“Hey, Holty.” Nix gives me a quick side hug. “I need to go wash my hands. Mom had me helping her spread compost.”
“I wondered what that smell was.” I grin when he rolls his eyes. Mom’s compost usually contains some type of manure, which is great for the garden but disgusting if you think too hard about it when you’re using your hands to spread it out. It doesn’t normally smell too bad, but the teasing comes naturally when you’re the oldest of six.
Nix is three years younger than I am, and Reese andCamden are five. Despite our age differences, the six of us are close. I’m not sure if it was the shared history of being adopted out of foster care or if Mom and Dad just created the right environment for us to grow close, but my brothers are my best friends. We did everything together. The farm was our playground, and we got up to so much shit we never should’ve been doing.
Mom and Dad usually knew when we’d done something shady, but because we were usually doing it as a group, they had a hard time punishing us to the full extent. Most of our choices were questionable, but we always had each other’s backs. As the oldest, I took our safety seriously, so we weren’t in any real danger. The worst we got was a couple of broken bones, and those happened when we weren’t being stupid.
“Someone set the table. Lunch will be ready in a minute,” Dad says as he puts the pie into the oven. He’s perfected his timing for dessert to be finished right when we’re done eating. He taught me everything I know about cooking. Granted, I won’t ever be as good, and no matter how much I try, baking is a lost cause. My brothers used to complain if I tried to help with dessert—I seem to have a negative impact on it despite following Dad’s very specific instructions.
We’re working together to set the table when Mom’s voice reaches us from the kitchen. “Holt Isaiah Basil!”
I wince at her shrill tone.
“Someone’s in trouble,” Gage singsongs. I punch him in the arm, which only makes him laugh harder.
“Yes, ma’am?” I respond when I get back in the kitchen.
Mom’s hands are on her hips, and her face is lined with disappointment. “I thought you were bringing your girl with you?”
I frown. She can’t possibly be talking about Gia. I literally just told Dad about her. “What girl?”
“Don’t act like I’m stupid. Your sweet little friend that Marcie told me you’ve been having lunch with.”
Ah, fuck. I forgot Mom attends the crochet club. “It’s not exactly like that,” I try to reason with her.
“She is all alone in town, and I’ll bet she hasn’t had a decent home-cooked meal since she arrived. You call her right now, Holt Basil. I can’t believe I raised you to be so heartless.”
“Jeez, Mom. The guilt trip is a little much.”
“Apparently not, since you didn’t have the decency to invite someone over who could use a good meal.”
“She’s not starving. And you’re crazy. Why would I subject her to the loony bin that is our family?”
Mom gives me her no-nonsense look, which means if I don’t have Gia here in five minutes, she won’t let me have pie, and that would be tragic. I love Dad’s cherry pie.
I sigh and pull out my phone. Gia’s name is at the top of my call log, so I press it and hold my breath.
This is going to be a disaster.
CHAPTER 15
Gia
Iam totally fine.
Holt and I arenotin a real relationship. We’re especially not in one that would require us to meet each other’s families. That would be ridiculous.
So I’m fine. I’ve got my book, a yummy sandwich from Marcie’s, and my favorite latte. I’m surrounded by the warm scent of coffee and the noise of people coming and going from the Grind. I don’t need anything else.
“You okay, G?” Gwen sits across from me, setting a sandwich in front of her. She must’ve just started her break. “You look sad.”
“I’m totally fine.”
Gwen snorts. “That wasn’t even slightly convincing.”
I laugh. I come into the Daily Grind almost every day to work, and she’s started sitting with me while she takes her breaks. We’ve gotten close over the past few weeks and learned we have a ton in common. Neither one of us has ever quite fit in with our friend groups, and we both use sarcasm to cover our emotions. I’ve gotten used to sharing things with her that I’d normally keep to myself, but this situation is different.I already know I’m being dramatic. I don’t need anyone to confirm it. Gwen would probably understand more than I’m giving her credit for.
I stick my tongue into my cheek, debating about telling her why my feelings are hurt. The words come out before I’ve fully decided. “Holt and the girls are having lunch with his family today.”
