He would think so, given that he somehow always seems to know where to find his Lego. The rest of us? Not so lucky.
Sam grimaces. “Ben stayed with my parents, and he has this shovel dump truck with these grooves…” Sam’s voice trails off when the rest of us nod knowingly. We have all felt the agony of stepping on that shovel truck.
“We talked a bit when we were getting Sam settled in Nico’s niece’s apartment,” I explain. “But a few minutes after dinner would be great. Thanks.”
“Food’s getting cold, guys. Let’s eat,” Win says.
“You don’t have to cook dinner every night, Win. Sam and I could have picked something up from the diner, or we’d have cooked for everyone.” Win finished work right when Sam and I were leaving for Lora’s apartment. He must have come home and gotten started cooking dinner as soon as he walked in the front door.
Murph wraps an arm around my shoulder and steers me to the dining table, kissing me before he lets me go. “He likes to cook. Let him.”
As Joel checks Ben’s hands, I smile and tell him, “I got him cleaned up before we left Sam’s temporary apartment. He had ketchup on his ears at the diner.”
Joel whistles. “Boy, you’re a magnet for dirt, huh?”
“Yup.” Ben proudly beams up at him.
“Not sure your mom appreciates that, squirt.” Murph pulls out a chair. “Come sit and let's see how much food you’re wearing at the end of dinner.”
Murph helps Ben into his seat as the rest of us take ours. As I sit and we start passing dishes around, I realize how quiet Sam has been through our usual routine before we eat.
Sam is watching us with a strange, half smile. And not only because Murph, who was growling at him a couple of minutes ago, is now patiently cutting up a big piece of chicken on Ben’s plate for him, nodding as he listens to Ben ramble about seeing Harry at the diner.
“What’s wrong?” I ask Sam.
He shakes his head and reaches for the large dish of fried chicken that Win offers him. “Nothing.” His interest piques when Ben sees us all eating our green beans first—a habit westarted to encourage Ben to eat his—and digs into his own without a word of complaint.
Sam saw the nightly battle I faced with Ben when we stayed with his family before we started our road trip. Shaking his head again, as if struggling to believe this is his nephew, he helps himself to mashed potatoes, green beans, and gravy and digs into his meal.
We keep the dinner conversation light—sports, movies, what we got up to today, and Nico’s office project that Sam is working on while he’s in Rios. Eventually, Murph stops eyeing Sam as if waiting for Sam to grab Ben and me and make a run for it, and Sam becomes a little less wary around Murph.
After dinner, Murph and Win clean up, both waving off my offer to help. Joel takes Ben into the living room to watch cartoons, and I head to the backyard to talk with Sam.
“Wow!” Sam’s mouth drops when he steps out onto the back porch. “That is some backyard.”
As I pull the door closed behind me, I appreciate how lucky we are to have so much space to enjoy. We could do so much out here and host so many people. “Ben really loves it. Joel and Murph have been teaching him to catch, and Win showed him how to cartwheel.”
“What about you?” Sam asks as we, by silent agreement, take a seat on the top porch step.
I frown. “What about me?”
“What did they teach you?”
I shrug. “Nothing.”
He nudges my shoulder with his, a playful smile forming on his lips. “Try again.”
I huff, knowing what he’s hinting at. “You’re going to tell me I told you so, so no. And I swear, if I hear one word about Hallmark movies involving buff firefighters or rugged ranchers, I’ll push you off this step.”
His green eyes sparkle. “Buff?Rugged? Are we still talking about Hallmark movies?”
The tops of my ears heat, and I dig my elbow into his side, loving that he’s here in Rios. After I lost Simon, he never stopped treating me like the sister he never had. He made me feel normal in ways I couldn’t be with anyone else. “Shut up,” I mutter.
“I won’t rub your face in it fortoolong. Pinky promise," he says with an innocent smile that I don’t buy for a second.
I glare at him.
He chuckles. “Admit it.”
