Page 24 of The Romance Adventure

“We’re here because—” the athletic guy hands me an envelope. Across the front, it says, Ryan.

I get to my feet and then stumble forward, forgetting I’m only wearing one shoe. With lightning-fast reflexes, Mr. Muffin grips my arm, holding me steady.

“Oopsie. Wouldn’t want to spill anything on anyone,” I say.

The two who aren’t Mr. Muffin look at me with confused curiosity.

Smoothing my skirt, I say, “Welcome to Edmonton Law. Please take a seat and we will get started.”

I glance down at a neat stack of papers, praying for instructions or for God to send down a lightning bolt to spare me from the horrid humiliation that’s sure to ensue.

Instead, there is some fine print about taking on the role of reader, executor, and purveyor of all items related to this will and last testament.

The three guys settle in front of me. There’s a likeness among them. Definitely brothers. Bean said something about the nice twin, or was it the mean twin?

Ryan says, “Shouldn’t we wait for CJ?”

I frown. I don’t want to wait for anyone or anything. We have to get this over with. “I’m not sure⁠—”

Just then, a roar comes from across the street followed by a thud and then a hoot. The front door flies open. All three guys launch to their feet. I would but don’t want to risk toppling over or running out the back door from this increasingly stressful situation.

“I’m here. We can get the party started,” a male voice calls from behind the wall of brothers. A man wearing an open button-down shirt, shorts, and no shoes saunters into the room. His medium-length blond hair is wind-blown and he’s the kind of tan that suggests lots of time in the sun.

“CJ,” I’m not sure which brother says it or if it’s a chorus of all three, but the tone is somewhere between tolerance and exasperation. My guess is he’s the baby in the family.

Slouching into an empty chair, he kicks his heels onto the desk.

“Feet off,” the aviator says.

I proffer an apologetic smile because I’m not sure what is about to happen, but I’m afraid it’s not going to turn out well. “Okay, so we’re all here.”

“No,” the three who aren’t CJ say.

I glance at the time, my patience and put-togetherness at risk of unraveling. “I’m I-aye aye-aye, Miss Pratt.” That was a close one. I swallow thickly.

Mr. Muffin eyes me carefully like he’s onto me.

I discretely wipe the perspiration from my lip. “I’m here to review these documents with you, Misters McMgregor. We’ll start with taking attendance.”

My nerves double because I have no idea if I’m doing this part right. Bean has made me watch every episode of Law and Order, but I never paid attention to protocols. I was in it for the romantic subplots.

I gesture for the guy with the aviators to go first. “I’m Magnus McGregor, but I don’t understand why we have to take roll.”

CJ lifts his pointer finger. “I’m CJ.”

“I’m Ryan,” Ryan says.

“And I’m Royal,” Mr. Muffin says.

I don’t know what the listening version of a double take is, but I’m not sure I heard him right. Mr. Muffin is Mr. McGregor? Mr. McMuffin?

“Royal?” I repeat.

“Royal McGregor.”

An unusual and unexpected name. Then again, seeing Mr. McMuffin going on three times in going on thirty-six hours is equally so.

“Looks like we’re all here.”