“I would never. She’s my girlfriend, not my chef.”
“I wouldn’t be comfortable cooking for this many, although if you really want to have a holiday meal, I suppose I could try something for Thanksgiving?” I say. I used to help Grandma with hams and pies.
The table goes quiet. Somebody’s phone pings, but is ignored. Sierra and Amy look at me like an angel, while the brothers appear stunned.
“You do Thanksgiving?” Noah asks.
“Well…yeah. Of course. Don’t you?” I say.
“It’s just that…we eat out,” Nicholas says.
“Not me.” Sebastian’s tone says he wishes he could eat out.
There’s another ping.
“I’ll join you for holiday meals,” Noah says eagerly. “I never say no to free food.”
I laugh. All of the brothers are apparently extremely well off. It’s amusing that Noah’s acting like a poor college kid.
“Ignore him,” Huxley says to me. “He’s always on social media, which, unfortunately, has rotted his brain.”
“Stop bad-mouthing Noah,” Sierra says. “He’s great.”
“Thank you,” Noah says.
“Facts aren’t slander,” Huxley says.
“Listen to my wife,” Griffin says.
Another ping.
“Do you evernotsay ‘listen to my wife’?” Nicholas asks.
“I might, if she were ever wrong,” Griffin says.
That’s sweet. It’s something Grandpa would say. And surprisingly enough, thinking about Grandpa doesn’t hurt as badly anymore. It’s like…I’m okay, even though earlier today, I thought about visiting him because it’s Saturday. It’s been such a longtime habit, it took me a second before I remembered he wasn’t around anymore. So Grant and I held each other and watched a movie in bed instead.
Huxley makes a whip-cracking noise.
“You want to step outside and do that?” Griffin says with a thin smile.
“Nope. I only do it in civilized settings. Like at a dinner table with ladies.”
Grant leans over. “Griffin does kickboxing. You don’t want to mess with him.”
“Does he ever kick your butt? Or your brothers’?” I whisper back, surprised that Griffin’s that…scary. He looks like a proper professor. Slightly disapproving but otherwise intellectual.
“No. He just acts like he will.” There’s warm affection in Grant’s voice.
“Thug,” Noah says. But he’s looking at his phone.
“He’s a respectable professor,” Sierra says.
I don’t think Noah hears her. Were all the pings for him?
“What’s so fascinating?” Sebastian says.
“It’s a sale at Bobbi’s Sweet Things,” Noah says. “The cupcakes in the picture look so good.” A phone pings again, and he doesn’t tear his gaze from the screen or move his fingers.
