“I love those kids.”
I could still hear the warmth in Evie’s voice as she watched Pam’s little monsters running around like lunatics as they played indoor tag.
After the night we’d had, most women would have left, shell-shocked and ready to have their tubes tied. A few might have stuck it out with a grin-and-bear-it attitude. But I was pretty sure almost none of them would have joined in and wound up covered in s’mores under a pile of exhausted little bodies at the end of the night.
Evie hadn’t put up with it, or done it to humor me. Her cheeks had glowed with pleasure, and her lips had been tilted up in a perma-smile. By the time I’d dropped her off at the end of the night, she’d been sporting a pair of crooked braids courtesy of little Winnie, and an electric-purple manicure that cove
