“Hell no, I’mwaytoo young for that!”
Her eyes go into full-on baby “Boo” mode and I can’t help but laugh.
“How old is Casey?” Bailey is twenty-seven, but I’d heard he’s a fair bit older.
“Thirty-four. Completely over the hill,” she teases, knowing full well that her husband is only a year older than I am.
“Oi!” I exclaim, dipping the tip of my finger into my drink and flicking it at her.
She squeals with laughter and a surprising bubble of joy bursts inside my chest. Maybe wecanpick up where we left off...
Indeed, the longer we sit there chatting and drinking, the happier and more relaxed I feel. I did need a break from everything that was going on at home, but I’m also glad of this chance to bond with my half sister. This wouldn’t be as easy if Scott were here.
We grab a couple of burgers and more drinks to wash them down with and then Bailey heads off to use the restroom while I return to the bar for round three.
Or is it round four? I’ve lost count.
“Ain’t No Rest for the Wicked” by Cage the Elephant is blaring out of the speakers and I almost sing along because I love this song, then Stevie Nicks’s “Edge of Seventeen” kicks in and there’s no way I can keep still.
Dirk hands over our drinks and I swear his eyebrow lifts when I beam at him. Out of the corner of my eye, I see that two tall, broad men have come through the door, but then all my attention is directed at trying not to spill our drinks as I weave my way back to the table. By the time I sit down and look over at the bar, they have their backs to me.
The guy on the right with shaggy brown hair, wearing faded blue jeans and a gray T-shirt, is fractionally bigger than the guy on the left, in height and breadth. His friend has carelessly messy dark blond hair and he’s wearing black jeans and desert boots with a checked shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He places one hand on his friend’s shoulder.
“Wren?”
I look up to see that another man has arrived at our table.
“Casey!” I belatedly realize, jumping to my feet.
I’ve seen him in photos, of course, but his pin-straight black hair used to be longer and he had a mustache.
“It’s so good to finally meet you!” Casey exclaims into my ear, giving me a fierce hug.
“You too!”
“Case!” Bailey cries as she reappears, throwing her arms around him.
He’s only an inch or so taller than her.
He laughs and pats her back, his cheeks pink as she lets him go and flops into her seat. He pulls out a chair with far more control.
“Do you want a drink, Casey? Can I get you a drink?” I’m trying to sound sober and failing.
“No, no, I’ll go to the bar.” He scoots his chair back out from the table and pauses. “Are you good?”
“So good,” Bailey says, lifting up her full glass and knocking it against mine as he gets to his feet.
“I’m making a terrible first impression on your new husband,” I whisper, not as quietly as I meant to.
“Not at all! He’ll love you! He already does. You’re related to me. And he loves me. Very, very much.”
“I can tell.”
“And I love him.” She enunciates her words slowly and deliberately.
“He seems very lovable,” I agree.
“You’ve only just met him!” She slaps her hand on the table and stares at me accusingly. Her features relax a moment later and she nods wisely. “But you’re right. He is very, very lovable.”
