Everyone has been so nice so far, and it’s confusing. Families aren’t nice. They’re fake and catty and tear each other down. They don’t tease each other or greet outsiders warmly or have regular dinners together that aren’t for show.
I know how to navigate families like mine, but I don’t really know what to do with families like this. Even with all the exposure to Charlie and Coop’s fairly regular family, I’m still at a loss for what to do with people who aren’t trying to backstab me at every turn.
Shaking my head at myself, I wash my hands before wandering over to Wes to see what he needs me to do.
“You mind helping me slice the bread?” Wes asks when I come to a stop next to him.
Although he’s a couple of inches shorter than Colt and Remy, he’s just as broad-shouldered and muscular. The four siblings look so alike that they could be quadruplets.
“Sure.” I fight the urge to wilt in relief that he’s giving me such a simple task. I didn’t know much about cooking until I moved out on my own. Now, I’ve totally leveled up to subpar-bordering-on-horrendous chef, which is a huge improvement, if I do say so myself.
After handing me the bread, Wes asks, “So, Lark, how old are you?”
“Twenty-five.” Placing the loaf on the cutting board, I carefully start slicing it into thick pieces. The last thing I want to do is embarrass myself by fucking up the simple task of slicing bread, so I make sure to go slowly.
Wes makes a choking sound. I look up at him in alarm, but he’s not focused on me. He’s staring over his shoulder at the guys in shock. They’re all giving him dirty looks, which eventually snaps him out of his stupor.
Scrubbing a hand over his face, Wes shakes his head and goes back to chopping the herbs.
“Jesus Christ, you’re young,” he mutters under his breath. Win whacks him on the back of the head and gives him a death glare. He whips around to face her while rubbing his head. “Ow. What the fuck was that for?”
“That’s rude as fuck, Wesson. She can’t help how old she is any more than any of us can.” Win’s glare drops as she turns to me and offers me a bright smile. “What my ineloquent littlest brother meant to say was, you seem a lot older and more mature than your age.”
“Um. Thanks?” I mean to state, but it comes out more like a question. I’m pretty sure Wes didn’t mean anything positive byhis statement, but I also don’t think he meant anything rude by it either. He just seemed surprised.
I would’ve thought Wes and Win were in their early twenties with how young they look, but I was obviously wrong. Part of me wants to ask how old they are, but I doubt they’d tell me.
“So, besides being a badass biker chick, what do you like to do for fun?” Win chirps from the other side of Wes. She has a huge pot filled with water and a box of pasta next to it, so we must be having something Italian.
I bite my lip as I try to think of anything interesting I like to do, not wanting to seem like a boring loser. “I like to draw, hang out with friends, and explore the outdoors.”
“Oh, you draw too? That’s so cool! We have a ton of forests to explore around here if you ever wanna go hiking together sometime.” Win’s expression is earnest and eager, as though she’s actually hoping I’ll say yes so she can spend time with me.
It’s weird having someone other than Charlie or Coop actually want to spend time with me, but I kind of like it.
“Win,” Colt growls. “Lark isn’t going anywhere near the forests on our land. Don’t be planting ideas like that in her head.”
Win’s eyes widen before she looks down. “Sorry, Colt,” she mumbles into the pot, looking chastised.
“Why?” I ask, even though I know I shouldn’t. The smart thing would be to let it go to avoid any conflict, but my curiosity wins out over self-preservation.
“They’re not safe.” Colt’s tone is ice cold and final, brooking no argument. I flinch minutely at how hostile he sounds, and I see his eyes fill with regret. He opens his mouth to say something else, but I turn away before he can.
“Okay,” I whisper to the bread I’m almost done slicing.
I feel myself shutting down in the face of his displeasure with me, and I hate it. I’m supposed to be strong enough to handlepeople being angry with me. How else will I ever be able to stop being a people pleaser if I wilt in the face of even a whiff of someone being unhappy?
But as much as I’m trying, I’m still not there yet. So, I robotically finish slicing the bread, doing my best to pretend I’m anywhere but here.
Wes bumps my shoulder with his, drawing me back to the present. “You mind grabbing the butter from the fridge and mashing it up for me? I’m almost done with the garlic, so we’ll be able to whip up the compound butter in a minute.”
I appreciate his attempt to distract me by giving me something to do. Giving him a small nod, I put down my knife and walk across the kitchen to the huge fridge that looks professional grade.
I idly note the flame-shaped pendants hanging over the island, the family pictures dotted on the counters and hanging on the walls, and the bit of clutter that makes the kitchen look lived in. It’s similar in size to the one I grew up with, but it feels a million times homier.
When I reach the wood-paneled fridge, I swing it open and hunt around for the butter. After a moment, I spot a pound of it and grab the whole thing, unsure how much Wes wants.
Closing the door, I turn around, only to bump into a hard chest. I take a hasty step back and flick my gaze up to Colt’s icy one. He takes a step toward me until his front is pressed up against mine. Resting his forearms on the wood next to my head, Colt cages me in.
