KAYLEE
“You are hiding something from me,” Rizalina said. She stood at my bedroom door with her arms folded across her chest and a deep frown between her brows.
I looked up, arching a brow at her. “Kettle meet pot. How do you do?”
She huffed and walked into the room, only for her to frown, wrinkle her nose, and take a step back into the doorway. I was in the process of changing Zeke’s dirty diaper, so I knew what the problem was. That didn’t mean I didn’t chuckle even though I wanted to hold my breath until I had gotten rid of the stink.
Seriously, I sometimes wondered how a small human being could make such a bomb. At eleven months, Zeke’s diet was slightly more diverse than only milk, but still. It all reminded me of a saying my mother used to say in similar situations: ‘Did a camel
