I nodded. “I’ve been out. With her. Bozeman, mostly. But Mae invited me to dinner at her place this weekend.”
“That’s nice,” Mom uttered. “Eli was crazy about her.” Her guilty gaze slid toward me. “But that was a long time ago.”
“Sometimes, it feels like yesterday.”
Dad cleared his throat. To them, bringing up Summer meant remembering Eli. To all of us, that made losing him feel like yesterday.
“You look good.” Mom tipped her head, inspecting me. “She the reason for the change?”
“Sort of. She didn’t ask for it.” I ran my fingers over my trimmed hair. “I’ve been getting my hair cut in Bozeman when I’m there. The anonymity is nice.” Intoxicating. Only passing glances that skipped over me.
“Once people start seeing you more,” Dad said, spinning his mug in his hands, “they’ll quit talking. I spent years never going inside the gas station. I finally ventured in, endured the stares, did it again, and again. Now?” He chuffed out a breath. “I’m one of them.”
“I thought you were just running errands,” I teased.
Both parents chuckled, and for the first time in over fifteen years, I felt like the old Jonah. The guy who hadn’t let down his brother, his parents, and his best friend. I was the guy who hadn’t yelled at Summer when she’d needed just as much understanding and support as I had.
I let myself soak in the joy, in the comfort for a moment, and then I caught sight of that packing box again.
I might’ve gotten a haircut, I might have even been out on a date, but I was still that guy who’d retreated from the world and everyone who cared about him. It was easy to be different, to think I was different wandering around Bozeman, where nobody knew me. But at home? I was trying to change, but Bourbon Canyon was changing too. And it was changing a hell of a lot faster than I was.
Summer
I was staying with Jonah again, and we drove to Mama’s together. I’d asked her to keep the dinner casual and as private as possible, and true to her word, it was just us.
He parked in the spot behind the garage door that most visitors parked in. The back of the large log cabin wasn’t as impressive as the rest of the house and it was hard to judge the true size of the place from this angle. Perhaps that was why I preferred to enter through the back.
When my sisters and I had been brought here the first time, the house had loomed dark and intimidating. I’d still been in pain and scared, but as soon as Mae had opened the door and appeared so joyous to meet us, a lot of the fear had left. After that, the main entrance and exit had been the back door, and the home had started feeling like ours.
I liked that the appearance never changed, only the variety and number of cars parked outside. Cruz’s pickup and Lane’s new truck were gone. I didn’t know where Mama had run them off to, but I was grateful for the space.
Jonah had been good about being out and about in Bozeman. He actually seemed to enjoy going to places where he wasn’t recognized and he blended in, instead of one of the locals everyone was poised to comment on.
We hadn’t been out together yet in Bourbon Canyon, but Mama’s place was closer. Tonight was a step in the right direction.
Mama opened the back door as we approached. “Come on in, kids. The roast is almost done.”
I walked into the warmth of the kitchen. This roomwas always hotter than the rest of the place because it was where Mama spent much of her time making coffee, preparing meals, peeking out the kitchen window that overlooked the barns and shops and pastures that were closest to the house.
“Can I help with anything?” I shrugged out of my coat and Jonah took it from me. I gestured to the hooks on the wall behind the door. He put our jackets there.
I pushed up the sleeves of my top. It might be early April, but sweater weather wasn’t quite over. I’d wanted to dress up just a little. Tonight was like a date. I wasn’t nervous in the same way I usually was when introducing a date to my parents. I knew Mama loved Jonah. She knew his story, and she understood his trauma. She’d worked with too many foster kids to not know the effects someone’s childhood had on them. She was supportive and understanding.
I was more worried that Jonah would decide that doing anything more than dinners and casual sex in Bozeman wasn’t worth it. That he’d rather have his quiet days in his shop and not be bothered. He’d rather be the mountain ghost kids murmured about—poor Eli Dunn’s older brother, who kept to himself and made gorgeous furniture.
“Go ahead and grab something to drink.” Mama went to the oven. “Help yourself and have a seat at the table.”
I went to the fridge and pulled out two cans of Coke. Jonah nodded his thanks, and I led him to the table that Mama had shortened to fit only four to six people. With all its leaves in, the thing could seat twelve, plus more if we added a card table at the end for kids. We’d done that a few times when we had foster siblings in or when oneor more of us had friends over, and we were close to doing it again now that Mama was getting grandkids.
Place settings were already in three spots, and a leafy green salad with colorful chopped veggies rested on one end. I slid onto a chair and patted the seat next to me. He caught my eye when he sat, and I snickered.
His brows drew together. “What’s so funny?”
“You look like Mama’s going to ask if you’re defiling her daughter.”
He leaned over. “I am. That’s why I’m so goddamn nervous.”
“Mama supports a good defiling.”
