Sam appears beside her, her eyes wide but weary. “Goodnight, Devon! I’ll see you in the morning for Pancake Pile-up.”
“That sounds amazing!” I tell her and her smile widens.
“You’ll see,” she says wisely.
Jeff appears behind her, puts his hands on her shoulders.
“I’m gonna read to Sammy. You ok?” he asks.
I’m more than ok. There’s so much excitement and love in this kitchen that I already feel drunk.
“I’m good. It’ll give me time to hear your mom’s version of all your most humiliating stories—so we can even the score,” I tell him, lifting my wine glass.
His mom sits across from me and raises her own wine glass.
“To evening the score,” she repeats.
We clink our rims and sip.
“Oh shit,” Jeff murmurs.
“Yup. You’re in a shitload of trouble,” Sammy says, grinning up at him.
“Samantha!”
From the mouth of babes. I’m in a shitload of trouble, too, Samantha.
I meet Jeff’s eyes across the space and memorize every detail of the moment—the way my cheeks hurt because I’m smiling so wide, the smell of the red sauce mingling with the burning cedar in the other room, the sound of crackling wood and Donna’s soft laughter as she ladles me a huge plate of meatballs, and the light in Jeff’s eyes as he takes it all in. I want to remember this exact scene so I can tell my grandkids about the first time I knew I was in love.
Chapter Forty-One
Jeff
Lesson 42: Childhood posters should be removed at the age of eighteen and stored for safekeeping.
Devon is sprawled out on my bed like a starfish. A starfish who sounds like she has seawater stuck in her lungs.
Despite the awful knot in my gut from the news my mother just gave me, being back in my room feels exactly as it should. Right. Like chicken noodle soup in a mug on a sick day. And it feels even more complete with the gorgeous snoring creature taking up all the room in my bed. She fits here, amongst my dusty basketball trophies and posters of Kelly Kapowski—which makes her explode into giggles every time she looks at it. I sit down on the edge of the bed as softly as I can, but she stirs and flings an arm over her head.
Jenny and Sammy are still fast asleep, my mother still downstairs at the table covered in unpaid bills and lists ofneeded items. We spent an hour in the pre-dawn light pouring over the numbers, trying to figure out how to prevent what my mother tells me is inevitable.
“J.J. The therapy center is outdated. We need equipment and some of the horses need to retire. I refuse to take the money you have yet to even make. We’re at the tipping point. It’s sell the farm and give up the business or lose the house.”
The business is her passion. And the house? The house is as much a part of this family as Jenny or I.
We argued for what felt like an eternity after that, but all I got out of her was the promise that she’d hear me out after my interview tomorrow. The woman is stubborn, no doubt, but her heart is in the right place.
I’m exhausted and the day has not begun. I let out a breath and slide Devon’s bad foot into my lap then softly press my fingers below her calf. I saw her limping yesterday, when she went to brush her teeth before bed. She refuses to complain or admit it, but I know the travel has put some strain on her Achilles.
I run my thumb gently along the tendon and find the small knot in her muscle near her ankle, she groans.
“I’m gonna kick you in the face again,” she says thickly.
I laugh.
“You need to get this knot out or it’s going to get worse.”
“Are we doing this again? You need to sleep.” She rubs at her eyes and then blinks a few times and focuses on me.
