I roll my eyes but sit, crossing my legs, smoothing my leopard skirt. The wood is warm under my thighs. The sun presses on the back of my neck. I tip my face toward it and sit still for a second longer than I need to.
Knox kisses the top of my head. "I'm going to help James with the meat. You good?"
I look at the table full of food, the cluster of women by the pool table inside the open clubhouse door, the kids weaving through bikes as though every adult here were theirs.
"Yeah," I say. "I'm good."
He studies me for a beat, nods once, and heads for the grill.
I watch him go; watch the line of his back, and the way James claps him on the shoulder. East swings by to steal bacon from a plate and gets smacked. Nash lingers near the smoker, arms crossed, scanning the lot as though he's measuring threat vectors even at a family lunch.
"Stop staring like you're waiting for someone to unplug the lights and rip the tablecloth away," Frankie says, dropping onto the bench beside me.
I jump. She smirks, smacking the bottom of a ketchup bottle until a glob lands on the table between us.
"Relax, nurse. You're starting to wrinkle your skirt from all that clenching."
"Since when do you read minds?"
"Since always. You're just new to the subscription."
I huff, sipping my tea. "Maggie will yell at you if you stain the wood."
"Maggie yells at me when I breathe too loud," Frankie says fondly. "She'll live."
Her attention cuts to the lot entrance just as a beat-up car turns in. She nudges me with her elbow. "Showtime. That's Chuck's daughter."
My attention snaps to the car.
Candace steps out. She has short shorts, a denim jacket that's slipping off one shoulder, and wild blonde curly hair tumbling down her back. Legs for miles. With an expression that says she'd rather be anywhere else.
I recognize that look. I wore it the first time I walked into this lot.
Frankie makes a thoughtful noise. "Sour patch," she murmurs.
"Sour what?"
She smiles, sharp and fond. "You'll see."
I stand before I fully decide to. My body just moves.
Knox glances over as I pass the grill. His brow creases, as if he wants to ask. Then he follows my line of sight to Candace and dips his chin.
James spots her first. His whole face changes. Softens. Brightens. He dries his palms on a towel and starts for her, calling her name.
I hang back. This moment is theirs.
He hugs her, big and encompassing. She stiffens for a second, then sinks in just enough that her shoulders drop.
My eyes sting. I look away before anyone sees.
Then James glances over his shoulder and catches my eye. "C'mere, Sloane. Meet my girl."
Up close, Candace looks younger than I expected. Early twenties, but her knuckles are scuffed and the skin around her mouth is tight the way mine used to be. Still is, some days.
"Candace," James says, hand still on her shoulder. "This is Sloane."
I offer my hand. "Nice to meet you."
