“Sneaky.”
We ambled up the walkway. Slash went ahead of me and rang the bell. A moment later, the door opened.
“Thank God,” a pretty brunette said. “Boxer! They’re here with the cake!”
“Careful on the steps,” Slash said. “You sure you don’t want me to take that for you?”
“I’m protective of it,” I explained. “I’ve got it.”
“Head right into the kitchen,” the woman commanded, standing at the open doorway. A baby was strapped to her chest, and she had one hand splayed across its back.
That’ll be me soon.
The thought came unbidden and like a lightning bolt.
I stumbled over my own two feet and almost went down, but Slash caught my elbow and steadied me.
“Shit,” I muttered.
“Whew, that was close,” the woman said. “Good reflexes, Slash.”
Boxer appeared in the hallway. “You got this handled, Mia?”
“Yup,” she said with a nod.
“Great. I’m gonna take Monk and swing by the clinic and grab Linden.”
“Wait until she puts the cake down,” Mia commanded.
“Yes, little drill sergeant.”
She stuck her tongue out at him, which caused him to grin.
“God, Linden is going to go nuts over that cake,” Boxer said as he looked through the clear plastic top of the box. He then reached out as if to swipe the cake from me.
“Don’t you dare,” I warned, making him laugh.
I headed in the direction of the kitchen, passing by the living room where South Paw and Crow were hanging a sign and blowing up balloons in silver and blue.
I set the cake on the counter and breathed a sigh of relief.
Boxer went to the sliding glass door and opened it. He whistled and a moment later, a yellow lab only a few months old bounded into the kitchen. It was gangly and cute, and it knocked into me when it came to greet me, tail thwapping constantly.
“Monk,” Boxer snapped. “Sorry. He failed obedience school and has zero manners.”
“That’s okay,” I said with a grin, crouching to love up on the lab. The dog flopped onto his side and rolled over, showing me his belly. “How’d he get the name Monk?”
“We named him after Thelonious Monk,” Boxer explained. When I raised my eyebrows in confusion, he clarified, “A famous jazz artist. Fucking genius.”
“Ah.” I gave Monk one last belly rub and then stood.
“Where are we going?” Boxer asked Monk.
Monk sat up and wagged his tail and then he darted for the front door.
“I’ll text Mia when I’m on my way back with Linden,” Boxer explained. “She’ll rally the troops and get everyone into position.”
He left the kitchen and a moment later, the front door shut.