Stuck With You: A Sweet Romantic Comedy

Part 4

Bianca

Timo was standing at the kitchen island, kneading pizza dough.

"What's that?" I asked. I knew what it was, but I was at a loss for anything else to say.

"Dough for the crust."

Timo didn't say it in a tone that implied I was a hopeless idiot, but he must have thought so. I would have.

I stood around awkwardly, shifting my weight from one foot to the other while Franny, Morty, and Marta simultaneously filled me in on the events of the day.

Apparently, the Nob Hill Montessori school was a hotbed of drama and intrigue. Crayon theft was out of control, and hair-pulling was rampant. Some kid named Gabriel was named as the ringleader of the coloring implement hoarding ring, and an individual identified as Emma was responsible for the proliferation of hair-pulling incidents.

Just trying to keep track of three simultaneous stories being told at once was enough to make my head spin. I didn't know how Timo coped.

He seemed perfectly calm and content to stand there rolling out pizza dough while I was regaled with an in-depth report on the crime wave at Nob Hill Montessori.

My phone dinged. It was my sister, Abby.

You busy? Call me

I was surprised to hear from her. As far as I knew, Abby was stuck in the back of beyond in some mountain cabin with her boss.

My sister was a bodyguard. Her employer was Jax Fitzroy, frontman of the Blue Lotus Boys and the 12th sexiest man alive, according to Famous Faces magazine.

Not that my sister seemed to have noticed. She only had eyes for her fiancé, Hugo. I thought Hugo was a waste of space, but my sister adored him for reasons unknown, so I kept my mouth shut. It wasn't so much what Hugo did that set me against him; it was what he didn't do. To say he took my sister for granted was an understatement.

It was ten minutes before I could extricate myself from the twins.

Timo had recruited Franny to help spread tomato sauce on the crusts, but the twins were still engrossed in telling their tale of woe. It seemed that crayon-stealing and hair-pulling were not the only forms of misbehavior at the Nob Hill Montessori. Marta, in particular, was deeply disturbed by a recent outbreak of paper-towel-wastage.

"Jacob used three," said Marta, holding up three fingers for emphasis. "Miss Huxley says we're only supposed to use one."

I felt for Miss Huxley. I really did.

"I told Jacob not to waste," said Marta, her little eyes glowing with righteous indignation, "but he wouldn't listen."

"I have to call Aunt Abby," I said and fled the kitchen.

"You must be at Rob's?" Abby said when she picked up. All the hubbub in the background had evidently clued her in.

I glanced back at the kitchen. The kids still seemed engrossed, but I knew that could change in the blink of an eye.

I expected to be followed, and trying to make it to the master suite without being overtaken seemed foolhardy—plus the kids might just knock and keep knocking until they got a response—so while I talked to Abby, I looked around for a place I could be assured of peace and privacy.

"It looks like I'm stuck here until they figure out what to do about my flooded apartment," I told Abby.

"Rob and Camille back from Spain?"

"They are not."

"So, it's just you and—"

Shortly after Abby had picked up, there had been shrieking and laughter from the kitchen, but now everything was quiet. Too quiet. I darted into the storage closet under the stairs and pulled the door shut.