“Ha,” I say to Otter. “I told you I’m the pretty one.”

“And you never hear me disagreeing with that,” Otter says.

And then things get a little weird.

Ty sets Izzie down, and she wipes her eyes furiously. She’s obviously embarrassed, glancing at the rest of us gawking at her, flushing brightly and staring down at her feet. Ty rubs the top of her head, and she’s tense but allows it for some reason. After I’d found her on the porch of the Green Monstrosity—after that initial hug—she’d been wary of Otter and me. Not because of anything we’d done. No, she’d looked exactly like I remember myself looking anytime I saw my reflection after she left. She looked exactly like the Kid did almost the entire time we were in New Hampshire. She’d made herself hard and stony, not letting anyone see weakness.

And here she is, having cried for the second time in the space of a few hours.

I wouldn’t be surprised if she acted like a little shit for the rest of the day.

I wouldn’t blame her if she does.

But all that gets pushed to the side when Ty says, “Who’re you?”

And Megan Ridley says, “Hi. Hello, you must be Tyson. I’ve heard so much about you.”

Ty takes Izzie by the arm and pulls her behind him, like he’s shielding her from Megan, and it’s ridiculous, it really is, because Megan is literal sunshine. She’s bright and funny and radiant, and she’s smiling at him, though it’s starting to falter a little.

“Did you bring her here?” Ty asks, voice a little harsh. “How are you related to her? You don’t get to hurt her, you hear me? You don’t get to—”

“Tyson,” Otter snaps.

Voices die in the kitchen as everyone starts to listen in.

The Kid looks back at us, eyes narrowed. “Who is she?”

I’m shocked to the point of speechlessness, so Otter says, “She has nothing to do with Izzie. And you should consider watching your tone with her. You’ve never been rude like this, so don’t think of starting now.”

This is the absolute worst possible time to be getting turned on. But Otter parenting is apparently a kink of mine, so there’s really nothing I can do about that. I want him to whisper dad jokes in my ear.

“Bear?” Ty asks me.

“Right,” I say roughly, forcing myself to look at the Kid rather than climb my husband like a tree. I need to be serious right now and not think about Otter grounding our future children because they’d talked back to us, and then later, I’d ground the fuck out of him—

“Oh god,” Ty groans. “He’s doing that thing. Bear, gross. Stop it.”

“What thing?” Izzie asks. “Why is his face all red?”

Dom takes a step away from me, Ben’s head on his shoulder.

“I’m fine,” I say with a glower, even though I can feel the smugness just radiating from Otter.