“I’m there.” I give him one more kiss before releasing him. “And god knows we’re going to need some serious disinfecting after this thing.”
He laughs again. “A goat birthday party.” Ren shakes his head. “The things Stone comes up with.”
I grab the keys for my motorcycle off the hook by the door and we head out…to thegoatbirthday party because, yes, these are my best friends and business partners, and they are weird as fuck. I love them.
STONE
I squeeze the tube of frosting, swirling it carefully for that perfect cupcake effect. You can’t just give any old stomped-on-looking cupcake to a bunch of birthday goats. Well, youcan,and they’ll definitely eat them, but where’s the pageantry?
“There you are,” Dare says, coming into the kitchen with Nards on his heels. Last I checked, the rest of the dogs were outside chasing the chickens and digging random holes that I’m bound to trip in later.
“Just finishing up the cupcakes,” I tell him, shooting a smile over my shoulder at my stupidly sexy husband, who I can’t seem to get enough of.
He eyes the stack of T-shirts I had made, folded neatly on the kitchen table. He strides over and holds one up to read it:You’ve Goat to be Kidding Me. He looks back over at me with one eyebrow raised.
“Hilarious, right? But don’t put one on yet, I want them to be a surprise,” I say. “We don’t want to let the cat out for the day.”
Dare frowns. “We don’t have a cat.”
“No, I mean, the metaphorical cat.”
“I’m not following.” My husband shakes his head, and I huff in frustration. Why doesn’t anyone ever understand what I’m trying to say? It’s like none of them have ever heard these extremely common expressions.
“The cat out for the day,” I repeat. “You know, like when you let someone know a secret or something.”
He snorts a laugh. “It’s let the cat out of thebag.”
“What? Why would a cat be in a bag? What kind of monster would do that? Plus, you’d get scratched all the hell. That makes no sense.”
Dare presses a kiss to the side of my head. “I love you.”
“Obviously,” I tease, shooting him a playful grin. “I guess you’re not so bad yourself.” I turn my head and kiss his lips, my stomach fluttering, even after five years of marriage. “Don’t go anywhere because as soon as I frost this last cupcake, I need you to help me put the hats on the goats.”
“Hats?” My husband repeats as if it’s the craziest thing he’s ever heard. I know for a fact I’ve said far crazier.
“Birthday hats,” I explain. “Duh.”
EVERETT
It’s hard to imagine that I’ll ever get tired of listening to Watson and our four-year-old daughter, Ellie, jamming out to the songs that Wats wrote and recorded himself. Livi, on the other hand, is not as impressed.
Even focusing on the road, I can feel her hardcore eye-rolling energy at work. Fourteen-year-olds, I’m telling you.
Livi rolls down the window, sighing loudly, and I pull my eyes off the road just long enough to give Watson aplease save melook. The evil man just laughs and sings a little bit louder, much to Ellie’s delight. Unlike Livi, she’s more than happy for her daddy to sing to her twenty-four-seven, and Watson certainly isn’t complaining about it. Theydoall complain when I try to add my own off-key rendition to the mix.
“I can’t believe we’re going to a goat party, this is so embarrassing,” Livi complains.
“You loved it last year,” I remind her. Not to mention the years prior. Stone’s goat birthday party has become a bit of a tradition.
“I was a little kid then,” she says, aggravation dripping from her tone.
“Ah, of course, my mistake,” I mutter. They eventually outgrow this shit, right? One day I’ll have my sweet,Frozen-loving kid back?
Watson reaches over and pats my leg reassuringly, and my smile returns. I suppose I can weather the teenage angst as long as he’s by my side.
After he launched his children’s album, he started a YouTube channel to go along with it, and in just a few years, he’s achieved household-name status among anyone with a kid under the age of five. Being married to a celebrity has its ups and downs, but as long as that celebrity still wears his goofy bowties and lets me bring him coffee in bed—among other things—on Sunday mornings, I couldn’t be happier.
I pull down the long dirt driveway that leads to Stone and Dare’s property. There are already a few cars as well as Cole’s bike parked in front of the house when we get there.
