I love that Vivian cares enough to ask.
“I’m glad.” She cups my face and recites her usual advice. “I hope you’re careful out there and take care of my baby.”
Ames, who’s already in the front hall, shucking his jacket, snorts loudly. “Why’s he always your baby in this scenario?”
“Because I’m her favorite,” I shoot back.
“Asshole,” Ames mutters.
“Language!” Vivian warns before pulling Ames into a gentle hug. “And it’s good to see you up and about, sweetie.”
The kitchen’s already full when we get in there. Griffin’s pushed back his place setting and has his laptop perched on the big farmhouse table, showing something to Eliza.
True’s petting Greta the dog while listening to Griffin and Eliza. Beckett’s explaining something to Eliza’s fiancé, Luis, about the correct way to lay tile flooring—a subject he seems to have very strong opinions about, though I’m pretty sure he’s never done it.
Holden’s looking at something on Wilder’s phone while cramming garlic bread into his mouth—at least until Vivian shoos him away from the bread and threatens him with her slotted pasta spoon.
Grant’s sitting at the head of the table with his crosswordpuzzle, mostly tuning everyone out… at least until he glances up and sees me standing by my chair.
“Robbie,” he says with a nod. It’s a single word that’shello, andglad to see you, andthank you for saving my boyall at once.
“Grant,” I say as I take my seat, and I know he hearshey, andsame, andno need to thank me, ’cause I love him too.
“Okay, five minutes to dinner,” Vivian announces. “Everyone, wash up.”
All the Axfords grumble as they march one by one to the kitchen sink or the hall bathroom, muttering aboutnot beingchildren, for god’s sake.But none of them disobeys because the threat of missing out on Vivian’s garlic bread is real.
Personally, I love this ritual. Vivian can mother me all she likes.
When we get back, everyone takes the same seats they’ve sat at for a dozen years, more or less. The spots in the middle of the table shuffled around a bit while True got married, then again when his wife left, and once more now that Beckett found Griffin and fell head over heels. My place at the far end, next to Ames, hasn’t changed…
Though it sure feels like it has.
Ames’s shoulder brushes mine when he takes his seat, and both of us freeze. When he finally leans over me to look at a picture Wilder’s showing him, all I can smell is his shampoo—which is actuallymyshampoo today. I’m hyperaware of every breath he takes.
I know Ames feels it, too, because he leans in and whispers, “Act normal, remember?”
Right. Normal. I can do that.
“Loved your presentation, Griffin. Really,reallygoodwork,” Eliza says. “God, the tourism committee must be thanking their lucky stars that you ended up in Winsome, huh?”
Beckett sets down a Coke at Griffin’s plate. “Lots of us are,” he says gruffly, grabbing Griffin’s neck and turning his head to press a kiss to his lips.
There’s nothing sexual or unusual about this, but Ames shifts in his seat anyway like he’s imagining he’s the one being kissed… which I understand, since I’m imagining I’m doing the kissing.
“Normal,” I remind him in a singsongy undertone, and he kicks my ankle.
“How’s the arm healing?” True asks Ames. “You taking it easy?”
“More or less,” Ames says. “I’ve been doing back office stuff and supervising in the kitchen at Watchfire. But I needed to get back to work. I was dying of boredom after two weeks on the couch.”
“Please,” I scoff. “That couch has barely seen you. All it wants to do is love you, Ames, and you won’t let it.”
“That’s a lie! I did nothing but sit around?—”
“This week he hung paint swatches in my mudroom one-handed,” I tell the table. “And crafted a bay wreath for the door.Andalphabetized my spice cupboard.”
Ames blushes. “Pfft. It was already mostly alphabetized?—”
