A complicated mix of emotions stirred within her at the mention of Lydia.
Lydia Tarper had been her closest friend since childhood, their bond stretching back to elementary school sleepovers, teenage confidences whispered in the dark, and the kind of loyalty that didn’t require explanation or upkeep. The idea of Dylan dating Lydia had initially struck Kinsley as strange, because her free-spirited, risk-taking brother and her steadfast, nurturing friend seemed like an unlikely match on paper.
But there was undeniable chemistry between them, and she’d first noticed it at her parents’ Christmas gathering last year. The way they’d gravitated toward each other throughout the evening, finding excuses to stand close, their laughter syncing up across the room in a way that was too natural to be a coincidence. Every get-together afterward had produced similar moments and then some, small gestures and lingering glances that accumulated until even Kinsley, who’d been preoccupied with her own catastrophic secrets, couldn’t ignore them. It wasn’t until earlier this week that she’d confirmed they’d actually taken things to the next level.
Kinsley took another sip of her beer.
“Seriously, I’m happy for you two,” Kinsley said after a moment, and she truly meant it. “Just don’t make me pick sides if things go south.”
“Blood versus friendship? A battle for the ages.”
“Good thing it won’t come to that,” Kinsley replied, hoping the statement was true. She had enough battles to fight already without adding a sibling breakup to the list. She studied her brother with renewed curiosity, taking in the suit and the barely suppressed pride radiating off him like heat from asphalt. “Are you ever going to tell me why you’re dressed likethis? Job interview? Court appearance? Secret identity as a tax accountant?”
Dylan smirked before taking a long draw of his beer. His relaxed posture contrasted sharply with the formality of his attire as he leaned back, propping himself up on one elbow against the wooden planks of the porch.
Throughout their childhood, Dylan had been the daredevil, the risk-taker who leapt first and considered consequences later. He’d been the one who climbed the tallest trees and jumped off the highest rocks at the quarry while Kinsley stood below with her heart in her throat, certain that this would be the time his luck ran out. Yet beneath his carefree exterior lay a sensitivity to other people’s feelings, especially family, that he rarely advertised. He wouldn’t have dropped by in a suit just for the sake of a simple visit.
He had news, and he’d chosen to tell her first.
“If you must know, I just bought Old Man Stribling’s dairy farm,” Dylan announced, his gaze meeting hers with quiet satisfaction. “Signed the papers this morning.”
Kinsley nearly choked on her beer.
“You did what?”
“I bought the farm,” Dylan repeated, looking both amused and pleased by her reaction. “All two hundred acres, the equipment, the barn, the house. Everything.”
Kinsley lightly shoved his shoulder, then leaned forward and pulled him into a hug, genuinely happy for him. The move nearly sent them both tumbling backward off the step, but Dylan steadied them with a laugh and one hand braced against the porch.
“Dylan, that’s incredible!” Kinsley exclaimed, pulling back to catch the joy on his face. It looked good on him, that expression. Earned. “I had no idea you were even thinking about something like this. Have you told Mom and Dad? Owen? Noah? Olivia?”
“Not yet. You’re the first.”
“You had to start an OnlyFans profile, didn’t you?” Kinsley said, only half joking. “Dylan, where did you get the money?”
“Just because I didn’t go to college doesn’t mean I don’t have common sense, Kin.” A flicker of disappointment crossed his face, and she was immediately angry with herself for the way the question had landed. She’d meant it as sincere curiosity, but he’d taken it as doubt. “I’ve been in talks with Stribling for months. The timing finally worked out. He wants to move to Arizona to be closer to his daughter. As for the money, I’ve saved up since coming back home, alright? I got a bank loan for the rest. The interest rate wasn’t too bad, all things considered.”
“But why didn’t you say anything at dinner last night? Why keep it from everyone?”
“One, Mom and Dad would have offered to loan me the rest of the money, and I didn’t want that. This was a big step for me, and I needed to do it on my own terms.” Dylan shrugged, his shoulders moving smoothly beneath the expensive fabric of his dress shirt. “Two, Dad seemed pretty excited about those Vikings tickets. Didn’t want to overshadow his news.”
He paused, and something shifted in the air between them. Dylan took another sip of his beer before cutting his eyes toward her with an intensity that didn’t match the casual posture.
“Speaking of which, was that really what the family meeting was about? Football tickets?” His voice was even, conversational, but the question had teeth. “We have a family dinner every Thursday night. Why ask everyone to come early?”
Kinsley shifted back slightly on the step and lifted her beer for another drink, buying herself a moment. The cold liquid suddenly did nothing to soothe the tightness in her throat.
“You know how Dad can be, especially when it comes to surprises like that,” Kinsley replied, working to keep her voice light and casual.
“Odd, though.” Dylan’s gaze remained fixed on her face, searching with a patience that reminded her uncomfortably of Noah doing the same thing the other night. “Mom thought Dad spent most of Thursday with you.”
Kinsley carefully controlled her expression, her mind racing to assemble a plausible explanation. She needed something that accounted for their father’s extended visit without raising further questions, and she needed it to sound natural enough that Dylan wouldn’t file it away for later scrutiny.
“You heard that Alex and I wrapped up the Scriven case,” Kinsley said, and the partial truth came easier than a complete lie would have. “Well, Dad stopped by my place because one of his junior lawyers got involved in a related matter. The guy was nice enough, but you know how much I try to stay away from any case his firm takes on. We ended up talking longer than expected, and then the whole Vikings thing happened.”
Dylan took a long drink from his bottle, his gaze never leaving her face. She recognized the skepticism in his expression. It was the same look he’d given her when she’d told him at fourteen that she’d broken the kitchen window with a basketball, when in reality she and Lydia had been throwing rocks at a wasp nest on the eave. He didn’t believe her, but he wasn’t pushing. Not yet. And Kinsley understood, with the same instinct that had kept her alive as a detective, that thenot yetwas the part she needed to worry about.
She took another sip of her beer, grateful for the cooling evening air against her flushed skin. She needed to redirect the conversation before Dylan noticed anything else that didn’t add up.
