They all appraised me silently, and I felt about two inches tall. Fuck, now they were going to think that all I wanted them for was their money. Damn beer.

“Not that it makes any difference to me. I don’t want anything from you guys, except for an extra set of hands to look after Huey.” I looked at Devan, today's disagreement in the forefront of my mind. “Obviously.”

“Mmm, obviously,” he agreed. “I hope you can maintain that slightly cynical optimism.”

“That’s an oxymoron,” Rigby chimed in.

River slapped him on the back of the head. “You’re an oxymoron.”

Just like that, the intense conversation was done. And damn, the rest of the night was just nice. It wasn’t awkward, and when Rigby got up to light the fire pit, we moved down there. I could still see Huey on the baby monitor that sat between me and Devan, and I felt normal for the first time in so long.

Well, as normal as I could be surrounded by three hot guys I now cohabitated with.

“So you’re a virtual bookkeeper? What does that even mean?” Rigby asked me.

I shrugged, stretching out my legs on the outdoor sofa. I gave a little shiver as the cool night air competed with the warmth of the fire, and River pulled a blanket from somewhere, throwing it over my legs. I couldn’t help my little gasp of surprise, but when I looked at him, he was eyeing the firepit flames, not turned toward me at all.

I cleared my throat. “Basically, I run the numbers for small, independent businesses. Most of my clients are artists who sell their paintings on the internet.”

“Do you like it?” Rigby asked, and I huffed out a laugh. That was such a pro athlete thing to ask. Not everyone could make millions doing the thing they loved most in the world. Most people didn’t even like their jobs. But you had to eat, and that meant trudging your way through a job you didn’t like, day after day.

So I hedged. “I like that I don’t have to go into the office every day. I like most of my clients.”

Devan tapped his beer bottle against his bottom lip. “But do you like your job?”

I gave him an exasperated sigh. “I mean, it's a job. It isn’t my passion. It’s not like I wake up every day and say ‘I can’t wait to balance chequebooks today,’ you know? But it's a steady income and I’m my own boss, so I can’t complain.”

Rigby laughed. “Could be worse. You could be pounded into the boards by a solid wall of muscle everyday.”