“No, silly,” she replies with an eye roll that portrays endless exasperation that only a teenager could muster. She points my phone screen toward me like that’s the answer to my silliness. “That’s what we’re called:Itty-bitties.”
I manage to push her off me and finally leave the car. Reagan barely reaches my chest, as does her twin, Roana. We might be a family of giants, but these two baby giants are still growing.
“Is this a new title your dad coined as a joke?” I ask, still not finding the connection to any of this. Teenagers are so hard to understand.
Troy is my best friend and brother-in-law—and he loves this family as much as the rest of us—but he likes totake little jabs at us giants, mainly since his genes didn’t even try in the making of his girls.
Both Reagan and Roana have the Rangecroft signature red hair and pale skin, making Troy look like the odd one out with his dark hair and tan skin.
Reagan lets out a huff of air that condenses into fog in front of us, likely to protest how infuriating I’m being.
“I’m talking about Milo Tobitt, hence theItty-bitties, duh,” she says as if I’m the idiot for not making the connection in the first place.
“The only itty-bitty ones here are you and your sister,” I tease and gather her up in my arms.
She squeals when I lift her feet off the ground. Roana is next, and she’s not any less quiet. Their infectious giggles have my lips quirking up. It’s hard not to smile around them.
“Well, if it isn’t our very own serial killer?”
Riley is leaning against the front doorframe with one hand tucked under her armpit and the other holding a glass of red wine.
I place Roana on her feet and turn to her. It’s my turn to roll my eyes as she shoots me a smirk. It only makes her grin wider.
As the second oldest, I have firm suspicions that her greatest joy in life is tormenting the baby of this family, aka me.
“I thought we established I’m too lazy to go into the serial killing business?”
The twins giggle as they glance between us. They’re used to the two of us slinging words and find it endlessly funny.
We love each other, I swear! Even if my sister makes me want to strangle something sometimes, mainly her.
“Lazy, indeed.” Riley grins and takes an elegant sip of her red wine. “Rumor has it you’re picking your new asset up tomorrow.”
I narrow my eyes at her just as Reagan pipes up excitedly. “Will you be working with someone famous, Uncle Rowan?”
“How do you know that?” I shoot at my sister, then turn to my overly excited niece and reply, “You know I can’t speak about my work, Reagan.”
Riley laughs as Reagan complains and begs me to give her the insider scoop, swearing she won’t tell a soul. I glare at my sister for instigating all of this. Never mind the fact that I still have no clue how she seems to be in the know of every aspect of my life—including my very confidential work—despite only really speaking at the monthly dinner our eldest sister hosts. Unless we’re actively dying, attendance at these dinners is strictly required.
As if she could hear me thinking about her, the oldest of us siblings pops up behind Riley.
“Are you kids just going to stand out here in the cold?” Raina uses hermom-voice, and I know for a fact she considers Riley and me as one of thekids. Even if she is the tiniest Rangecroft sibling—and I use the wordtinyfiguratively since the tall gene didn’t skip her at five foot ten—she will always see the rest of us as children.
The twins laugh and chase their mom inside, while Riley and I are slower to follow. Riley gives me a nod and a little hip bump as her version of a greeting. I try to tuck herinto my side, but she quickly dodges out of my reach and perches on one of the island’s barstools.
Troy is at the stove cooking something that’s making my stomach protest its hunger loudly, and I don’t hesitate to steal a piece of chicken from the pan. I’m rewarded with a glare from the chef and a whack on the back of my hand with the wooden spoon he’s holding. Before I can make my escape, Troy swings an arm around my shoulder and pulls me in for a hug hello.
“Ruben’s stuck in traffic and is going to be late,” Raina announces with a frown.
“Does that mean I get Uncle Ruben’s piece of the pie?” Roana pipes up.
The rule is that if you’re late, then no dessert for you.
“Why do you get it? You got the final piece of chocolate last time,” Reagan argues.
“That’s only because you stole my cookie the time before!”
“Well, if you hadn’t—”
