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I have to wait for her to stop talking to and answering herself. “If we want to hire someone, we will. Tomorrow. Right now, Alan is coming over. Hopefully with good news.”
“Right. I’m going to place an order for groceries because the refrigerator is empty. You know, because we don’t go to the store.”
“We’re going to have to get better about some of this stuff, aren’t we?” I run my hand through my hair and sigh.
Peyton frowns and places her hand over her stomach. “Yeah. We’re going to have to be super adults.”
“Shit,” I mutter, and she starts laughing. “Not to mention we’re going to have to watch our language.”
“You”—Peyton jabs her finger into my chest and leaves it here—“have to watch your language. I’m perfect.”
I grab her wrist and pull her roughly to me. “You like to say some pretty colorful things when we’re?—”
“Noah Westbury if you finish that sentence, so help me?—”
“You’ll what, babe? Spank me?”
Her eyes widen and she lifts her hand only to pause mid-swing when the doorbell chimes. As if on cue Stevie Nicks barks, and then she barks again having realized that she does in fact make that noise. It’s been cute watching her develop her bark. The first time she did it, she looked around at us, unsure if that was her or us.
“We’re going to have to train her not to bark.”
“Yes and no. I want her to alert us when she’s uncomfortable. Especially if someone’s near the house or you and the baby. But I agree, she doesn’t need to bark at every little thing.”
“Go get the door before she thinks this is a game.” Peyton kisses me and then goes to hold Stevie Nicks from running out the front door.
“Alan!” My agent stands there, looking around at the landscape, dressed in a three-piece suit and wearing aviators. I have a few choice things to say but bite my tongue. This guy is supposed to have my best interests at heart, but there are times when I wonder if he does or if he’s only looking out for his commission.
We shake hands and I step aside to let him in. Long gone are the days of briefcases and satchels. Now everything is done on the phone or tablet, which he carries in his hand.
“Hey, Peyton,” Alan says when she steps into the foyer, carrying our pup.
“Hi, Alan.”
“Who’s this?” he asks.
“Stevie Nicks,” Peyton says.
“Hi, Stevie.”
“Gotta add the Nicks part,” I tell him. “We’re doing the full name as one name.”
Alan looks at me oddly, and I shrug. “We’re keeping up with the trends, Alan.”
He goes back to petting the dog for a bit.
“Is this, sit in the living room kind of business, or dining room table?” I ask Alan.
“Living room is fine,” he says.
Peyton sets Stevie Nicks down and tells her not to jump. Alan asks some questions about her, which we answer on our way into the living room.
“Alan, can I get you anything?” Peyton offers.
“Water is fine. This won’t take long.”
His statement gives me pause. Why would he be in California if what he’s about to say or show me won’t take long? He could’ve called from his high rise in New York if that’s the case. Still, we sit, and I say nothing until my wife is back in the room. Any decision I make, I make with her by my side. We are a team.
“Why are you here?” I ask as Peyton returns with three glasses of water. “Thanks, babe,” I say when she hands me mine. When she sits down, she’s next to me, with her hand on my thigh. It’s comforting.
