“Hey.” Juliet pulls her close and presses a kiss to her dimpled cheek. “I’m your favorite. Not the big guy who’s all over Aunt BeeBee.”

Rowan hollers, reaching for me again.

“It’s nothing personal,” I tell Juliet, accepting Rowan from her and holding her high up against my chest. She goes for my glasses, like all babies do, and I let her. “They sniff out the pediatrician in me.”

“Fair warning,” Sula calls, “my child will go to great lengths to bust your glasses!”

I smile down at Rowan as she bends them. “These are flexible frames. Virtually unbreakable.”

When I glance Bea’s way, she’s watching me. “You wear a baby well, James.”

I feel a rush of pleasure at how she’s looking at me. My cheeks heat. “Comes with the job.”

Her gaze lingers a minute longer before she turns and pops off the beer bottle’s lid against the counter. I’m mesmerized, watching the sweeps of color and black ink delicately curled around her arm, dancing as she moves. I think about my tongue tracing their path to her collarbone, down to the swell of her—

“Goo!” Rowan yells, jamming my glasses lopsidedly back on my face and helpfully breaking me from my lustful thoughts.

“Thank you very much,” I tell her.

She gives me a wide smile. Then her face goes red, followed by an ominous rumbling in her diaper.

“Ah.” I pat her back. “Just needed a fresh pair of arms to poop in, didn’t you.”

Margo steps up, setting her sangria on the counter. “I’ll take care of that.”

“I’m happy to handle it. I’m used to soiled diapers.”

She blinks at me, like I’ve stunned her, then turns toward Bea. “If you don’t marry him, I’m talking to Sula about being a trio.”

Bea glares at Margo. “Back off my man. And use Jules’s bedroom for the diaper change.”

“Rude!” Juliet hollers.

“Yeah, yeah.” Margo sighs. “Here I go. Off to glamorous diaper duty.” Taking Rowan, she disappears with her down the hall.

“Come on, James,” Bea takes my hand. “Time for a nap—I mean, to play Risk.”

“A nap? What?”

She makes a miserable face. “Risk is such a snooze. It’s booorrrriiing.”

“It’s strategic.” There’s only one seat left, across the table from Christopher, Toni, and Hamza. “It takes patience. Please,” I tell her. “Sit.”

“Nope.” She shakes her head. “I’m not playing. You sit.”

We engage in a stare-off before I finally drop down with a sigh, then tug Bea onto my lap. Time suspends for a moment as she nestles on my thighs and stares down at me. My hand wraps tight around her waist.

“Ready to get your butt kicked?” Toni says from across the table.