Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 121296 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121296 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
He still hasn’t looked at me.
And yet, I know he’s aware of every breath I take.
We eat shoulder to shoulder, savoring Corbin’s efforts, exchanging stories, jokes, and ladles of second helpings. At one point, Levi grins at me and says, “Don’t get used to the light work, city girl. Day two’s coming for you.”
“And it won’t be gentle,” Cody adds from the end of the table with a wicked smirk.
“She did all right today,” McCartney throws in. “Kept the kids from mutiny and tangles.”
“Pretty hair,” Junie says, patting her already fraying braids.
“Still time for mutiny and tangles,” Dylan mutters, but there’s laughter behind it.
“Still bedtime to go,” Corbin adds, handing Caleb another slice of bread.
It’s loud, warm and overwhelming, but it feels like being pulled into a new orbit. Like I’m not just watching the story. I’m already sitting inside it.
***
When the bowls and plates are cleared, coffee is poured for the adults, hot chocolates are prepared for the kids, and Corbin returns to the table with a tray covered in a dish towel. He sets it in the center of the table with all the reverence of a pirate presenting treasure, or a magician revealing the flourishing culmination of his trick.
“Warm brownies,” he announces. “Courtesy of our newest recruit.”
The kids practically levitate in their seats. Hannah gasps like she’s discovered unicorns are real, and I contemplate what it means to be a recruit in this household.
“They have chocolate chips,” I say, a little self-consciously. “And salt on top. That’s a thing now.”
“She’s fancy,” Levi says, already reaching.
“She’s dangerous,” Jaxon murmurs from somewhere down the table, but he takes one too. “To our waistlines.”
There isn’t a man in the place with a waistline issue, but maybe that’s because there’s been a lack of brownies in this place.
They dig in with the enthusiasm of people who’ve never tasted sugar before. I blink, watching the expressions morph into pure joy, like the brownies are laced with more than basic ingredients.
“Oh, hell yeah,” Brody says, halfway through his.
His brothers turn to him, surprised. I guess his exclamation is out of character.
“We’re definitely letting down your tires,” Cody says.
“Excuse me?”
He grins. “So you can’t leave. You’re ours now.”
“You want to kidnap me over baked goods?”
“Sure,” Levi says, mouth full. “And for other reasons.”
Across the table, Conway’s watching me. His brownie remains beside him on a plate as he cradles his coffee cup like he can read the future in its depths. When our eyes meet, something shifts. A flicker of heat in his gaze, or maybe something thoughtful. I can’t tell. But it lands in my chest and stays there, taking root.
We eat. We laugh. Baby Rory is passed around like a hot potato, ending up in Levi’s lap and looking happier for it. Junie ends up in my lap, sticky fingers and all. Dylan nods at me like I’ve earned something I didn’t know I was working for, and even though my back hurts and I smell like sweat, butter, and onions, I feel… included.
As a guest, but also as part of this home.
By the time we finish and start clearing dishes, I overhear Corbin mutter to McCartney, “We should let her sleep in tomorrow to be nice.”
“Nope,” McCartney says. “Tomorrow, we will show her the true meaning of hard work.” Like he doesn’t believe I know it already.
And yet, somehow, I’m smiling because, as crazy as it seems, I don’t mind the idea at all.
Feeling at home is another matter.
Manure, I can deal with. Attachment, not so much.
8
CORBIN
The house is quieter now. The volume has dropped to a hum instead of a roar. Bedtime stretches the day long and soft around the edges, tinged with warm yellow light, toothpaste foam, pajama negotiations, and innocent stories.
Grace is in the thick of it with her sleeves rolled and hair half-loose from where Junie tugged on it earlier. She’s got Caleb on her lap, brushing out his hair while he yawns wide and leans into her like he’s known her for years, not hours. There’s something about the way she moves, like she’s always tuned in, always listening. Even with her hair half a mess and brownie mixture on her sleeve, she’s all presence, no performance.
“Ow,” he whines, even though she’s barely tugging.
“Drama,” she says under her breath. “Hannah didn’t complain.”
“She cries when her jelly touches her bread,” he snaps
“To be fair,” Grace says solemnly, “jelly contamination is a serious offense.”
The twins giggle despite themselves. Matty peeks into the bathroom to show off the foam mustache he’s fashioned out of toothpaste. Rory is kicking like a mad thing in a diaper and onesie, filled with a burst of energy I never understand.
“Ready for story time?” I ask softly.
The kids erupt into a crescendo of yeses, with Grace’s loudest of all. I smile broadly at how lighthearted she can be amongst our unfamiliarity and chaos.