“Get the bags, little bro,” he calls over his shoulder.
“Asshole,” August says with good humor.
I’d always been welcome and a close family friend, but this change feels significant. As though they’re doing their best to make it clear I’m a Luck now. It feels both wonderful and terrifying. As an only child, there’s a certain yearning in me for all their boisterous warmth, the laughter and company. It touches me deeply that they accept me so fully. And yet, August and Iaren’t really engaged. Yes, we’re together now. But they’re treating me like we’re a done deal, a sure thing.
Having been left behind by my father—someone who should have cherished me unconditionally—letting myself sink completely into the Luck family feels fraught. I want it so badly. I want August so badly. Forever and always. But these things haven’t been said.
I should take that leap of faith. But a small part of me, the little girl who was left behind, stubbornly waits to hear it from him first. Sheneedsit.
Maybe my father fucked me up more than I want to admit.
Shaking off dark thoughts, I follow Jan inside. June was right, I love the space. Old, weathered cypress boards over a foot-wide creak. Much like my house, it’s a ranch with old beams overhead and wings branching out from a center hall. But where I have smooth stucco walls, Jan’s place has a lot of stacked stone and more board-and-batten walls. The furniture is substantial, deep gray velvet couches, camel-colored leather chairs, heavy oak tables and chairs. It’s cozy but not stuffy.
A fire crackles in the hearth, and the lamps glow warmly. Jan heads for a long walnut-topped bar that faces a wall of glass doors and the silvery lake beyond. June, May, and I take a seat on the barstools as he plays bartender, fixing up apple cider old-fashioneds.
“Where do you want us?” August calls from the hall. He’s laden with bags, the bulk of them May and June’s, but they don’t appear to weigh him down in the least. Ah, to be that strong. I’d probably toss logs for fun.
“The girls have the blue room. You’re in plaid.”
“Plaid,” I question, as Jan slides a drink before me. “Thanks.”
The corners of his glacial-blue eyes crinkle. “They honestly look the same except one has a dark blue throw on the end of the bed and the other has a plaid one. Let’s see if he can figure it out.”
Laughing, I raise my glass to Jan and take a sip. Who am I to get in the way of brotherly shenanigans?
“Asshole,” August repeats, striding in a few minutes later. “Think I don’t know what you’re doing?”
Jan chuckles and hands him a cocktail. “I let you off easy this time.”
Remembering the story about the frog, I grin up at August, sliding my arm around his waist. He reads me well and raises a brow in mock warning. “Don’t you go getting on his side. You’re my girl, not this dirtbag’s.”
He places a soft kiss on my smiling mouth as if to remind me.
June and May instantly make gagging sounds. Mature-like.
Over my shoulder, August flips them off and kisses me again. “You taste like apples.”
“Ugh.” May wrinkles her nose. “I’m never going to get used to August being mushy. It isn’t right. It’s like someone took over his body.”
“And replaced it with a tub of goo,” June deadpans. “Remind me again why we were happy these two made it official?”
“We’re not really official,” I burst out.
A pregnant pause fills the room. Heat prickles my cheeks as I feel August stiffen beside me. But he keeps his warm hand light and easy on the back of my neck. I glance around and find his siblings trying their best not to make eye contact.
The flush grows. “I mean, official as in engaged. Obviously, we’re together. Not fake together but really together. I mean, you know the whole tasting like apples thing and all the sex we’ve been—”
“Here.” June pushes over a bowl. “Have a nut. They’re delicious.”
Giving her the stink eye, I take a cashew and eat it.
August breaks the silence by chuckling. It’s warm and slightly rough, and the sound eases into me. He strokes my back in solidarity then kisses my cheek. “She stopped you at the good part. I want to hear more about all the sex we—”
He ducks as his siblings ping him with cashews. “Assholes.”
Thirty-Four
Pen
