He isn’t even wrong, and I can’t tell if that is or isn’t the problem here.
CHAPTER 19
After peeling off allmy clothes, leaving chunks of mud all over the floor that I had to clean up, and a boiling shower, I finally feel warm. Between the hose and the mud and even the wind, my body felt that bone-deep cold that takes a two-hour hot shower to drive away. Except the hot water lasts ten minutes in this old house, and I had to share it with Arlo, giving me five minutes in a hot shower where I closed all the windows and turned off the fan so I could at least bask in the steam.
Stomach churning, I hover at my door, listening to the laughter spilling up the steps from down below. It’s Sunday, which means it’s family dinner night, and I know that neither Arlo nor his sisters would miss meeting my brother, making it a full house.
Why does that make my stomach flutter with knots? I know why, and soon I’ll have to face that reality, but for tonight, I just plan on enjoying family.
I make my way down the hall, my steps creaking on the stairs as I struggle to eavesdrop on the conversations. Above all, I hear my brother chattering excitedly about something or other and the following laughter that ensues. Robin has a special kind of charisma that often surprises even me. He’s a natural storytellerand can adapt to any environment, so much so that I believe I’m going to have him read this week’s story at the library, because I just know he will love it.
I head into the sitting room, where everyone is gathered before dinner. I find Arlo first. He’s sitting in his usual chair, swirling a glass of amber liquid in his hands. His eyes find mine, even as the chatter dances over us.
I look away, finding my brother regaling Seraphina, Autumn, and Saffron while Lark sits snuggled up beside him. Her eyes are full of love and appreciation as she soaks in every word. With nowhere left to sit, I shuffle over to stand in front of the fireplace, which just so happens to be where Arlo sat.
Really, I didn’t do that on purpose. It’s just warm in this corner.
“Here.” His breath whispers over my skin. “Sit.”
He’s so close, and I swear I feel the others watching this dance we keep playing. Without a word, I slide onto the chair as Arlo heads over to the drink cart and pours me a glass of red wine, which is very much needed at this moment.
He hands it over, and I clutch it to my chest like it’s a lifeline, which it very well might be, and focus on the story. Robin’s telling them something obnoxious from our past, about us getting lost in the woods, which was always a very dangerous situation for kids.
“So I’m here for a week. What is there to do in a small town?” His eyes light up as he meets Seraphina’s gaze, and she blushes.
What do we have here?
I jump in, ready to take over his Wednesday morning. “I’ve signed you up for story time on Wednesday.”
“Story time?” Robin’s eyes, so like mine, sparkle with mischief. “And tell me, dear sister, what book am I reading?”
That’s just like Robin, to take my claim in stride, but I know him far too well, and when it comes to my brother, I should always expect the unexpected.
“Just a Thanksgiving book.” I clear my throat, sipping the spicy wine and avoiding Robin’s penetrating gaze. I won’t give him any more than that.
“You sure that’s a good idea, Wren?” Seraphina twists her hands. I know what she is referring to—the town’s refusal to acknowledge Thanksgiving.
I have a plan for that. “Trust me?” I ask, because I plan to talk to Paris tomorrow night. The good, the bad, the ugly, I’m hoping we can help her move past the pain of losing her husband on Thanksgiving. I don’t want to appear as though her pain isn’t real, but I want to be there for her and teach her it’s okay to heal. Just as she taught me. The pain never really goes away, but we can learn how to better understand the anguish.
And if not? Well, I haven’t figured that out yet.
“It won’t work.” Autumn slouches in a chair to my left, rolling her bottle along the armchair. “She will lose it if you read a Thanksgiving book on Wednesday.”
“I’m missing something,” Robin mutters with a tilt of his head and a curious look on his face.
“I know that look, and no.” I point at him. “It isn’t my story to tell.”
“It also isn’t your hurt to mend,” Autumn counters.
She’s also not wrong, but just like they were there for me the other night, I want to be there for her.
“I’ll talk to her.” Robin gives me that smile that is all joker and not one ounce of seriousness. “Besides, don’t you two have a date to work out?”
I choke on my wine and, like the gentleman Arlo is, he slaps my back, which is completely unnecessary.
“No.” I gasp for breath.
“No to the date, or no to talking to this Paris?” Robin wags his brows, and I want nothing more than to chuck my wine at him. But I won’t because I’m not a freaking child…unless it comes to him, then I’m a child.
