Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 107352 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107352 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
“Worms?”
“Easily remedied, my friend,” I told him, turning the corner and reaching the bottom of the stairs. I then yelled up, “You can come down now.”
They were right there, of course they were, all three on the landing, waiting.
“How much did you hear?”
“Just the last bit about Dad being a catch and us being amazing,” Griff said smugly, smiling at me.
“I said annoying, not amazing,” I corrected him, walking away. “Maybe we should go get your ears checked, because you’re clearly having trouble parsing words.”
I heard them all rushing down the stairs like a herd of elephants as I retook the seat across from their father, who hadn’t moved.
Griff reached me first, put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed tight, content, it seemed, to hold on a moment before he sat down beside me.
“It’s okay,” I promised him as Tatum slipped in next to me, her arm curling around mine so she could lean her head on my bicep.
“What was wrong with Aunt Shelly?”
“It’s her mom, love.”
“But she was mad about the house and my IG and—she was never like that before.”
“I know, but we have to forgive her for scaring you.”
“Because she’s so sad.”
“That’s right.”
“If she’s so sad,” Darwin asked, taking the seat on the other side of Griff, leaning on him, “how come she even came over?”
“Well, she thought she had to check in on you. She didn’t know I was here, and she was worried and didn’t want to let your father down.”
They were all quiet.
“Do you want to cook lunch, or do you want me to do it?” I asked Griff.
“Why don’t I do it?” Luke suggested.
The silence was deafening, and when I turned to look, I enjoyed seeing the stunned expressions on the faces of the two youngest. Griff, though, appeared more worried than anything else. Refocusing on Luke, I squinted at him. “I feel like maybe you can’t cook at all. Is that the case?”
“No,” he apprised me, sounding both defensive and belligerent. “I can cook.”
“Oh yeah? Like, what can you cook?” I goaded him.
The way he didn’t immediately rattle off a list was telling.
“Bad salmon,” Tatum chimed in. “Like, I don’t know how he did it, but he made it gooey on the inside and burned and crispy on the outside. It was not good.”
“That’s a fair assessment of the facts,” Darwin agreed.
“That was the air fryer,” Luke explained.
“The mac-’n-cheese came out much the same way,” Darwin said with a cough.
“No,” Luke was adamant. “No. That was because the stove was too hot and made the cheese runnier than I thought it could get.”
“Did you just say the stove was too hot?” I asked him, a picture starting to form.
“What about the spicy spaghetti?” Griff wanted to know. “Didn’t you make that with, like, salsa and marinara and tomato soup?”
“No. That was tomato paste.”
“Was it?” Griff did not sound convinced.
“Listen,” Luke began but went suddenly mute because Griff was already smiling crazily as he got up, walked around the table, and nearly fell into his father’s arms.
Luke’s face, the surprise and delight, happiness and tears, was worth the wait. Finally, Griff had let his father back in. And yes, he’d only been home half a day, but if it felt like an eternity to me, I was guessing it had to have been killing Luke. And he was right—I was more than a little attached to all of them.
EIGHT
The first night home, Luke got introduced to how dinner went with no phones at the table and all of us talking.
“Daddy, if you have to go work in your office, it’s okay,” Tatum assured him, smiling.
“No,” he said softly, and I really liked the smoky, low sound of his voice. I was also a big fan of the deep gold color of his skin, the thick blond lashes that framed his beautiful eyes, and the different colors in his brows, stubble, and hair. “I’d rather be here with all of you.”
“Nash likes jazz, so we usually listen to that,” Darwin explained. “But you can change it if you want. He said everyone gets a pick.”
His warm gaze met mine. “I like it. Let’s not change anything.”
I smiled at him. “Do you want water or something else?”
Leaning back in his chair, he crossed his arms and regarded me. “This actually brings up an excellent question.”
“And what is that?”
“Well, I seem to be out of beer, and the rest of my bar is not in the hutch where I left it. In fact, the entire hutch is gone.”
“You always said the hutch was ugly, so we sold it at the yard sale,” Tatum informed him.
“I see. Did you sell my booze too?”
“No. Nash kept the expensive things, and there’s a new cabinet right there,” she said, pointing. “It used to belong to Mrs. Singleton’s husband, but he died last year, remember?”