"We were giving her a makeover!"
"She was bald, Njal. Completely bald."
Bjorn settles on my other side, sandwiching me between them like we're twelve again and hiding from our parents after breaking something we shouldn't have touched. "To be fair, she looked very avant-garde."
"She looked like an egg with legs."
"Anavant-gardeegg with legs."
I laugh despite myself.
Gods, I've missed this.
The easy banter, the childhood memories, the feeling of being surrounded by people who've known me my whole life.
Living in Tallahassee on my own has been good for my independence, but it's also been lonely in ways I didn't let myself acknowledge.
These two idiots used to sneak me out to concerts when we were teenagers.
They held my hair back the first time I got drunk.
They threatened to beat up the first boy who broke my heart, and probably would have if I hadn't stopped them.
We're not blood, but we're family in every way that matters.
"So," Bjorn says, slinging an arm around my shoulders, "we heard you've been busy."
"Working, yes. Greer's deadline is?—"
"Not that kind of busy." Njal waggles his eyebrows. "Theotherkind of busy. The kind that had the whole clubhouse putting in earplugs two nights ago."
My face flames. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Sure you don't. That's why you're turning the color of a tomato." Njal pokes my cheek. "Look at that. She's blushing. Our little Dalla is all grown up and getting?—"
"If you finish that sentence, I will end you."
"—coffee," he finishes innocently. "Getting coffee. From the very attentive Brotherhood soldier who follows you around like a puppy."
"He does not follow me around like a puppy."
"You're right. Puppies are less intense. He follows you around like a wolf who's decided you're his."
"I hate you both."
"You love us both," they say in unison.
I'm about to respond when I feel it—that prickle at the back of my neck that tells me I'm being watched.
I look up to find RJ standing at the edge of the seating area, two mugs of coffee in his hands, his gray eyes fixed on the twins with an expression I can only describe as murderous.
"Hey there, Brotherhood," Bjorn says cheerfully, not removing his arm from my shoulders.
If anything, he pulls me closer.
The little shit knowsexactlywhat he's doing.
"Hello." RJ's voice is flat. Clipped. The professional soldier voice I haven't heard since Dublin. "Dalla. Coffee."
