Amelia’s eyes find mine, wide in interest, and Weston watches on. But Rory is the one who surprises me, with how she drops to her knees on the bench across from me, fingers interlaced, hands beneath her chin.
“Please, Lexi, please, please, please, if you love me at all, please put some good salads on the menu.”
“We have salads,” I scoff.
“Goodsalads, I said.”
My eyes roll of their own accord before narrowing on her. “It’s a salad,Aurora.” I use the name she insisted we call her when she first came back from New York just because it feels annoying and what are big sisters for? “They’re all some leaves on a plate. We don’t even have any herbivores in the Heights, except for Mrs. Dixon and that’s only because she doesn’t have her teeth anymore. It’s not by choice.”
“I eat salads, you wench. And I bet if you offered something beyond leftover lettuce with watery tomatoes on it, other people would too.”
Genuinely baffled, I look between everyone at the table. Weston shrugs, Amelia tilts her head like it’s not a bad idea,and Gracie nods seriously, eager to be on Rory’s good side after unintentionally setting her off.
“Talk it over with Wilder,” she begs. “Tell him it’s a special request from me. I’m sure he’ll have ideas!”
Ideas, the man isn’t short on.
Shutting the fuck up, he is.
Grumbling, I roll my eyes and help myself to some food as the overgrown man-children also known as my sister’s and best friend’s husbands finally rejoin the table.
“Come on, Lex. How much have I helped you on this whole thing?”
“What whole thing?” Wyatt asks, less grumpy already just from being next to his wife again.
“The restaurant. I’m begging my sister to repay me by putting some decent salads on the menu. I’ll probably be eating there for lunch every day, and I need options for when it isn’t a cheat day. It can’t all be fried food and sandwiches.”
“You don’t have to only eat salads,” Wyatt tells her.
I jump on a little too quickly, before I get his meaning. “Yeah, we have plenty of options.”
Ignoring me, Wyatt nuzzles into her, but I can still—unfortunately—make out what he says. “I don’t mind when you get a little extra for me to hold onto.”
And that’s my cue.
Who needs a gag reflex when you have a front-seat ticket to PDA like theirs?
I’ll say it again, I’m surrounded by chronic over-sharers and PDA enthusiasts. It’s disgusting.
But after an afternoon at the table together, laughing, poking fun at one another, and enjoying the ringing in of summer, I start to see why life’s been better since my sister’s been back. And Weston and Amelia, for that matter.
We might have some issues simmering beneath the surface, but I can’t say things aren’t more fun when we’re all together. I’m finally feeling good enough, I forget about my plan to ignore my phone all evening, and my happy mood turns to confusion quickly when I pick it up and feel it vibrating nonstop.
When I see the screen, my good mood vanishes entirely, cheeks flushing hot in the worst way when I see dozens upon dozens of notifications coming in from the café’s Facebook account.
What—and I mean this in the fullest sense of the word—in thefuckdid Wilder do?
SEVEN
WILDER
Scrolling the headlines back home is becoming my only hobby outside of work this past week.
Neighborhood blaze kills 2.
Could be family-related but doesn’t tell me why they’d be looking for me.
Unless there’s a new turf war?
