Crazy for Loving You A Bluewater Billionaires Romantic Comedy - Pippa Grant Page 0,37

a few shrimp.”

They swap parts of their lunch like they’re long-lost sisters, and Becca slides me a look as though she’s wondering what Daisy’s seen on me that’s huge.

She hasn’t mentioned her new boyfriend again.

And I don’t give two fucks.

What the hell was I thinking? Becca isn’t into me.

And honestly?

I wasn’t really into her.

“How’s your swordfish?” Daisy asks me. “Oh, lucky. I didn’t know it was sweet potato fries day. Pixie’s sweet potato fries are the best.” She plucks a fry off my plate and moans again.

Threesome! Threesome! Threesome! my nuts chant.

I need to get them a muzzle.

“West has the weirdest luck,” Becca says while she tries to shell a shrimp one-handed. “He’s the guy who’d take the scenic route to work one morning, get to the office, and find out there was a fifty-car pile-up on the interstate he usually takes. Or—he always gets window tables. Always.” She points to the window beside us, overlooking a garden with lush plants and curving pathways. I don’t know what’s around the bend, but I suspect it’s more million-dollar homes and golf cart trails.

My sisters wouldn’t be able to stop gawking at anything here. Tyler would fit right in though.

“Let me take him so you can eat,” I tell her, pointing to the baby.

“Oh! Right. Thank you.”

I take Remy, who waves his arms like he’s telling me a story, and let the women keep talking while I go back to watching the surroundings and bouncing twelve pounds of sweet baby.

Also, the swordfish is perfection.

Don’t need to engage in the conversation going on around me, especially with a delicious meal to savor, and honestly, their words are flowing too fast for my one good ear to catch everything. Almost like being at home.

I take a bite of swordfish, make a face at Remy, who coos or tries to smile back, sweep a glance around the restaurant, then give a cursory study of the women.

And repeat.

Until I notice Daisy’s lips are swelling.

Are they?

Or is this a trick of the light?

She frowns and touches two fingers to her bottom lip, like she’s realizing something is off too.

“Whath appenin’ to my lipsh?” she asks.

Red creeps up her neck, and she attacks it with her French manicured fingernails.

“Oh, fuck,” I mutter. “Are you allergic to seafood?”

“My mom ith, but naw me. I’m thuperwoman.” She tries to clear her throat.

Then tries again.

Alessandro tips his table lunging toward us. “Back,” he barks.

All my instincts say I need to get her to Benedryl first, then epinephrine if that doesn’t work, but I’m holding a baby, and Becca’s shrieking and diving for cover while Alessandro leaps for Daisy.

Her whole face is mottled red now, and she’s alternately scratching her skin and trying to talk.

“Hospital?” I say.

“Benedryl,” Alessandro barks at a server, who shrieks, drops a full platter of fish sandwiches, and breaks into a run toward the kitchen.

I leap up, baby in hand, while everyone in the restaurant starts moving, craning necks, stepping out of their seats for closer looks, rising in the aisles.

“I have medical training,” I tell Alessandro.

“I have medical training,” he growls back.

“Maybe reminding her she was allergic to something before she ate it would’ve helped.”

“Noth allergic,” Daisy croaks out. “Aythe loths of frimp. Aww my wife.”

“She’s not allergic to anything.” Alessandro’s taking her pulse when the chef dashes out of the kitchen.

“Daisy,” the perky lady with blue pigtails under her hairnet wails. “Your pretty face! What have I done to your pretty face?”

“It’ll grow ba—aaa—ath.”

“Benedryl!” the chef shrieks, shoving a box at Alessandro.

He rips the package in half, sending pill packs flying onto the neighboring tables, then pops one out and shoves it at Daisy. “Swallow. Then hospital. Now.” He turns a glare on me. “Baby. Home. Now.”

The blue-haired woman bursts into tears.

Remy bursts into tears.

Alessandro tosses Daisy over his shoulder, and stomps out of the restaurant through the growing crowd. I want to follow, but for what?

To be one more person slowing them down?

I’m not her relative. I shouldn’t be anything to her.

Still, my heart’s in my throat, and I can’t tilt my good ear close enough to the door to hear what’s being said out there along with seeing which direction they’re going.

“That wasn’t…normal,” Becca says behind me. She’s huffing like she leapfrogged the tables to get to us. “Should we go pay the bill?”

I nod, even though I don’t want to go anywhere except wherever Daisy went, because christ on a cracker, if the Benedryl doesn’t work and she doesn’t get to an emergency