Chapter 28
That feeling Leo had when he boarded the Titanic and shouted, “I’m the king of the world”? Yeah—that. That’s me.
Bunny is deep in my bones, my soul, the nuclei of every cell. And this time she isn’t going anywhere. I’m sure of it.
She’s making plans with my mother, settling on baby names, and currently helping my dad feed the chickens—well, he’s doing the feeding. Dove and Bunny are playing dress-up and posing with Bessie.
“Thank you for helping with winter prep, Wrenley,” Mom says from the kitchen. “It gets harder the older we get.”
“It’s no problem at all, Carla. You know you can always ask me to help out.” Wrenley and I turn from where we watch our girls through the large back window in the dining room.
The house smells like the winter holidays—pine and cinnamon, roasted meat, spiced gravy, with the warm sweetness of pecan pie. Mom stands at the little rolling butcher block island David built her last Christmas, pouring sweet potato filling into a crust.
“I can’t believe you told Bunny about Faline,” I murmur into my coffee.
Her eyes crinkle over the rim, full of festive mischief. “She’s my future daughter-in-law. I plan to tell her all your childhood stories, even the embarrassing ones.”
“What’s a Faline?” Wren asks, popping an olive from a charcuterie board into his mouth as he turns back to the window.
“Haven’t you seen Bambi, dear? She’s the doe.”
Realization dawns over his features as he looks at me. “That’s right. You wanted to name your kid that, didn’t you? What did Bunny say?”
“She actually likes it.”
“Of course she does.” He claps my shoulder. “Have I told you how happy I am for you? Seriously, Hunt—long time coming. You two deserve it.”
A timer dings and Mom swaps pies: pecan out, sweet potato and pumpkin in.
“Why are you making so many pies, Mom? Isn’t it just us?”
“Well, I wanted to send you both home with leftovers, but no, Todd is joining us. He needs David to sign some papers, and I plan to make him stay to eat. I’ll need to send him home with an extra plate or two.”
Todd, or Theodore, Langston is the youngest managing partner at Metropolis Investments Group, a rapidly growing real estate enterprise. He’s an absolute shark, and the fact he’s bringing work all the way from the city for David to go over is a testament to that.
He’s bought more commercial real estate in the Meatpacking District than Tailor Industries has in Manhattan this year.
Rumor is Jackson Tailor—multi-billionaire and owner of the illustrious conglomerate—has been side-eyeing M.I.G.
, ready to poach Todd for his own nefarious ambitions of world-domination.
“He couldn’t wait until after the holiday? I know the guy’s a workaholic, but e-sign exists,” I mutter.
David’s been holding onto some warehouses he acquired from an old shady business partner.
The guy tried leaving him high and dry during their startup’s first year, but luckily, my dad has a knack for business—and a legal team that forced the guy to pay up in real estate when he couldn’t cough up cash.
Since he has no use for them and he knows Todd’s father, he’s all too happy to sell.
“I don’t think he has any family to spend the day with, and the more the merrier—you know we don’t turn anyone away.”
My mother, the ultimate bleeding heart. Of course she’d feel sorry for a businessman who probably wants to be in his office more than at family dinner.
Growing up, she always invited people who had nowhere to go for the holidays, saying, “When we take care of each other, that’s when the community thrives, Hunter. Always give back more than you take.”
My attention drifts out the window as a flash of purple and pink catches my eye.
Even though the barn is warm and well insulated, I don’t know why the girls would brave the chill in Daisy Dukes and crop tops just to get photos for their Iconic profiles.
Okay—well, Dove is in Daisy Dukes and a crop top.
Bunny is in a pretty lavender dress that hugs her bump and makes the word mine thrum through my chest like a growl from some primal beast.
“Oh my goodness. Everything smells delicious!” Dove cries as she steps through the back door. “I’m starving!”
She makes a beeline for Wrenley, who’s already made her a plate of appetizers.
“Same. I swear this child can’t go more than an hour without snacks.” Bunny rubs her belly, heading for my mom instead of the food table. “Do you need any help with anything, Carla?”
Arrows of pride, appreciation, and gratitude hit my heart like a bullseye.
I know it’s hard for her—being around my parents when she grew up with none, doing the whole “loving family” thing when Nathaniel was anything but loving.
The fact that she’s offering to help and willingly spending time with them makes my chest swell.
“No, sweetheart. I made those cranberry brie bites you suggested. Go try them and tell me if I got the recipe right.”
