The One Who Loves You (Tickled Pink #1)(30)

Margot grimaces.

I think.

Her forehead doesn’t move, but her mouth is definitely grimacing. “Phoebe, I really don’t—ah!”

Water explodes against her back and sprays my curds and my deep fryer, making the hot oil pop and sizzle and shoot out everywhere. “Dammit!”

Lid.

I need the lid.

“Try the damn cheese curds, Octavia,” Estelle yells from somewhere behind her granddaughters.

Another water balloon explodes, this one all over Tavi.

More water.

More water in my deep fryer.

More hot oil exploding out and splattering everywhere while people shriek and scatter in the flying frying oil.

“Stop!” I bellow back at the old lady.

Where the hell is my lid?

“Dad!” Bridget shrieks.

“Teague! Here!” Shiloh dives to my side, does a ninja roll, and comes up with the lid, slapping it over the pot as one more water balloon explodes, this one coating Phoebe, who’s trying to duck in plain sight to hide from the water and oil, and splattering Shiloh and me in the side splash.

Shiloh grabs my arm. “You’re burnt.”

“I’ll heal.”

“First aid tent. Go.” Spoken like a true fire chief in training.

“I’m—”

“Teague Andrew Miller, go to the damn first aid tent and set a good example for your daughter.”

I open my mouth again, but I take my eyes off the old lady.

Bad move.

Means I get a water balloon upside the face.

“I got the cranky lumberjack!” Estelle crows.

“Stop ambushing us!” Phoebe shrieks.

“This is how the movie goes!” Estelle shrieks back.

“It is not!”

“It’s the closest we’ll get to—” She cuts herself off as a balloon explodes on her chest. Swear on my tree house, her eyes ignite like the demon inside her is coming out to play as she turns a glare on her son. “What—” she starts as another balloon nails her in the chest.

“Don’t throw water balloons at my wife, you old witch!” Michael yells.

“Don’t call your mother an old witch, you ungrateful little leech!” Estelle yells back.

Tavi drops her purse, tells her dog to stay, and sprints full-steam, on her heels, to the coolers holding the town’s water balloons.

We usually save them for the end of the night—you know, after the hot oil and other foods are put away—but the Lightlys are digging into the water balloon fight like they’ve been needing to do this all their lives.

“Dad! Dad, are you okay?” Bridget skids to a stop next to me.

I loop an arm around her shoulder. Gonna have a few blisters for sure, and Shiloh’s right—I should get to the first aid table—but it’s not easy to look away from the train wreck. “I’m good.”

“I can’t believe that old lady ambushed Tavi like that!”

“She’s probably lucky it didn’t happen while she was sleeping.”

Tavi has good aim. She’s firing water balloons at her brother and parents and grandmother like a beast. Phoebe’s at her back, the two of them pulling a gunslinging-partners routine, moving together and taking out their family, though Phoebe’s aim isn’t as good.

Not that it matters.

Neither is anyone else’s.

But the insults?

It’s a sight to behold for sure.

“And that’s for making a nanny raise me!”

“That’s for insulting my grandmother’s silver!”

“You don’t believe in my career!”

“You sing like a frog stuck in puberty!”

“I am so tired of being the only person in this family doing any damn work to keep your trust funds full, and for what? For you all to be a disrespecting group of louts!”

“How dare you insult my baby boy!”

“You are such a stuck-up snob!”

“You look like a poser when you wear Stella McCartney!”

“You don’t know the difference between Limoges and limoncello!”

I choke on air at that last one and slide a glance at Shiloh. “Think your mother would approve of her favorite movie being used to inspire this?”

She smiles. “I think this would be her favorite part of everything that’s happened since Estelle Lightly emailed you to ask about the school.”

“Are they going to leave any water balloons for the rest of us?” Bridget asks.

No one else is joining in, though all of us locals are watching in fascination, some holding their phones up, recording or taking pictures. The Lightlys are showing no signs of slowing down.

Apparently they have a lot of issues to work out.

“And I know you don’t believe in my designs, but joke’s on you, because my business is doing fabulous.”

“I will never forgive you for calling me a waste of oxygen!”

“You missed my starring role in Mamma Mia! my senior year!”

“Oh, poor you. The maid took me to school for my first day of kindergarten!”

“That wasn’t the maid. That was your father’s mistress!”

“Whoa,” Bridget whispers. “And I thought you guys had problems.”