A guy in a flannel shirt—another adult in the room I haven’t met yet—flags her for a cupcake.
“Wade, I need another plate,” Caroline says, finally granting me the name of the bearded guy in the entryway. There haven’t been many introductions since I walked through that front door, so I’m having to piece this family together one name at a time. So far, I know half of them.
Henry lifts his cupcake to his mouth, and Caroline reaches over and takes it from him.
“We have to sing first. Everett? We’re ready for the candles.”
He’s looking for candles.
I can’t bear to watch this poor guy receive another lecture. Even if it feels intrusive, he needs the help. I open the cabinet opposite from him, inspecting the shelves and find nothing but a hodge-podge of drinking glasses. I swing the door closed and catch it right before it smacks the frame.Subtle.
My hope wavers with one final Hail Mary cupboard between us. It opens to several spinning spice racks, sprinkle shakers, cookie cutters, and—bingo!—a mason jar filled with candles.
I pull it out and whirl around, the jar colliding with hard muscle. Impossible-to-read eyes bore into mine as Rhett looks from me to the object pressed to his chest.
Is he mad I went through his cupboards?
I don’t know if I’m supposed to offer it to him or wait until he makes the next move. All of my nerves decide to wad up into a softball and squeeze their way down my esophagus as I swallow.
His hand, two sizes larger than mine, closes around the jar. Fingertips brush my skin when he pulls it from my grasp and pushes past me. It feels like the air has been punched from the room. I’m staring at his kitchen sink, wondering what in the hell just happened to me, before I finally get a grip on my surroundings.
People. Light.Fire.
Caroline has taken the candles from Rhett, pressed them into the frosting, and lit them. I get myself together and join everyone gathered around the table. The number of people I don’t know is up to five at this point if you count the kids. This is astrange party.
I’m about to introduce myself to the dark-haired woman in an adorable tie-front linen vest next to me when Rhett starts singing.
I’m suddenly very aware that this isn’t some arena view. I’m in his kitchen. He’s five feet from me, and my eye contact could not be less discreet if I tried. I’m gaping at him. Lost in the way his voice expands the four walls of this room and carries us all to some otherworldly distant place.
Or maybe just me.Definitelyjust me. Everyone else is watching Quinn.
He looks more uncomfortable singing in his own house to his family than he did to a stadium of strangers. For the first time, I feel like Rhett Dawson and I might have something in common. I felt nothingbutuneasy in my own skin under the roof I shared with Brian.
When the song ends, the woman next to me—who looks an awful lot like a female version of Rhett—says to Quinn, “Close your eyes and make a wish.”
Quinn squints, sucks in a big breath, and blows out all four candles at once. Henry promptly takes a bite after she does. I make a mental note to praise him for that later, but right now, I need to call Julia privately, so I turn to the one person left with family resemblance.
“Hi! I’m Summer,” I say to a woman with striking amber eyes and pronounced lines bracketing her smile. A small mole dots her cheek next to her nose, and her hair fans her collarbone. With naturally tinted lips and rounded shoulders, she’s poised and effortlessly stunning.
“I’m Emma, Everett’s sister.”
I thought so.I love that she calls him Everett. It feels intimate, learning his real name.
“It’s nice to meet you. I was hoping you could point me in the direction of the bathroom?”
“Of course! It’s right down there.” She gestures toward the nearest hallway.
I thank her, hoping it’s far enough from the party to have this conversation.
A gallery wall of Rhett and Emma’s school pictures guide me there. I shut the door, prop myself on the edge of a free-standing pink claw-foot tub, and dial Julia. She answers on the first ring.
“What the hell, Jules?”
I can still hear children giggling and adult chatter over my whisper-shout, so I flick on the switch to the bathroom fan and turn on the faucet.
She giggles. “How’s Rhett Dawson?”
“You mean,EverettDawson.”
