SLOANE: Your farm sounds like chaos.
JAX: It’s perfect. You’d love it.
I stare at that message. ‘You’d love it.’ Like there’s already a place for me there.
SLOANE: Maybe someday I’ll get to see it.
JAX: You will. Full tour. I’ll introduce you to all the chickens by name. Show you where the rooster hides from his enemies.
SLOANE: Sounds like a date.
JAX: It is. Whenever you’re ready.
My heart does something stupid in my chest.
JAX: Question. Do chickens understand Thanksgiving?
SLOANE: Pretty sure they’d be against it.
JAX: They’re eyeing me suspiciously. Like they know what’s coming.
SLOANE: Are you having chicken for Thanksgiving?
JAX: Fuck no. Turkey. I’m not a monster. These chickens are family.
SLOANE: Dysfunctional family.
JAX: The best kind.
JAX: What are you doing for Thanksgiving?
My stomach drops.
SLOANE: Family dinner. My parents’ house. The usual.
JAX: Sounds nice.
SLOANE: We’ll see.
JAX: You don’t sound excited.
SLOANE: Family holidays are complicated.
JAX: I get that. Mine are chaos. Five brothers who are all idiots, plus my grandmother who lives to embarrass us.
SLOANE: Sounds fun.
JAX: You’re welcome here if you want. If your family thing doesn’t work out. Or even if it does, and you want dessert somewhere else. We always have too much food.
My chest tightens.
SLOANE: Thank you. That means a lot.
JAX: I mean it. Standing invitation. You, Maggie, Riley. Whoever. Door’s always open.
I stare at that message for way too long before just sending a heart emoji.
Coward.
