I hand the bunny to Nathan—who promptly lets it unfold, perplexing the baby—and provide her with a tutorial.

After a few minutes of companionable conversation, I nod toward the kids. “They might prefer a jungle-gym type scenario.. . .”

The mom’s eyes flash. “What about what I’d prefer? Besides a time machine or a Swedish massage.”

“Not suggesting you leave now,” I backtrack quickly. “No, no, take your time, just eventually, after you’ve had a rest . . .”

“There is no rest,” she says. “There is no peace.”

“It’s just that some people are trying to work,” I murmur before I can stop myself.

Miles, standing by the sugar and cream area, drops the sugar. Eyes wide, his gaze darts between us. Even without his reaction, I know I’ve screwed up.

“I’m not a pariah. I’m allowed to be out in society!” she says. “And this is not an office!”

“Can I get an amen?” (Evelynn, loudly, by the iced tea dispenser.) “Can I get a hallelujah?”

The baby suddenly burps up whatever it most recently ingested, dousing its onesie.

I’m guilt-ridden, and head to the bathroom to find paper towels so I can help the mom for real, without ulterior motive.

When I return, though, she’s vanished, and Miles sits at the table. I want to scream. I seriously want to scream.

“Practically sorority sisters, huh?” he mimics me, deadpan. “So when are you guys going to be braiding each other’s hair?” He makes a big show of spreading out all his items, making it crystal clear I’m not invited.

Our truce, or whatever the hell was going on the day of the storm, is officially over.

Worse, I have no support for dinner tomorrow with my parents.

Unless . . .

I place the paper towels on the sugar and cream stand and slump over to the smallest table, where I promptly reopen the texts from Bree.

She’s responded to my crazed cock-blocking with the words, Why wait? Tomorrow’s the perfect night!

Because you’re coming to dinner with me and my parents. Their treat, I type back.

Her response is slow to arrive: Huh? That’s nice of you, but rain check. My plans are going forward.

My face feels warm. While I’m suffering through appetizers, she’ll be enjoying Jude’s company, and more. Inviting her to a family dinner was an immature, desperate move, but I wish it had worked. Barring that, I wish I could rewind the last twenty-four hours and get a do-over. A time machine, like the mom mentioned. At least before, Miles was going to accompany me via earpiece to the meal.

Now I don’t even have that.

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 19

MILES