Her eyebrows rise, but so do the corners of her mouth. “Is the puppy’s name Wine?”
I look down, realizing I’m offering Willy instead of the wine. I switch hands. “Sorry, uh, no. I’m keeping the dog. He’s far too emotionally attached.”
“He wouldn’t care as long as you feed him table scraps the way V does.”
I scoff, looking over my shoulder at Rafael. “He’s my baby and he knows it. He’d never go to anyone else.”
As the words slip from my lips, Willy jumps from my arms, bounding down the hallway with a whoop. I stare in horror. “I’m so sorry. I’ll go get him.”
Dale laughs, grabbing my wrist. “He’s fine. He might not leave you for a human, but Queen Tut will surely be interesting for him.”
“Your cat?” I remember McCrae mentioning something about a giant orange beast once.
She smiles wider. “The older of the two, yes. Mateo got me a kitten for Christmas, but we haven’t come up with a good name.”
“Don’t ask Valentina for help with that,” Rafael grumbles, crossing his arms.
I glare at him. “Flea Willy is an incredible name for the ugly duckling. Almost as fitting at Rafael Santos?—”
“Watch it.” But there’s no real anger in his voice, only heated promise. My toes curl at the insinuation.
“Shew.” Faith fans herself, her eyes dancing between us. “Y’all are fucking hot.”
“Faith—”
“Who’s hot?” Stetson and Poppy walk into the entry, everyone crowding like this is the place to congregate. It’s bizarre.And secretly wonderful.
“These two love birds.”
“Faith—” I warn again, my eyes widening. She just shrugs, always unafraid of anything.
“Can we please move farther into the house? I’m tired of looking at the back of Rafael’s giant head.”
Faith rolls her eyes. “Yes, McCrae. Sorry you were so inconvenienced.” She’s sassy with him, and fuck, if he doesn’t deserve it.
We move farther into the house, and I try not to gawk. Lights and Christmas decor litter the space—it’s like a Christmas store ate something purple and gold and then threw up in here.
“It’s uh?—”
“A lot? Agreed,” McCrae grumbles, finally pushing past us to walk toward the table of drinks. He hesitates before grabbing abeer and then retreats to a corner of the room, posting up once more, content to watch everyone.
He’s here but still not one of them. A pang of pity fills my chest. It’s painfully clear he wants to be included. He just doesn't know how.
“Hi.” A young girl walks forward, her dainty face pinkening as she fidgets on her feet. Her fingers tangle in a delicate chain around her neck, the diamond horse pin refracting light as she fondles it.
I awkwardly smile at her. “Hi.”
Her blue eyes bounce to Faith before she sticks out her hand. “I’m Reiny.”
I quickly take the extended offering. “Reiny, of course you are. You look just like your sister. Nice to meet you.” She shakes my hand with almost a practiced measure, like she’s been taught such manners, and I smile. Kids these days rarely know formality, and it’s not surprising that Faith’s younger sister would be the outlier—just like Faith herself.
I quickly trace the rest of her features, taken aback by how much she really does look like Faith. Her hair’s blonde—even paler than Faith’s—with wide, eager eyes that are navy blue instead of green and a perfect, matching, dainty nose. She’s incredibly thin, like Faith, not yet filled out.
“Wow, I can’t believe how much you two look alike,” I state, looking between them.
Faith and Reiny both blush, a matching set, and I laugh at the sight.
“Moreen says we’re cut from the same cloth.” Reiny pulls her hand back, pushing it deep into her pants pocket.
