Then the doorbell rings—unnecessarily, like they know it’ll rile up the eight-year-old—and the house officially loses its quiet.
As soon as the door swings open, Carter is all momentum. He scoops Phoebe up, spinning her until she squeals, talking a mile a minute about the drive and how terrible the panhandle of Texas smells. (Like cow manure.) Then he switches to whether this place has sleds, and where the closest lift is.
He’s in luck, since Silverpine is just right outside town.
Reid is the complete opposite; he’s quiet and observant. He enters quietly, eyes absorbing everything—the frames on the wall, the tree in front of the windows, the boots by the door.
He clocks me last.
And I clock the exact moment he realizes who I am.
“So,” Carter says, grinning as he finally sets Phoebe down. “This is the guy.”
I offer my hand. “Aiden.”
Reid takes it. His grip is firm but not hostile, more testing than threatening. At least it’s not a repeat of their dad’s.
“Reid.”
Carter slaps me on the shoulder like we’re old friends. “Carter. Second-born privilege means I get to ask for details—when did this happen?”
“Recently,” Chloe says quickly. Too quickly. “You want water? Did you eat on the way? I can?—”
She cuts herself off, presses her lips together.
Old instinct tells me to step back, give them space, and let them hash out whatever they need to.
But everything I’ve learned since says:don’t you dare.
“We didn’t plan it in a traditional sense,” I say evenly. “But it wasn’t impulsive. It was intentional.”
Her eyes flick to me, and her face lights up with gratitude.
It’s obvious that’s not the news they expected, though, so it makes me curious what they’ve heard.
Carter’s brows shoot up. Reid’s expression doesn’t change, but his jaw tightens.
Phoebe tugs Carter’s sleeve. “They’re married. Like for real. Mommy looked like a princess, but it was too cold for me, so we took pictures and ate cake here.”
“Well.” Carter blinks. “I think you need to tell me more of this story, Princess Phoebe.”
He scoops her up, and they settle on the couch where they bounce back and forth at alarming speeds.
Everyone settles in, though it doesn’tlooklike “settling”. It looks a lot more like chaos, and feels that way, too.
Boots pile by the front and back doors. Someone opens a beer, probably Carter. Someone else insists on seeing the barn immediately. Also, probably Carter. Every member of the Brooks family talks over each other, laughing loudly. At some point, Owen joins Carter for another drink on the back patio by the fire pit.
Evelyn sweeps through like she’s hosting a talk show segment, offering cider, assigning chairs at the table, and commenting loudly on how nice it is to have a full house again.
I’m used to certain levels of chaos, and even I’m overstimulated by the people and the noise.
But…I don’t hate it.
I catch Chloe’s eye across the kitchen island. Her beautiful brow is furrowed, and she’s quietly labeling plastic cups like they’re school supplies.
“You okay?” I mouth.
She nods and mouths back, “Yes.”
