It took less than five minutes for my kitchen to look like a bakery exploded. There’s flour in everyone’s hair, in our ears—in fact, I’m sure it’s gotten into every nook and cranny.
Staring at the mess, I laugh. Hard. Doubled over, hands on knees, belly-shaking kind of laugh.
I can’t even remember the last time something hit me like this.
“See?” Grant surveys the destruction with something close to satisfaction. “Bonding.”
“This…is bonding?” Valen asks, attempting to remove flour from his face with a wet paper towel, but it results in a sticky paste that won’t budge.
“This is family,” Sterling corrects quietly, staring straight at me.
The air in the room shifts. Like something warm, and fragile, and important is happening. For a moment, standing in my flour-dusted kitchen with these men who do sort of feel like family, I almost forget.
Almost believe that I could have this—safety, laughter, belonging—without waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Almost.
We clean the mess in comfortable silence, shoulders bumping, sliding around in close proximity, as families do.
The timer dings, and I jolt where I stand as though I were electrocuted. It reminds me of the shadow at my tree line earlier, and my gaze drifts that way. Was someone out there?
“Jesus, Clove. We’ve got to work on your reactions. You’re jumpier than a church mouse.” There’s no malice in Chase’s tone, just…sadness, and his eyes say it’s a character flaw he’s personally offended by.
He doesn’t want me to be upset or scared…because that’s how much they love Valen.
Grant pulls out perfectly golden biscuits that smell like heaven, then hip-checks me out of the way to set them on the counter. It’s exactly what a big brother would do to a little sister, and emotion clogs in the back of my throat.
We eat them, standing around my kitchen island, passing butter and honey. Our shoulders are pressed together in easy companionship, me with these men who are practically strangers.
Perhaps I’m losing it. This is exactly the type of story I’d write, except one of them would be the murderer. And at least one of them would be waiting for the perfect moment to attack. It’d be so easy here, with my guard down?—
Strong arms cage me in from behind.
My eyes blur, and my mind blanks.
I drop like dead weight to the floor. Latching onto my assailant’s wrists with both hands, I duck under his arm, sweep out his leg with one of mine, then come up behind him, wrenching his arm as high up his back as I can go.
I’m breathing heavy and searching for an escape when the room comes back into focus.
Valen’s face down on my island, both of my hands gripping his right wrist as tightly as I can, while all the Harringtons stare at me with wide-open mouths.
“What the fuck just happened?” Chase mutters.
“Clover,” Valen grunts below me, and I jump back, releasing him.
He rises slowly and turns to face me even slower.
“You. You were on my left,” I whisper. “How. When.”
Valen lifts his hands, palms up. “I’m sorry I startled you. I was only going to remove a chunk of dough from your hair.” There’s flour on his cheek I can’t look away from.
“The…dough.” Blood whooshes in my ears.
“Jesus, Clover.” Sterling chuckles. “I guess that old guy does know a thing or two about self-defense. I’ve never seen someone disarm Valen that quickly.”
“I’m s-sorry.”Run.“I should…”Hide.
Grant stares at me with kind, sad eyes.
