The cottage should have been quiet.
It wasn't.
Because Eira had decided to host what she proudly called The Official Nursery Inspection.
Marla had called it a trap with snacks.
Tristan called it a meeting that could have been a nap.
And Shannon called it inevitable.
By midmorning, the house was spotless—or so it would have been if Eira hadn't reorganized everything twice. Every blanket was folded. Every jar was labeled. Every corner of the room had been checked for "potential hazards." Even the rocking chair had been moved to a precise angle to catch "morning light without glare."
Shannon stood in the doorway, staring at the rearranged room. "Where's my chair?"
"Moved," Marla said.
"Why?"
"It takes up space for the patient."
Eira asked from the hearth. "Where will Shannon sit when he needs to soothe the baby?"
