Page 61 of Who's Afraid of the Big, Bad World

She smiled. “You truly are the full-service, close-contact, security specialist, aren’t you?”

Whatever he was going to say was lost in the ringing of this phone. Noah glanced at the screen, and his expression softened. “My boys.” He gestured with his phone.

“I’m good,” she told him. “I can get back to my drawing now.”

He nodded once and answered the video call, resting his elbows on the counter while he faced the screen.

“Dad!” The excited voice made Annabelle grin. “Can we stay another thirteen days? I’ve been picked by the first team to play in the semifinals, even though I’m not really part of the official team, and the game’s in thirteen days.”

“Twelve days,” his older brother, Jacob, interrupted in his slightly deeper voice. “The game’s on the thirteenth. Really, weneed to stay another two weeks. Is that okay, Dad? Gran says your job might be done before then, but we can stay anyway, can’t we? I mean, we miss you and all, but this is the semis.”

“I might even get through to the finals,” Sam said excitedly. “We have to stay, Dad. The team needs me. They’ll lose without me.”

“He’s right,” Jacob said. “He’s their only hope.”

Noah grinned at his kids. “Well, the client I’m protecting doesn’t go to court for another week or so?—”

“So we can stay?” Sammy shouted. “Dad says we can stay!”

“I didn’t say that,” Noah corrected patiently. “But I don’t see why you can’t hang around and play in the game.”

“He definitely says we can stay,” Sammy shouted, even louder this time. “I need to tell Coach.”

“How about we finish talking first before you do that?” There was laughter in Noah’s voice.

“Oh yeah, right.” There was a beat of silence while Sammy thought of something else to say. “Is work okay, Dad?”

“Why, thank you for asking. Yes, it is.” Noah’s eyes sparkled.

It was clear to Annabelle that Sam just wanted to end the call so he could tell his team he’d be there for the game.

“Who’s that?” Jacob asked. “The lady behind you.”

Noah glanced in her direction. “That’s Annabelle. She’s the client I told you about.”

“The artist?” There was definite interest in Jacob’s voice. “Is she drawing a comic book right now?”

Noah cocked a questioning eyebrow at Annabelle.

“Yes, I am,” she told him.

“Can we see?” Jacob asked excitedly before Noah could relay Annabelle’s answer.

He looked at her. She shrugged. “Sure.”

“You don’t have to,” Noah said to her, earning groans and complaints from his kids.

It was her turn to laugh. “No, it’s fine.”

“Be polite,” he told his boys as he wandered over to her drawing table.

“Oh, Dad,” Jacob grumbled. “We’re always polite. What do you think we are? Delicates?”

“Delinquents,” Noah corrected absently.

“That’s what I said,” Jacob said, in that long-suffering tone only kids can pull off.

“Boys, this is Annabelle Simmons, a famous comic book artist. Annabelle, these are my sons, Jacob and Sam.”