I can’t even ask another question before he’s already moving—pulling on boots, grabbing his jacket from the hook by the patio door.
“What’s he doing?” My mom shuffles up beside me, mug in hand.
No one should ever question where I get my questionable caffeine habits.
“I’m… not sure,” I admit.
She hums a surprising tune—something that sounds a whole lot like One Direction—as she watches him through the window.
There’s a confidence to the way Aiden walks. Straight back, head forward like he’s on a mission. He’s got me really curious, I admit.
“He’s got a way with him, doesn’t he?” she asks. “Just decides something needs to be fixed, and then fixes it.”
I don’t look her way, but I can feel the way her gaze lingers on me when she says it.
“He’s always been that way,” I say.
Time stretches, and I find ways to keep myself busy. I wipe counters that are still perfectly clean from the last time I did it. I straighten the boxes of puzzles Phoebe keeps bringing down to put together with Dad.
And ten minutes turns into twenty.
Phoebe finds me in the kitchen, her throat scratchy and raw from the coughing.
“Did I miss it?” she asks. “No rat dance this year?”
My heart stutters. “Well, you missed that,” I say carefully. “But not?—”
I brace for the tears I expect to flow at any minute.
“—everything,” Evelyn finishes brightly, appearing in the doorway like a half-thawed fairy godmother.
Her arms are overflowing with items she clearly grabbed as she saw them, and I fist my hands, so I don’t pull them from her and start organizing.
“What is all that?” I ask.
She eyes it. “Ribbon, fairy lights, and somethingextraspecial.”
Owen follows behind her, tugging off his gloves. “Uncle Owen, here to report for duty.”
Phoebe blinks. “What duty?”
Evelyn unloads her armful of items onto the coffee table and bends to look Phoebe in the eye.
“We thought since you were sick and had to miss your recital, we could bring it to you.”
My brothers stand, their curiosity obviously piqued.
Carter raises a brow. “This is not how I pictured my afternoon.”
“You’re welcome to leave,” Evelyn tells him sweetly.
“I just meant, I think that’s really cool. How can I help? I’m the OG uncle, so I can’t just stand here.”
“You’re only the ‘OG’ by two years,” Reid says, rolling his eyes. “Come help me get her barre from upstairs.”
“Do they use those in recitals?” Carter asks, trailing him. “Wouldn’t it get in the way of backflips?”
Reid groans. “Just… no.”
