Page 47 of The Trouble with Flings

“Let’s go over it together this week. How’s Wednesday morning?”

“Sounds good.”

He nods, satisfied, and that’s that. No blurring the line between Sunday and the work week.

We all settle around the table and fill our plates, thanking our mother for making breakfast and Keira for bringing pastries.

“Jules, I wish you could come with me to LA for the photo shoot.” Bellamy tucks her dark hair behind one ear, her eyes dancing with excitement. “Imagine how much fun we’d have.”

“That would be fun,” Jules says as she puts cut-up pieces of French toast on Stevie’s tray.

He snags one with his tiny fist and pushes it into his mouth. By the time we’re done eating, he’ll have food in his wispy brown hair and all over his face, and his tray and the floor around him will look like a war zone, and somehow we’ll all think it’s the cutest thing in the world.

Grant side-eyes Bellamy. “She has a baby now.”

“You’re such a Neanderthal,” Bellamy says. “It’s not like I asked her to go and leave you and Stevie behind. I said I wish she could go.”

“Honey, when is the photo shoot?” my mother asks.

“Next month,” Bellamy says. “Keira, you should come with me.”

“No thanks,” Keira says flatly.

“Come on. It’ll be fun! Sunshine, palm trees, and me.” Bellamy flutters her lashes. “What more could you want?”

“My sanity,” Keira says. “I’ve got a business to run, and you know Valentine’s Day brings an influx of coffee-loving tourists.”

“That’s actually a good excuse,” Bellamy says. “Vic? What do you say? We can lie on the beach and soak in the sun.”

“Sorry, Bell, but I wake up every morning to this guy.” She points at Wells. “Why would I trade that for a little sunshine?”

“Aw, that’s so sweet,” Jules says.

Bellamy groans.

“Guess who I ran into last night,” Keira says, looking at me like she knows something I don’t. “Abby and Aiden. They’re back from visiting his sister.”

My mother brightens. “Oh, how wonderful. How are they? How are Remi and Mason and the kids?”

“Everyone’s great.” Keira breaks off a piece of a pastry, and her eyes lock on me as she says, “Abby said she talked to Deirdra.”

Wells shoots me an oh-shit glance.

“Apparently Deirdra and Jagger are in Costa Rica helping a friend with his farm. Aren’t they, Fitz?” she asks with gleeful anticipation.

“They are.” I take a sip of coffee, fighting the urge to glower at her.

“You saw them while you were there?” my mother asks.

“Abby said they ran into him at an afternoon cooking class that Jagger was teaching,” Keira supplies, in the tone of a prosecutor who has already won her case.

“A cooking class?” my mother asks. “I don’t remember seeing that on the conference agenda.”

Eyeing Keira, I say, “It wasn’t part of the conference.”

“So you skipped the conference?” my father asks, his voice measured.

“I didn’t skip the whole conference.”