Beside me, Mom practically buzzed with eagerness to explain. “Oh Heather, dear, Brock and my baby girl are together.”

“What?” yelled Julio. “Woman, they haven’t . . .” His voice faded off, and I heard a childish, girlish squeal.

“Together?” Heather cocked her head to the side, and the small child, a boy or a girl, I had no idea, tugged on her long, blonde hair.

“We’re seeing each other,” Brock explained while I stood there like an idiot.

Mom let out a little squeak that sounded like Beaker from the Muppet Babies, and then Heather was hollering, “Brock and Jilly are seeing each other!”

“Oh my God,” I murmured.

Brock squeezed my shoulders.

A second later, what I guessed was the last of their kids came running through the open doors. It was Hannah—I think—and she made a beeline for Rhage’s carrier, cooing as she dropped onto the floor, sticking her little fingers toward the cage.

“I wouldn’t do that—” I reached for the child.

“Don’t let that damn cat out,” Julio griped, and my gaze flew to the open door. “You remember what happened last time, Hannah-Banana. Nearly took off your finger and the cat got out. Took us half a day to catch him.”

“That’s an exaggeration,” I said dryly.

Julio looked like he had the last time I’d seen him—a younger version of Dad. Still no graying hairs or skin creasing in the corners. He was a little taller, a few inches above me, and he was dressed like he always was, in black track pants and a Lima shirt. That was all. It was forty degrees outside and windy as hell, and that was all he’d wear.

“Look at you two.” My uncle grinned as he strode across the foyer, managing to navigate the children as they appeared to be climbing all over everything—furniture, Mom, Dad, the walls. Julio stopped in front of Brock and patted his chest. “Name your first kid after me.”

“Oh my God,” I said again.

“I’m sure they’ll name their first kid after me,” Dad chimed in, grinning as his dark eyes sparkled.

“But what if it’s a girl?” Mom asked quite seriously as Heather shuffled forward, giving Brock and me a one-armed hug. The kid on her hip ended up in my hair and it took four seconds to untangle the poor child.

“Can we not talk about having babies?” I asked, wrangling the last strand of hair free from the small child’s death grip. “We really aren’t at that stage.”

“I want kids,” Brock announced, glancing down at me, and the air stalled in my lungs. “Maybe not an entire soccer team like some.”

“But you’ll have fun making that soccer team.” Julio grinned.

Heather turned her head to me. “But you will not have fun delivering said soccer team.”