“You’re cute when you’re nervous.”
“Hush,” I said.
The kiss wasn’t desperate. It also didn’t come with fireworks that made my cock jump. The perfectly timed kiss was comfortable, and that meant more than if it were fueled by need.I wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him tight. I kissed his forehead and squeezed him tight.
Comfortable… but also alittleelectric.
“Stop playing kissy face and come get dinner!” Lacie yelled.
But… I didn’t want to. It was only when Nick turned me around and gave me a smack on the ass that I headed toward the dining room. His finger hooked through a belt loop, tugging as he followed. We’d have to see how easily comfortable kisses turned into fireworks…afterdinner.
“It smells delicious,” Nick said.
I couldn’t remember the last time we had sat around the dining room table. Most of the time, we sat on the couch with our TV trays as we watched game shows. I’m sure it had been a formal event. Thanksgiving would always start at the table, and by our second plate, we’d be on the couch. I didn’t have to ask; Mum considered Lacie and Nick’s attendance a formal event.
“It better,” Lacie said. “Ellie, I’m going to need the recipe.”
Lacie had put Mum in a chair, insisting she rest her foot. Despite the protests, Lacie had won the argument. Mum must be dying inside as somebody else did the serving. No matter how many times I told her to take it easy, she refused to listen. Lacie comes in, points at a chair, and Mum follows orders. Maybe I needed to adopt her stern finger-pointing?
“It’s from a website,” she admitted. “Charlie’s father was the cook in the family. But let me tell you, I know how to download recipes with the best of them.”
I went to take a seat next to Mum when Lacie came in with a casserole dish. With a firm hip check, she pushed me away. “My seat, mister. Stop hogging this national treasure.”
Not only had Lacie wiggled her way into Firefly’s everyday, but she did the same in here. I was impressed with her brand of bossiness, firm but with an edge of humor. I hated to admit it, but she knew exactly how far to push. While I went dead-faced and bit my tongue, she disarmed with a smile and eagerness. I didn’t know if I should be impressed or refer to her as my arch-nemesis.
Nick pulled out a chair, and I took a seat next to him, sitting across from Mum. She tried her hardest to hide the enthusiasm. More than once, I caught her eyes darting between Nick and me. She had never seen me with a boy, not like this. The rest of the world might believe the lack of expression on my face. Mum’s lips curved inward as she fidgeted with the cloth napkins. I could almost hear her internal squealing.
It turned into a frenzy as we filled plates. Conversation came to a standstill as we stuffed our faces with lasagna. The only sounds were the clinking of forks and the tearing of bread. Each time I looked up from my plate, I found Mum staring. Lacie did the same, her eyes locked on Nick. It became unnerving, as if we were animals being watched in a zoo.
“What was Charlie like growing up?” Lacie asked between bites of bread.
“He kept to himself,” she said. “He liked to draw.”
Mum carefully curated her words, sparing me any?—
“We want the embarrassing stories,” Nick said. “What would make him blush?”
Assholes. All of them.
Mum picked up her wine glass, swirling the contents as her eyes burned like lasers. I could almost see the movie reel playing in her head, searching for the moments that made her laugh. There was no stopping her. Threats would only make it worse. Was she considering all the times I stripped and ran around the yard naked as a toddler? Or had she zeroed in on somethingmore terrifying? I couldn’t help but think of the magazines under my mattress. Had she found them?
“Beatrice,” she said.
“Beatrice?” Nick asked.
“The legendary turkey who roams the woods of Firefly,” Lacie chimed in, as if she had studied the town’s folklore. “Some say she got free, others think Seamus set her free. Supposedly, her ghost still haunts Firefly.” My jaw hung slack. EvenIdidn’t know that bit about Seamus.
Mum set down her wine glass, clasping her hands. What story could she possibly have that involved the dreaded ghost turkey?
“Pops loved taking Charles camping. This must have been their second or third time.”
Oh.Thatstory.
“Charles’s grandfather was an outdoorsman and passed it along. Pops wanted to do the same. Before their first trip, it had been knots, fire making, and all that woodsy stuff. I didn’t think Charles was ready for an overnight camping trip, but he survived the first one.”
I knew where the story was heading, but I couldn’t help but reminisce about that first trip. Pops and I stood along the riverbank, casting lines, hoping for fish. No matter how many times Pops tried, his hook came back empty. I had already caught three when he gave up. Instead of being annoyed, he patted me on the shoulder and said I’d make the perfect camping buddy.
“Pops didn’t want to wait. The next weekend, he wanted to try a two-night trip. Who was I to argue? Charles had proved me wrong. He takes after his father. It’s all they talked about that week. Every meal. They’d talk about building shelters. Charles didn’t get excited about much, but Pops had found a partner in crime.”
