“You think your mom will remember?” I ask, a breeze stirring the hem of my dress as Nash comes around the front of the truck.
“No one could forget you.”
I roll my eyes, but I’m blushing and smiling too, which makes my face feel like it forgot how to pick a reaction. “Not me, Mr. We Should Have Boundaries but Only When I Draw Them.” I wiggle the tray. “These. The brownies she taught me how to make when I was a kid.”
“Oh. That.” Nash gives me a look I can’t unravel, then shrugs in that delightfully dismissive way of his.
I look toward the house—cheerful yellow with white trim, a rocking chair on the porch, and a bright blue door draped in a leafy seasonal wreath. Homey. Not fancy. But every inch of it says someone loves it deeply. I used to love coming here. There was warmth and goodness inside those walls, something I never seemed to get my fill of.
The second Nash opens the front door, it’s chaos. Dogs barking. Nora Kincaid’s voice coming down the hallway with a heavy dose of nostalgia trailing behind. “Back! Sit! Good gracious Beau, get your paws off me!”
Nash and I step inside and are immediately met by a rush of fur and tails. A golden retriever launches at me like we’re long-lost soulmates, and I stagger back a step, the heavy bootthunking beneath me.
“Beau!” Nash grabs the dog’s collar and hauls himoff, a hand on my shoulder to steady me. “Down. You menace.”
“He’s fine,” I say, laughing as I plant a hand on his big square head. “Hi, sweetheart.”
The other dog—a chunky older mutt with graying fur and sleepy eyes—ambles over and leans against my leg like it’s his solemn duty.
“That’s Rufus,” Nash says. “Must mean Gideon’s here. Go figure he didn’t tell me he was in town.”
“Oh my stars,” comes a warm voice behind us. “Lucy Calder. Look at you!”
I turn and find Nora Kincaid, the warm hug of my childhood memories. Her russet hair is streaked with gray. Her gray eyes—the same color as Nash’s—sparkle with warmth and good humor. She cups my face and smiles.
“You grew up so beautiful,” she says. “But more importantly, I hear you grew up strong enough to give my Nash a run for his money.”
“Someone has to, right?” I laugh through the sudden sting in my throat. I’d forgotten how much Nora meant to me.
“Truer words were never spoken.” She squeezes my hands, eyes shining. “Left on his own, he’d slide into a life of work and grumpiness.”
“Wow, Mom,” Nash deadpans. “Good to see you too.”
Nora lets go of me to reach up and squish his cheeks between her palms. “Stop frowning and hug your mother.”
He complies, grumbling as he pulls her into a half-hug, her face warming as she leans into his shoulder. Bennett ambles into the hallway only to pause when the doorbell rings. He makes a show of counting heads.
“But we’re all here.”
“Are we though?” Nash asks, too casually, eyes glinting in that wicked, older-brother way that seems so at odds with the glowering doctor we know and love.
“I’m not a fan of that look,” Bennett mutters, cautiously eyeing the people around him. “I’m not gonna like what’s waiting out there, will I?”
Nash crosses the entryway and opens the front door to a smiling Stella.
“Hey!” She steps inside in a sundress and ankle boots, a bottle of wine in each hand and a spark of mischief in her eyes. “I figured if Bennett and I were going to be in the same room together, it was a two-bottle event.”
Nora beams. “Stella, sweetheart, you look radiant. Come give me a hug.”
Bennett eyes his mother and brother like one of them just committed treason. “You invitedher?”
“Careful,” Stella says, dropping him a wink. “Scowl any harder and people might mistake you for Nash.”
The table is packed. Grayson’s face smiles at us from the screen of a laptop propped up on cookbooks at the far end. Gideon sits like a quiet wall of muscle, sipping sweettea and looking exactly like the kind of bodyguard who says very little while clocking every detail. His dark hair and gray eyes mark him as a Kincaid, but there’s something heavier about him. Foreboding. An edge sharper even than Nash’s. If I didn’t remember him from when we were kids, I might be a little scared of him, even with sweet old Rufus dozing at his feet.
The food smells amazing—roast chicken, green beans with garlic, cornbread muffins, something with lemon that makes my mouth water. Beau lies under the table with his head on my boot. And Nash? Nash keeps looking at me like I’m a puzzle he’s trying to unravel.
“This is so weird,” Gideon says, his deep voice warm and low, softening that edge. “If Gabby were here instead of Nash, I’d swear we time-traveled back to middle school.”
