“Hey, Felix, come on in. I’m Jake Byrne. Welcome. Glad you could make it.”
“Thanks for having me,” I say. Except why do I sound angry about it?
I shove the case of beer I picked up at a liquor store on my way over toward him. Maybe a little too hard, judging by the soft “oof” he lets out.
“The guys are in the kitchen. This way.”
He leads me down the hall, and I take in the house. The style is mountain modern, tasteful. Obviously high-end, but without that weird showy feel I’m afraid my place in Denver is going to have. Or at least would have had if it wasn’t for Piper intervening on my behalf. Add it to the list of ways I owe her.
“There’s Baby Barlowe,” Ian says as we enter the kitchen.
“Don’t make me bench-press you,” I shoot back, earning a round of laughs from the two other guys in attendance.
“That’s Eric Anderson,” Jake says, hitching a thumb toward the giant, dark-haired man leaning a hip against the counter. He lifts his beer in greeting.
“He goes with Taylor,” Ian explains.
The librarian, I think to myself. I’ve heard both Piper and Sadie talking about the book club.
“I go with Molly,” the other man offers with the barest hint of a smile. His words are slow and measured, like he might have to pay extra if he speaks too many of them at one time. “Chase Calhoun.”
“Molly’s the flower farmer,” I say, nodding.
“Chase is flower farming with her,” Eric says.
“Beats getting the shit kicked out of me by a bull every weekend,” Chase replies.
Right. I think back to some of my conversations with Ian. He’s mentioned both Chase, a Skylark native and retired bull rider, andEric Anderson, who used to play professional hockey in Germany before getting together with Taylor and moving to Skylark.
“You want a beer?” Jake asks.
“No, I’m dry until the end of the season.”
“Do a lot of guys do that?” Eric asks, sounding genuinely curious. “I don’t think that’s a thing in hockey.”
“Wasn’t a thing when I was in my twenties,” I answer. “But it’s for the best now.”
“Baby Barlowe isn’t a baby anymore,” Ian says, and damn if I don’t feel my face color at the approval in his voice.
Will I ever outgrow wanting my big brother to be proud of me?
“I hear congratulations are in order,” Jake says as he hands me a can of sparkling water. “You’re going to be a dad.”
I feel my nostrils flare, and my hand tightens on the can, the aluminum giving slightly under my grip. I flick an irritated glance toward Ian.
“Don’t worry.” He shakes his head, reading me as easily as ever. “We’re in the book club trust tree here.”
I nod because my brother might be annoying, but he wouldn’t let me spill my guts to a bunch of assholes. “Thanks,” I tell Jake. “Piper’s doing all heavy lifting at this point, but I’m…” I can’t quite make my lips move the way I want them to. “… Scared shitless,” I answer instead of “excited,” which is what I meant to say.
“Here’s to being scared shitless and showing up anyway,” Chase says, lifting his beer in my direction.
Ian claps me on the shoulder, loosening something in my chest. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.
“Help yourself,” Jake says, gesturing toward the kitchen island where an impressive spread is laid out. “We’ve got wings, nachos, and some kind of fancy dip Iris made before she escaped to Molly’s.”
I load up a plate with wings and nachos, suddenly starvingdespite the protein shake I downed before leaving. The wings are baked, not fried—I notice these things now—and there’s a respectable array of vegetables on the platter that I’m pretty sure is just for show.
“Were the veggies your idea?” I ask Jake.