My gaze drops to the table as Bunny reaches for a puff pastry filled with red and white and topped with rosemary. I quirk a brow as she pops it into her mouth.
“Sharing recipes with my mom? I didn’t even know you cooked anymore, Little Rabbit.”
Bunny’s mossy eyes flutter closed as she hums. “Carla, these are perfect.” Then, to me, she snarks, “I’m a great cook, I’ll have you know. It’s just harder to cook for one, so I don’t do it often.”
Leaning in, I wipe a smear of cranberry from the corner of her lips, relishing the way her eyes track my thumb as I lick it off. “Well, soon it’ll be three of us. So you’ll have to show me your skills.”
A flicker of heat ignites her gaze at my double entendre, but she shakes it off as the front door opens and my dad’s voice rings out. “Todd! Happy you could make it. I hope you’re hungry—you know Carla’s making you stay for dinner.”
Whatever Todd says is drowned out by Dove’s hand slapping the table until Bunny looks at her.
“Buns! It’s belt guy!” she squeaks.
Bunny’s head whips around, her long raven locks slapping against my face in a curtain of jasmine and raspberry. Her body tenses, hand flying protectively to her stomach, instantly sending me into defensive mode.
“Holy shit,” she breathes. “What’s he doing here?”
Wrenley and I lock gazes with matching what the fuck expressions.
“How do you know Todd, Bunny?”
If he was one of her old dates I didn’t get to crash—
Spinning, she pushes me toward the end of the table while Dove does the same to Wrenley until all four of us are corralled together.
“That’s the guy Vixey fell into at the club the other night!”
Relief floods my veins while Wrenley asks, “Okay… and why is that a big deal?”
The girls share a look I can’t decipher, a silent conversation passing between them they clearly don’t want us guys to be privy to. Bunny told me briefly about what she saw between Vixey and the guy—who, apparently, is Todd—but it just sounded like another Vixey being clumsy moment.
“Are you sure? I can’t really see Todd in a nightclub.” Wrapping an arm around her midsection, I pull Bunny against me. “Besides, who cares?”
The idea of her attention being focused on another guy irritates me.
“They just seemed to hit it off and didn’t exchange numbers,” Dove replies. “How exciting that we get to play matchmaker now!”
“He can sit between us at the table,” Bunny adds, sounding weirdly excited about playing Cupid.
It’s completely out of character for her. Since when is she close enough to Vixey to care about setting her up?
Not that I mind. It’s just the overprotective beast that’s taken over since I found out Bunny’s pregnant is not amused at the idea of her entertaining another man all night.
Before I can interject, Dad appears with Todd in tow. If the real estate mogul recognizes the girls, he doesn’t show it.
“Todd Langston.” Bunny rolls his name with a sly smile as she shakes his hand after Dad introduces them. “You don’t know us, but you were at Allegro a few weeks ago. Our friend fell into your lap.”
Intrigue sparks in his greige eyes like an ember, and Dove’s next sentence fans it to a blaze.
“How lucky we are to run into you. I’m sure Vixey will be thrilled to see you again. She’s not here today, but we’ll have to all get together when we’re back in the city.”
“Vixey,” Todd repeats, his rich tenor only a fraction less dry than usual. “So that’s the blonde in the green dress.” Lifting his sand-colored eyes, he acknowledges me. “Hunter.”
“Todd. Good to see you.”
I introduce him to Wrenley, then—unfortunately—the girls make good on their plan to seat him between them, leaving us to sit across the table.
It’s going to be a long night.
If looks could kill, Todd would be dead twice over by the time dinner concludes.
While he spends most of the meal talking to David about work, Dove keeps steering the conversation back to him—asking about his life, his goals, and whether he’s looking for anything serious—as if they’re on a date.
His gaze keeps flicking between me and Wrenley, silently begging us with his trademark deadpan stare to rescue him from her relentless interrogation.
Finally, Wrenley intervenes.
“Turtle Dove, are you writing a novel on commercial real estate I don’t know about? You sound like you’re gathering enough information to write his biography.”
“Oh, hush, Songbird. I am not,” Dove huffs, turning her attention back to her fiancé.
Todd’s shoulders visibly loosen. Meanwhile, mine are wound as tight as brand-new bowstrings as Bunny picks up where Dove left off—less direct, but far more calculating with her questions about his life.
Pushing my “slutty little glasses,” as Bunny likes to call them, up the bridge of my nose, I rake a hand through my unruly hair, vexed and unsure how to intervene.