“It’s a trailer, and I don’t want to know what you’re up to. I definitely don’t want to hear. I’ll expect the same courtesy when I get Holly to come home with me.”

I groan, letting my head fall back to the headboard with a thunk. “Never. Gonna. Happen. Jacob. And that’s not what’s happening here.” I point to Blake and then to my own chest.

Jacob holds up his hands innocently. “Sure, whatever you say.” He doesn’t believe me in the slightest. To Blake, he adds, “You good to take care of her? She deserves the best.”

He is not talking about my minorly injured ankle.

A tear tries to slide down my cheek . . . at my utter loss of control of this situation, at Jacob’s sweet assessment that reassures some doubts I’ve had about pseudo-parenting him, and even about the pain in my ankle, which is already feeling cold and numb now.

Blake stands straight and offers Jacob a handshake. “She deserves more than the best. I’m not enough, but I’ll do everything I can.”

Jacob eyes Blake, taking his measure. It’s a sight I never thought I’d see, and it brings warmth to my heart. He’s a good son-slash-brother-slash-uncle. But mostly, a good friend.

“Good that you know you’re not good enough for her, but you’ll do for now, I suppose. Zoey deserves a little happiness and bit of let-loose. I ordered pasta from Gia’s with our pizza, left it in the microwave for Zoey. Maybe you can warm it up for her?”

A tiny test of fitness. Will you feed her at least?

Blake nods, smiling tightly. “Of course. Thank you.”

“There’s enough for two,” Jacob says by way of a stamp of approval. “Let’s go, Angelo.”

Angelo shakes his head, arms crossed over his chest. “No way.”

He seems more possessive and jealous than I would’ve expected. He’s had a crush on me almost as long as Jacob has had one on Holly. And just like Jacob, Angelo has zero chance with me.

“I’m good here with Blake,” I tell the boys. I’m not sure how I came to be not only agreeing to this but fighting for it. But here we are, me lying in my bed with my foot propped up under a bag of peas that’s probably two years past freshness with three guys looking at me with questions in their eyes.

Jacob grabs Angelo’s arm and shoves him toward the door. Angelo glares back at Blake, then shoots puppy dog eyes my way. He’ll get over it, I’m sure.

Once I hear the front door open and close, the screen door slapping closed too, I roll my eyes. “That went well,” I say sarcastically.

Blake’s right eyebrow arches wryly. “I thought so. Jacob’s not too bad of a kid.”