I get up and round the kitchen island, wrapping my arm around her petite shoulders and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. I swallow hard, trying to dislodge the lump in my throat. God, I love this woman.
The clatter of the iron latch on the back door and the sound of Dad and Wren chatting as they come in from feeding the animals are enough to distract us both from our emotional state. Mum blusters away from me, wiping down the already clean countertops, but I see her wiping her eyes. Dad spots it as well and immediately pulls her into a hug.
“Ready to go?” Wren asks, and I smile down at her, dark hair pulled into a knot on topof her head and cheeks rosy from the cold air outside.
“Born ready,” I reply.
“But are you ready now?”
“Come on, Pipsqueak,” I say, rubbing my knuckles on her head. “Let’s go and get me a new car.”
“I definitely think the Discovery was the best choice,” my sister says as she tucks into her lunch. “Those Defenders are ugly as sin.”
It took three hours, but we finally found me a new car more suitable for a child than my Ford Ranger pickup. I love my truck, but after much research and several test drives, we were at an impasse between the Land Rover Discovery and the Defender. But since, as Wren so eloquently put it, the new design Defenders are not very aesthetically pleasing, I went for the Discovery. Plus, Aidan has a Defender, and I can’t have my little brother thinking I copied him. I’d never hear the end of it.
“Thanks for coming with me,” I say, as I pick up a California roll with my chopsticks.
“I’ll do anything for sushi, you know that.” She winks at me, and I shake my head. “Oh, and I missed you, I s’pose.”
“I missed you, too, Pips.”
Wren has been Pips, or Pipsqueak, to me since she was six years old. I was twelve and had just joined the school rugby team, and I was deep into a pre-teen growth spurt. Wren is short even now, so at six years old, I had basically towered over her. None of our other brothers uses the name, though. It’s just our thing.
“How’re you feeling about the panel?”
“Oh, you know, mild terror and complete disbelief.” She laughs her bright, bell-like laugh.
“I’m not surprised; it’s fucking scary. But also,” she reaches across the table to grab my hand, “fucking amazing. I can’t wait to be Auntie Wren.”
I can’t wait for that either. We make good headway on our lunch, but I know I can’t ignore the elephant in the room.
“How’s Sam?”
She chews like she’s in an eating competition, resolutely staring down at the table, her long chestnut hair pulled into a plait that snakes over her left shoulder, wisps of hair escaping to frame her heart-shaped face.
“Pips?”
“He’s good. But…” She takes a sip of her water, and a frown forms on her brow. Wren is a very practical person. She’s hardened by her work in some ways, being responsible for the animals on our farm as well as the operations, but she is soft and bubbly and never lets things get her down. If she’s frowning over something, it’s not good.
“But what?” I press.
“I don’t know,” she sighs. “We finally had a proper date a few weeks ago, but when I woke up, he’d gone. I was in his bed, Nash. How fucking bad is it when you get ghosted from their bed?”
“He did what?” Sam hadn’t mentioned anything when we were out on the river. I think back to see if I can pinpoint anything that might have suggested what his issue is, but we were all distracted by Aidan and his concerns over Rain. “Do I need to have a word?”
“Don’t you dare,” she hisses. “You may be my big brother, but I’m a big girl. I can deal.”
We eat the rest of our food in silence, and I see Wren trying to figure things out in her mind the whole time. I won’t interfere since their concerns over us Foster brothers getting involved were partially why they never reallydated when we were a lot younger, despite both being interested. But I will be keeping an eye on Pips and Sam, and if he hurts her, he’d better be prepared for me.
I drop Wren off at the farm with a promise of a coffee date later in the week, then drive home. As I climb out of the truck for one of the last times before I collect the Land Rover, I glance over at Poppy’s Café across the green. Deciding to pop in for a coffee rather than making one when I get inside, I trudge across the slightly soggy grass surrounding the duck pond.
Poppy grins at me as I enter and immediately starts on my Americano. I order the same thing every time I come in, so I don’t even have to ask for it at this point. We chat as she waits for the espresso to pour, and the warmth of the café combined with the Christmas decorations she has already put up makes me feel positively festive. So festive in fact, that I add ‘buy a Christmas tree’ to my mental to-do list.
Coffee in hand, I pay and look around before I exit. Rain and Corey are just getting up from their table, empty dishes suggesting they too have enjoyed lunch out today. Rain gives me a hug, but very quickly gets drawn into conversation with Poppy.
“Hi, Doc,” Corey says, his beanie hat pulled down low over his ears.
“Hi. How’re you settling in?”
