Friday dinner is a revelation.
Their family home is separate from the clubhouse—a sprawling ranch house away from compound, where they have the VP and his wife as a neighbor, surrounded by oak trees draped in Spanish moss.
It's warm and lived-in, full of family photos and comfortable furniture and the smell of something delicious coming from the kitchen.
Fern greets us at the door with hugs for both of us—Dalla first, then me, which catches me off guard.
No one's hugged me since... I can't remember when.
"Come in, come in," she says, ushering us inside. "Everyone's in the living room. Tor and Meghan just got here with Tindra."
Dalla's hand finds mine, squeezing briefly before she pulls away to greet her family.
Tor is impossible to miss.
He's a big man—tall and broad, with the same dark hair as Runes but softer features, kinder eyes.
He's in his mid-forties, I'd guess, and when he sees Dalla, his whole face lights up.
"There's my baby sister." He pulls her into a bear hug, lifting her off her feet. "Heard you've been causing trouble."
"I don't cause trouble. Trouble finds me."
"Uh huh." He sets her down and turns his attention to me, his expression shifting to one of amusement. "And you must be the security detail."
"RJ Malone. Brotherhood."
"Tor." He shakes my hand, still grinning. "So, you're the one who's been 'protecting' my sister."
"Tor," Dalla warns.
"What? I'm just saying. That's some very... thorough protection. Round the clock, from what I hear."
"Oh my god."
"The walls in that clubhouse are thin, Dalla. Very thin."
Dalla's face is bright red.
I feel my own cheeks heating, which hasn't happened since I was a teenager.
"Leave them alone," a woman says, appearing at Tor's side. She's beautiful—blonde hair, warm eyes, the kind of face that suggests she's spent decades putting up with exactly this kind of bullshit. "I'm Meghan. Please ignore my husband. Hethinkshe's funny."
"Iamfunny."
"You're really not." She takes my hand, her grip warm and firm. "It's nice to meet you, RJ. Anyone who makes Dalla smile like she has been is welcome in this family."
"Thank you, ma'am."
"Meghan. Please."
A younger woman bounces into view—and that's the only word for it.
Bounces.
She's in her early twenties, with her father’s dark hair but lighter eyes, and she's possibly the most beautiful person I've ever seen.
Not in the polished way that Greer Mackenzie is beautiful, but in a natural, almost ethereal way that makes you want to stare.
