“You absolutely could not.”
Marshall, sitting in the corner chair with a piece of rope he’s idly tying knots into, rumbles low, “He’s got teeth, Jesse. Let him have this.”
Jesse snorts. “Fine. Wyatt bites in spirit.”
I don’t mean to laugh, but I do. A bright, startled sound that pops something open inside me.
Three sets of eyes flick toward me, then soften in unison.
“Come sit,” Wyatt says, patting the cushion beside him. “We’re safe company. Mostly.” He casts a pointed glance at Jesse.
Jesse gasps. “You take that back. I’m excellent company.”
“Oh no,” I say, walking toward them with my tea, “I believe him.”
Jesse slaps a hand over his heart in mock betrayal. “And here I thought we were bonding.”
“We are,” I say, settling on the couch. “You just… radiate madness.”
Marshall gives the smallest, most approving grunt. “That’s accurate.”
Jesse glares at him. “Don’t you start.”
“It’s not an insult,” I say.
“It is when Marshall says it,” Jesse protests.
I laugh again, surprised at how easy it feels around them. How the tight coil in my chest unwinds a little more each minute.
Wyatt pushes a bowl of pretzels toward me. “Snack?”
“Thanks.” I take one. “So, what’s tonight’s entertainment? More poker? Story time? A dramatic reading of emergency alerts?”
Jesse snaps his fingers. “Ooh. Let’s make her read Wyatt’s college thesis.”
Wyatt goes rigid. “Absolutely not.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “You have a thesis?”
“Everyone has a thesis,” he mutters.
Jesse leans forward eagerly. “Wyatt wrote about equine metabolic disorders and?—”
“Stop,” Wyatt pleads. “Please stop.”
Marshall, watching from his chair like this is the best show he’s seen all week, says, “He got an award for it.”
“I will walk into the lake,” Wyatt threatens.
“Deep end?” Marshall asks.
“Deep end.”
I can’t breathe, I’m laughing so hard my tea nearly spills.
“Okay, okay,” Jesse says, grinning at the shade of red creeping up Wyatt’s neck. “Maybe not the thesis. But we are telling embarrassing stories tonight.”
Wyatt points sternly. “I veto that.”
