Sienna caught me staring and froze for a moment, just long enough that something ignited between us again.
Damn.
Beck slung his arm across my shoulders. “So, man, you liking Buttercup Lake?”
“I am,” I said honestly.
He grinned. “Good. Just wait until you try the Friday fish fry. Almost worth selling your soul for.”
“Good to know,” I said.
He laughed and waved the menu. “Trust me.”
Our drinks arrived, and Violet lifted her glass first.
“To surviving wolf packs,” she toasted cheerfully.
“To not getting eaten,” Fiona added.
My eyes flicked to Sienna. She held her glass up with a lopsided smile.
“To… professionalism,” she declared, as if that was the only thing keeping the room structurally intact.
The guys laughed while her sisters rolled their eyes, and I felt stuck in the abyss.
Sienna sipped her drink and promptly went pink. “Oh wow. That’s strong.”
“Welcome back to Wisconsin. When have our drinks ever been light?” Beck teased.
I took a sip of mine. Sweet brandy, muddled fruit, bubbles from the lemon-lime soda. It was the kind of drink I wouldn’t normally choose, too sweet and too nostalgic, but something about it worked.
I glanced over to see Sienna. She gestured when she talked, all animation and spark. She laughed with her whole face, tilted slightly upward. She nudged her siblings fondly. She glowed from the inside out, something fierce and soft braided together.
I’d spent years believing peace came from isolation, not connection.
So why did I feel calmer looking at her than I ever had sitting alone in a cabin?
The hostess finally approached, clipboard in hand.
“Harper party! Your table’s ready. Try not to make any trouble tonight, boys.” She winked at them, and their sisters laughed.
There was obviously a lot about their family dynamics I didn’t fully understand.
We made our way through the dining room. Salad bar bowls clinked, swinging wooden doors creaked behind servers carrying trays of prime rib and fried fish. The relish trays already on tables gleamed with pickles, radishes, cheese curds, the whole midwestern spread.
Our table was a long wooden booth near the windows overlooking the lake. Sienna slid in beside me before I could think, their rotating group dynamics requiring that someone land in the empty place next to mine.
Her knee brushed mine under the table.
She stiffened.
So did I.
Beck immediately waggled his eyebrows from across the table.
I shot him a look that should have frozen the lake over, even if he was my employer. Although technically, I was self-employed on a contract.
Once the server arrived, and we placed our orders, we wandered over to the salad bar. By the time I got back to the table, platters kept appearing like magic: golden walleye crisped just right, slabs of prime rib with au jus running onto warm plates, bowls of mashed potatoes whipped smooth and shining with butter. Someone passed a basket of dinner rolls, still steaming, and when I tore one open, the smell alone nearly knocked me back in my chair.
