“I—” He clears his throat. “I kicked you out so you wouldn’t snoop. I’m being a good boyf—boyfriend.” The word trips, and he flushes.
He’s never done that before. Why is he getting all shy about the word suddenly?
“Everyone’s going to be here soon,” he adds. “You’re supposed to stay outside until it’s ready. I didn’t want you getting thirsty and coming in.”
“I still wish someone would tell me what’s going on,” I grumble. “It’s my party.”
Release day.The Family We Make:a cookbook by Beckettis real. There are boxes of it on our kitchen table, my name on the spine. It’s full of love and healing and the stubborn hope that family can be chosen and still count. I’m proud. I’m terrified. I’m so happy it feels like my chest might explode.
The moment I came back and stepped into this family, something in me shifted. I didn’t know Spencer all that well, yet he hired me to run his kitchen without a second thought. Like he had faith in me first, doubt in me last. All the while, he was taking his own big gamble with the café.
I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for them.
Dom takes my cup and sets it on the drink ledge of the bench he built—which yes, is endlessly handy—and slides his arms around my waist. “Little mouse,” he murmurs. God, I love when he calls me that. “It’s your party. We just wanted to do something special.”
We both jump when a blur of fur rockets through the open door and across the yard.
“Chester! You cannot just barge in like that!” Alex calls, appearing on the patio. Fig lurches from his dramatic faint and bolts to greet his best friend with joyful barks. “What if Fig was busy?”
“He’s fine. Aren’t ya, OGB?” I call. Original Good Boy is, in fact, fine. He and Chester immediately invent a wrestling league.
“Okay, but if he’s too much, I can run him home,” Alex says as we all turn to see Fig sitting on Chester. If Chester had balls, this would be a very different friendship.
“They’re fine,” I assure him, laughing. I swivel back to Dom and narrow my eyes. “Apparently, I’m just out here drinking coffee.”
He holds up both hands. “I’m following orders. We both know who actually runs this show.”
The slider opens again, and Mazie bursts out on toddler legs, Spencer and Finn in hot pursuit.
“Mazie, get back here! I appreciate your commitment to feminism, but you cannot open doors like you own the place,” Spencer calls, already resigned.
She beelines past us straight for the two mutts playing in the yard.
“Puppies!” Mazie shrieks. Both dogs pause, conferring politely, then trot to her and smother her in kisses.
“Hi… Sorry,” Spencer says, following after her.
“All right, little chica, I have to finish getting things ready,” Spencer says, giving me the side-eye. Has anyone ever mentioned that this group is horrible at being stealthy?
“I can watch her while you all… do whatever it is you’re doing.”
“Are you sure?” Spencer asks.
“Yes, shoo.” I wave them inside.
Dom steals a quick kiss, murmurs, “Yell if you need me,” anddisappears after them, unconvinced I can wrangle two dogs and a toddler alone.
I go sit on the bench that Dom made. We’ve spent quite a few mornings and evenings sitting out here, enjoying each other’s company, taking a moment to slow down.
I bring the coffee cup to my lips and chuckle before taking a sip. I’m gonna have to pee soon, so they better get their butts moving. Laughter filters through an open kitchen window, and I smile to myself. I’m so fucking lucky.
I should probably pay attention to the toddler trying to mount the dog.
“Mazie, no horseback riding on Fig.”
“Horsey!” she declares, attempting a graceful mount that is neither graceful nor successful. Chester obligingly pretends to be a stepstool. “And you… stop helping,” I tell him. His tail wags, unbothered.
A throat clears behind me. “If Spencer walked out right now, you’d be so fired from uncle duty.”
