My hand flies up to my chest. “You’re trying to kill me, right? You know I love your biscuits.”
She smiles, almost shyly. We’re alone for the first time in months, unless you count that morning in the bakery, which was sheer chaos and nowhere near as intimate as this moment feels. We both know we can’t linger here. I take the porch steps and hold the front door open for Carli. She passes by. I inhale warm butter and flour, layered with the cold morning air she’s bringing in with her, and just the faintest whisper of straw and earth from her boots.Home.
She pauses just before crossing the threshold. “Are you trying to inhale my biscuits, Cody?”
“I’ll take ’em how I can get them,” I say with a wink.
She laughs, then steps past me into the house, aiming straight for the kitchen. I trail behind her like a lovesick puppy.
McKenna walks into the kitchen from the main room, a drowsy smile on her face, still wearing her pajamas. “What do I smell?” She lifts the tinfoil off a corner of the casserole dish. “Biscuits? Oh my goodness, I missed Tennessee.”
I rush at her, lifting her off her feet and twirling her around.
“Cody!” she squeals, slapping at my back and then collapsing into a hug.
She quickly retaliates for my sneak attack by tipping her face into my neck and blowing raspberries as if we’re kids again. I drop her to her feet and hold her at arms’ length, taking her in.
Carli walks to the island, setting down the dish of biscuits and greeting Mom, leaning in for a hug.
“Want coffee?” I ask Mac.
“Does a rooster scream at four a.m.?” She rubs her temples.
“Screaming roosters?” I chuckle, grabbing for a mug and lifting the fresh pot. “You’re losing touch with your roots.”
“Coffee?” I ask Carli.
She shakes her head and returns her attention to my mom. They’re leaned in toward one another, backs against the counter across the kitchen. It’s very conspiratorial and cozy.
It’s good to have Carli here. She doesn’t come around like this when Mac’s away, and I miss her easy presence more than I should.
“You look different,” I say quietly to my sister, handing her the hot mug I just poured.
“I don’t,” she insists, taking a sip of her coffee and pursing her lips. “Creamer! This needs creamer. Are you a heathen?” Ihuff out a laugh and stride to the refrigerator, returning with the creamer.
“I’m still me,” McKenna says, dousing her coffee until it’s practically white. She sips the cup again and sighs contentedly. Her glare at me is playful. “Don’t pull thatyou’ve turned into a Californianstuff on me.”
“What’s this, then?” I lift a lock of her hair, the natural brown streaked with blonde highlights.
She shakes her head, freeing her hair from my hand. “Highlighting my hair doesn’t mean I’m converted.”
A flicker of something crosses her face—her eyes say something more is going on.
“Are you and West okay?” I instantly jump into the familiar role of my sister’s protector.
She’s got four of us, plus Mom and Dad. No wonder she’s always had thisI can do it myselfattitude. Still, if her boyfriend’s doing anything to make her unhappy, I won’t be the only one booking a flight to whatever place he’s filming this time.Iceland?Greenland? Someplace cold and remote.
“We’re great …” McKenna’s smile is wistful, not quite reaching her eyes. “... considering he’s off to the alpine tundra for half a year.”
“Sorry,” I say. And I mean it. It has to stink falling in love with someone you can’t be with consistently.
My jaw flexes. That feeling’s one I’m more than familiar with. And it definitely stinks.
“We’re good, though,” her voice fills with warmth. “Better than good.”
She holds her hand up. It takes a moment for me to register what I’m looking at.Engaged.
“You’re engaged,” I say, allowing the truth to seep one layer deeper.
