“You’re the worst,” I tell him, but I don’t mean it. Honestly the housekeeper is the one who should have a beef with Kyle, not me. She’s the one who scoops and vacuums most of the time. Yes, I’m spoiled, and I know it.

We moved to a ridiculously nice—and ridiculously large—house in the suburbs once Kinsley arrived. I felt a little princess-like about living in such a house, and not in a great way, but Kinsley’s bedroom has a window seat overlooking the backyard and Kellan’s has a balcony. Which is firmly locked for now, but he’ll enjoy it when he’s older. The entire place is decked out in dark hardwood floors with contrasting white woodwork and molding and it’s gorgeous. And there are plenty of extra bedrooms for guests—or more children. Plus there’s an entire in-law suite with a private entrance, which is great for Kerrigan until she’s ready to fly the coop. She’s getting her masters now, so she still stays with us during summers and holidays.

The doorbell rings and Kinsley takes off for the door, giggling in excitement. She’s my mini-me, which means she’s a handful. We’ve already had to install a second lock on the front door above her reach because she can and will open the door for anybody.

Kyle beats her to the door and heads outside to help Jennings with the luggage. Kinsley flings herself immediately at Violet’s legs because Violet’s carrying baby Amelia. Violet passes her over to me so she can scoop up Kinsley.

“Auntie Mommy!” That’s what Kinsley calls her. Kinsley started it and then Kellan followed and now she’s Auntie Mommy. It’s funny, because the kids can absolutely tell us apart, but they latched onto the fact that we are identical real fast.

“It’s my birthday,” Kinsley tells Violet, once she’s down on her feet again. Then she does a funky little dance move and my sister and I eye each other over her head, trying not to laugh.

“I have no idea where she learned that,” I tell Violet as Kinsley scampers out the front door. Most surely to find Uncle Jennings so she can ensure he too knows it’s her birthday.

I keep Amelia while Violet heads out to supervise because she smells like baby powder and I sort of miss the baby stage. Well, she’s fifteen months now, so more of a toddler than a baby, but she’s in that adorable chubby stage where she’s beginning to babble a lot and I feel very nostalgic holding her. And possibly wistful?

Amelia stares at me and places her chubby little toddler hand over my mouth. Then she calls me Mum-Mum while frowning. Oh, maybe I can be called Auntie Mummy. It has appeal.

When Jennings comes through the door Amelia pumps her chubby baby legs in excitement as if she didn’t just see him minutes ago. “Dada!”

I hug her closer and take another whiff of her baby scent before she abandons me for the more alluring arms of her mum or dada. “Amelia, did you know that once upon a time your daddy fired me?”

“Good to see you as well, Daisy,” Jennings replies in his dry British way. I know he doesn’t mind my teasing though, as he’s smiling. “Glad to hear that joke never tires with you.”

“You’d think it would get old, yet I really enjoy bringing it up.” I shrug. I give him a hug with my free arm and Amelia nearly has a fit at being within arm’s reach of her dada without being passed to him, but I distract her by bringing her to the kitchen so the guys can get the luggage upstairs and Violet and Jennings can unpack. We still have one of the bedrooms set up as a nursery for whenever Violet and Jennings visit and I keep all their preferred baby items on hand so it makes it easy for them to visit without lugging a bunch of things. I have similar duplicates in Violet’s guest house for our visits to London.

I settle Amelia into a high chair in the kitchen—again, just something I keep on hand for Violet’s visits, since my own two are past that stage—and prep a snack for the kids. Shish-kabobs made up of alternating slices of banana, strawberries and grapes with a couple of marshmallows added to the skewer for the older two, and tiny cut-up pieces of strawberry, banana and grapes directly onto the tray for Amelia. The kids call them berry kabobs because there was a brief time in which they couldn’t quite manage the word ‘shish’ and it was sounding like they were asking for shit kabobs and yeah. Kyle is right, we adapt a lot.