“Well, look who decided to show up,” Saylor says, grinning, stepping back to let me in. “I was wondering if you were going to skip out.”
“Had chores,” I mutter, stepping inside.
“You do know you pay people to do those, right?”
The smell hits me first—brisket off the smoker and Wren’s grandma’s pie. Each week, the Riggsbys and Drummonds get together for a family dinner; they have been since long before Wren and I were born. Since being home, I’ve enjoyed these weekly dinners. Of course, it was a little awkward when I returned, but I chalked it up to adjusting to civilian life.
Before I can walk deeper into the house, Saylor reaches out to stop me.
“Wren’s here.”
“Figured.”
Her face softens. “Are you going to be okay?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
She huffs a breath, but doesn’t say anything.
I glance toward the living room, where my grandpa is sitting on the couch next to Wren’s grandpa, who’s sitting in his recliner. The two are talking about something farming-related, and for a split second, I expect to see my dad leaning against the wall with a beer in his hand.
But he’s not here. He hasn’t been for years.
The ache stirs in my chest, but I don’t pause long enough to let it fully sink in. Instead, I follow Saylor down the hallway to the kitchen, where more chatter rings out. A blond-haired boy tears down the narrow hallway, nearly knocking Saylor over.
“Corbin!” Rachel calls out after her son. “Stop running in the house.”
I catch him around the waist, spinning him through the air, and he lets out a squeal. “Where are you off to, wild man?”
“Stealing chocolate from Gramps’s basket,” he whispers before shushing me. “Don’t tell my mom.”
“Sneak me a Twix and your secret’s safe with me.”
“Deal,” he promises, and I set him on his feet.
Glancing toward the kitchen, I find Wren standing next to my mom. Her hands are full of dishes, but her eyes are on me, causing my feet to falter. Her hair is pulled in a messy knot, a few pieces falling loose around her face, and she’s wearing a yellow dress that flows over her frame.
I forget how to breathe for a second.
“Jett, honey,” Grandma greets, startling me from my Wren-trance. It startles her too, because in an instant, she’s moving through the kitchen toward the dining area inthe attached sunroom.
I lean down and press a kiss to Grandma’s cheek before doing the same to my mom and Wren’s Grams.
“Wasn’t sure if you were coming tonight.”
“I heard you were making your famous spoonbread. Couldn’t miss that,” I answer Grandma. She brushes off my compliment.
“We’re just missing your brother and his family,” Mom says, glancing around the room. My brother, Crew, and his wife, Bret, and their newborn son, Carter, live in Indiana, which isn’t too far. He plays professional football in Indianapolis, but I could see him having a short career before moving back to Silo Bay to raise his family.
“Sweetie,” Grams turns to me, handing me a pile of silverware. “Do you mind setting these on the table?”
I take the silverware, glancing toward the room where Wren slipped away to. “I see what you’re doing, Grams.”
She tsks. “You plan on eating with your hands tonight, Jett Samuel?”
Wren’s back is to me when I enter the sunroom. My nerves are radiating as I step over the threshold. I clear my throat, shuffling the silverware so they clatter, not wanting to startle her.
She glances over her shoulder, her eyes widening briefly before she slides a mask over her face.
