“Well, she doesn’t know that, does she?”
“You’re supposed to be on my side here,” I mutter. “I was nearly trampled a few times.”
“Aw, poor baby,” Quinn coos, smooshing my cheeks together just as Allie snorts behind us.
“That’s better,” I mumble through squished lips.
She lets go to get back to stirring, and I hate how fast I miss the feel of her hands on me—even if it was just a teasing touch. It was too fleeting—the momentary warmth fading too quickly, making me want to search it out again.
She catches me staring at her and gives me a little smile. “Thanks for helping get Winston all settled.”
“You named the pig Winston?” I blink, then hit her with a teasing grin. “You gonna call him Winnie the Pig?”
She shrugs, cheeks going a little pink. “Is it stupid?”
“Tripp, stop teasing her,” Allie calls out. “I like the name.”
“Nah, Winston is perfect,” I agree. “Solid. Dignified. Perfect for a pig.”
The hinges of the screen door squeak open, and a moment later Sawyer marches into the kitchen. “Is dinner ready yet? I’m starved.”
“Well, hello to you too,” Allie mumbles.
Sawyer nudges Allie to the side with her hip and steals a cucumber from the cutting board. “You know how I get when I’m hungry,” she says.
“Prickly as a porcupine,” Wes says as he tromps back down the stairs.
She narrows her eyes at him, but he quiets whatever retort she has waiting with a quick press of his lips to hers. I catch Quinn eyeing them, a wistful look crossing her features before she turns back to the stove.
“Dinner’s ready,” she announces.
“Just in time,” I mutter.
“I’m gonna go check on Winston once we finish supper,” Quinn says, placing a bowl of spaghetti in the center of the small table.
Allie brings the basket of garlic bread, and I snag three slices before she’s even put it down, tearing into one with the intensity of a bear eating its first fish after a long winter.
Wes looks at me as if I’ve somehow personally offended him. “You’re eating like a heathen. Save some for the rest of us.”
“You snooze, you lose,” I say around a mouthful.
“How’s Pops doing?” Allie asks, ignoring the way Wes reaches around her for a slice.
“They moved him to the nursing facility this morning,” Wes says. “Sounds like he’s been giving them all a run for their money.”
Sawyer’s eyes roll. “That man.”
Quinn sighs. “I’ll go tomorrow and talk some sense into him again.”
“Good luck with that,” Wes deadpans.
“When does he get to be your problem full time?” I ask, forking a meatball that’s large enough to give me heartburn for a week into my mouth.
“Depends on how long he takes to do the strengthening exercises without telling his nurses to go to hell.”
“He’s becoming as surly as Sawyer in his old age,” I mutter.
Wes kicks my chair.
