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been traumatized when I'd had to give up Kaylee, so the thought of having more children terrified me a little. We weren't ready to be full-time parents, not as a couple or as individuals, but that didn't stop this weird fluttery feeling from taking over my rational thought when I looked at the little guy. "Well, the conversation is sort of moot now, right? He's here, and we better figure out how to deal with him, quick."
    As if to underscore my point, Clayton finished his bottle then slithered his way off the couch cushion. Jones lunged forwarded and snagged the back of his onesie before he hit the floor. The boy blinked at him, his lips trembling a little.
    "What do I do?" Jones sounded panicked.
    Who'd have thought I'd be the level-headed one in this relationship? "He's probably curious. Put him down, and let him explore a little."
    "But it's not safe. I don't have any of that paraphernalia you need for kids." Jones glanced around half panicked.
    "Paraphernalia?" He made having a baby around sound like a drug habit. "Malcolm, he's fine. We're both here. We won't let him get into anything dangerous."
    Jones lowered Clayton to the floor where he sat, blinking up at his father. The stressed-out man let out a sigh, and his hand shook a little as it reached for mine. "I'm completely and utterly unprepared for this."
    "You're doing just fine," I soothed. "Remember. Positive attitude."
    "That's what got me into this in the first place," Jones growled.
    In a burst of movement, Clayton rolled from his diapered butt onto all fours and crawled around the table. The diaper sagged a little as he made his way across the rug to the entertainment center.
    Jones ran a free hand down his face. "What if I screw it up? I have no idea what to do."
    "I won't let you screw up. It's only for a month, right?"
    His rigid posture wilted a little as if in relief. "A month, yes. You're right."
    "Words I always love to hear." I kept my tone light, but I didn't want to think about Clayton leaving in thirty days' time. In less than twelve hours I'd already grown attached to him, so how was I supposed to give him up four weeks from now?
    And the better question, how could Jones be so relieved at the thought of his flesh and blood hundreds of miles away being raised by someone else?
    My phone rang, and I leapt for it, eager for the distraction. "Hello?"
    "What is this?" Aunt Cecily asked, her tone dangerous.
    I closed my eyes, hoping I wasn't about to be lambasted about the state of the Bowtie Angel. It had been spick-and-span when I left last night, but maybe not up to her standards. "What is what?"
    "This mess of TV people in my pasta shop." She made a spitting sound.
    "TV people?" I swayed on my feet, my eyes going to Clayton. "Malcolm, stop him before he yanks the curtain rod down on his head."
    "You come and get rid of them now," Aunt Cecily demanded and hung up.
    Shoot, what the hell were the Diced people doing at the Bowtie Angel already? I hadn't notified the chamber of commerce or the town council. I had to go handle them before Aunt Cecily put The Eye on the whole production staff.
    "What's the matter?" Jones asked as he untangled the boy from the curtain.
    "Malcolm, there's a situation at the pasta shop and—" The phone rang again, cutting my explanation off. "Hello?"
    "Andy, what the hell is going on?" Kyle growled at me. Behind him I heard a chatter of excited voices and the blaring of car horns. "Traffic is backed up clear to the interstate, and people with TV cameras are everywhere, and the guy I spoke to said you invited them all here?"
    Shoot wasn't gonna cut it this time, but I said my bad words silently, in deference to innocent ears. "Listen, Kyle, I can explain."
    Kyle shouted something to someone else, and there was a screech of tires. "No, you cannot park there! Andy, fix this—now." He hung up.
    "I've got to go." I pocketed the phone and lunged for my keys.
    "Go?" Jones had started to sweat. "Go where?"
    "Into town." I rushed past