“Being outside all day has that effect on you.” Stepping to the side, Lawson gestures toward the three of us. “Come on in.”
Abigail steps inside and slips off her shoes, her feet adorned in warm socks.
Lawson rubs at the back of his neck. “You don’t have to take those off if you don’t want to. We’re more of a shoes-on household. Everywhere except our rooms at least.”
“That’s alright. I like walking around the house barefoot,” she answers as she pulls at the cuff of her sweater.
For a moment, the image of her walking around this house in the dead of summer, barefoot, in denim shorts, a tank top, hair pulled up in a messy bun flashes through my brain. Creamy skin on display for me to run my hands over. What a sight that would be.
Easy, boy.
Her gaze drifts around the entryway, like she’s trying to memorize every detail. As she takes small steps around the area, the scent of her shampoo, clean and sweet, floats in with her, cutting through the lingering notes of an otherwise overly masculine space.
Jasper leans back casually against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, trying way too hard to look unbothered, while Lincoln stands stiff as one of the fence posts outside as he waits for her eyes to land on him. Shoving my hands in my pockets, I give her one of my signature grins. “Hope you’re hungry. Law and I did the cooking.”
“Which is the only reason the house is still standing,” Lawson adds, shooting Jasper and Linc a look. “These two can’t cook for shit.”
“I can grill, fuck you very much,” Jasper says in defense.
“Youburn,” Lawson corrects.
Lincoln mutters, “I can follow a recipe.”
“Uh huh,” I deadpan. “Like the time you could have used one of your pancakes as a hockey puck?”
Abigail laughs, it’s soft at first until it bubbles out of her louder before she can tamper it down. And damn, if that sound doesn’t land somewhere deep in my chest.
Lawson shoots his brother a glare over Abigail’s shoulder. Linc sighs before stepping toward her and reaching out his hand. She looks at his hand, then up at his face, her laughter stopping the moment her eyes meet his. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure. I’m Lincoln. The better looking Taylor brother.”
And I’ll be damned… self-induced hermit or not, Linc still remembers how to turn on the charm. Either that or she just naturally has that effect around here.
Or a little of both.
She stares at him for a moment, full pink lips popped open, before she must catch herself staring. Snapping her mouth closed, she swallows harshly before slowly wrapping her hand in his. “Hi. I’m Any—Abigail. I’m Abigail. Thank you for letting me stay here,” she says so softly I almost can’t even hear her.
Lincoln stops shaking her hand but doesn’t let go. “Any friend of our Josephine’s is a friend of ours. You-you can stay here as long as you like.” The corners of Lawson and Jasper’s lips lift, as do mine. Because for all of the hangups Lincoln has, and rightfully so, you can always count on him to put his shit to the side and be one of the best. He’s good down to his very core.
Finally, the two of them let go of one another, and Lawson gestures toward the kitchen. “Dinner’s ready. We were just waitin’ on you.”
She hesitates, brushing a damp strand of hair behind her ear. “I didn’t mean to keep you all waiting.”
“You didn’t,” I say quickly. “We were just talking about… well, we were just talkin’.”
As she moves toward the kitchen, her eyes widen as she takes everything in. The old farmhouse sink, the pine cabinets we built by hand, the butcher block table scarred by years of use. The overhead lights cast a warm golden glow over everything, softening the hard edges, making the place look almost cozy. Which was the goal after all. Despite the place itself being brand new, the four of us took great care in bringing in the old. After all, that’s what built this place. Everything that once was.
Jasper grabs another beer from the fridge and asks, “You want something to drink, Red?”
Her eyes narrow at the nickname as she tries and fails to hide her grin. “Water’s fine.”
Lincoln moves automatically, grabbing a glass and filling it from the tap. His hands are steady, but his jaw is tight. Abigail offers him a grateful smile as he hands it over, and something loosens in his shoulders, if only a fraction.
We all settle around the table, the four of us in our usual spots, with Abigail on one end opposite Lawson. It feels oddly formal for a group that’s known each other most of our lives, but she doesn’t seem even the slightest bit intimidated. More… curious.
And a little nervous.
“How’re you feelin’ after your first day?” Lawson asks gently.
She exhales, the sound tired but proud. “Exhausted. And happy.”
