The Hot Mess and the Heartthrob(81)

Levi’s out in the world doing what he needs to do, sprinkling happiness and magic and hope and dreams everywhere. He does not need to be here with me and my kids. Who are we to keep all of that for ourselves?

Mind made up.

I need to tell him to quit texting me.

And I will.

Soon.

Which is exactly what I’m actively avoiding thinking about when I yank my kids up the bookstore stairs to the loft with me late Wednesday evening.

We’re running holiday hours, so the store’s open until eight, which isn’t fair to Zoe at all.

Her birthday always gets the shaft because of holiday hours.

“Saturday,” I’m repeating to her for the eleventy-billionth time in her life, and feeling like a complete asshole since she used to get a real birthday, back before Grandma died and I took over the bookstore. “I promise, you’ll get a real birthday Saturday, but for tonight, Holly’s making you a special hot chocolate, and I have a stack of new books just for you, and you don’t even have to keep an eye on Hudson or Piper for me while I close up. Promise.”

Gymnastics is over for the year. Little ninjas is on hiatus until January. Even Piper’s speech therapy appointments are done until next year, though she still has hockey practice and we have tickets to a game Sunday night.

The store is the only big thing on my plate in the evenings right now, but it’s busier than ever.

Case in point?

It’s half an hour before we close, and three of the couches are full of women who are apparently having a baby shower up here.

“Ingrid! Oh my goodness, are these your babies?”

I freeze halfway to turning to Holly at the bar and look back at the women lounging on the mismatched couches in the middle of the loft.

Oh, god.

Levi’s mom is here, and she’s beaming at me.

I lift a hand and give a small finger wave. “Hi, Ms. Wilson. Welcome to Penny for Your Thoughts.”

She makes a face. “Call me Donna. Please. Ms. Wilson sounds too much like my daughter-in-law, and while I adore her, there’s no way I could keep up with her.” She rises and beckons us over. “Is that Hudson? Oof. I see what Levi meant.”

I look down and catch my son shoving a handful of marshmallows from the hot chocolate bar into the back of his pants. “Hudson.”

The other women with Ms. Wil—with Donna are all smiling. “I definitely see Beck,” one says.

“You have no idea how much Davis is sitting in that smile,” another replies.

“Thank god my boys were angels and I have no idea what you’re talking about,” the third says.

And the fourth, who’s closer to my age than the matrons all comparing my son to the Bro Code guys, cracks up as she rubs her very pregnant belly. “Your boys were the worst, Mrs. Rivers. Next to Wyatt, I mean. Thank god for girls.”

“I’m a handful,” Piper tells her.

“She really is,” Zoe agrees.

“Piper,” Donna says. “How’s hockey?”

My middle child beams at her. “Ares Berger thinks I’m awesome.”

“So I heard. Zoe, how’s your birthday been?”

While Zoe lights up and tells the story—again—about how one of the boys in her class accidentally dropped one of her birthday cupcakes on the floor and how the teacher didn’t see it and almost wiped out, my eyes get hot and wet.

Levi’s been talking about us. Not just me, but us. And all four of us are drifting closer to the group of smiling, happy ladies like they have some kind of magic magnetic pull.

“Where are my manners?” Donna shakes her head. “Ingrid, do you know Michelle Ryder? And this is her daughter, Ellie, and our partners in crime, Carol Rivers and Alice Remington.”

“I’m not a partner in crime,” Ellie says. “I’m not old enough for the cool club yet.”

“If you need to get back to work, we can sit with the kids,” Donna says. “We all remember the working years.”

The other moms give emphatic nods.

I sniffle, because my nose is hot and wet too. “I—you don’t have to—”

“How many times did I catch Beck in my cookie jar when the boys were growing up?” Carol asks Michelle.

“At least three times,” Alice answers.

“A day,” Ellie adds, and all of the mothers crack up. She grins at me. “They all raised us. Together. It’s what they do. They can handle anything, and they can’t sneak out of the store and leave you with wild unsupervised children up here. Promise. Although I can’t promise they won’t spoil your kids silly. Not a single kid left under thirty for any of them, and they only have three and a half grandkids among all of them. They’re all twitchy to spread more spoiling.”

I shake my head. “This is—”

“A birthday gift for Zoe,” Donna interrupts, her eyes glinting exactly like Levi’s do.

It’s an ambush.

Except it feels like a warm hug instead of something I need to put on armor to get through. “Not exactly fair,” I finish quietly.

Donna smiles again, and for a minute, I see my grandma not long after I moved in with her.

Compassionate. Full of love. And completely understanding.

“None of us like to see our babies hurting,” she replies.