THIRTY ROWAN

THIRTY

Rowan

I KEEP GLANCING over at the arched doorway of the dining room, fully expecting to find Arabella rushing through it at any second, but she’s still not back yet and we’re all sitting down at the table while my mom and Marilee are in the kitchen, going over everything before the temporary staff they hired for the day bring all the dishes out.

“Where’s your fuck buddy?” Beau leans in close to me and I jab him in the ribs with my elbow, making him grunt.

“Shut the fuck up,” I snarl, anger flashing through me. “And don’t call her that.”

“Whoa. Sorry.” Beau holds up his hands in defensive mode, turning his back on me and speaking to Brooks instead. That poor dude is so distracted I don’t think he heard a word Beau said, and my little brother crosses his arms, pissed.

“I’m sitting somewhere else,” Beau announces as he rises.

“Your mother put together a seating chart for the occasion,” Dad says, his voice firm. “You’re sitting there.”

Beau drops back in his chair, his irritation obvious. “Still wish I could’ve seen Plymouth Rock.”

“First of all, you were going to Cape Cod, and Plymouth Rock is nowhere near there. And trust me, I’ve seen it. It’s not that big of a deal,” I tell him but he only glares at me in response. And I don’t think he gives a shit about a historic rock or where the Mayflower first landed. More like he wanted a shot at spending time with the girl who invited him to go.

Speaking of girls … my gaze goes to the empty doorway yet again, fighting the disappointment that tries to seep into my bones. Where is Arabella? She went upstairs to grab her lipstick what feels like hours ago.

I check my phone and see it’s only been twenty minutes, but damn. Twenty minutes is plenty of time to grab a lipstick and come back downstairs. What is she doing? Is she okay? Is something wrong?

I push back my chair and stand, about to go in search of her when she magically appears, her eyes rimmed red and her expression solemn. She spots me and rushes over, sitting in the empty chair beside me and grabbing the folded napkin on her plate, shaking it out and placing it in her lap. “I’m sorry. I got a phone call.”

I’m frowning so hard my forehead hurts. She won’t really look at me and that’s … weird. “Are you all right?”

She nods, her lips curled into a tight smile, her gaze flickering in my direction before she looks away. “I’m fine. Starving to death.”

“Dinner is about to be served,” I start just as Mom enters the dining room.

“It’s ready,” she announces, going to sit at the chair to the right of where Dad sits at the head of the table. “The dishes will be out momentarily.”

Within seconds, servants fill the room, setting the dishes in between the flower arrangements and candle holders that line the center of the table. Mom went all out with this meal. There’s even a cornucopia in the middle of the table, overflowing with flowers and various pieces of fruit. Once everything’s brought out and our plates are full of food, Dad stands, holding a glass of wine.

“Before we eat, I’d like to say how grateful I am for everyone at this table. Not all of our family members could make it this year, but I appreciate all of you who are here for coming to our home and sharing this meal with us. Whit and Summer, thank you for letting us host this year. Wren has been wanting to put something together for Thanksgiving for a few years now, and from what I’ve seen so far, she’s done a terrific job.”

Mom beams as she tilts her head back, her gaze only for Dad.

“I’m thankful that everyone is happy and healthy. That we’re spending this special day together. That we have new faces at the table, like Row’s friend, Arabella.”

She shifts in her seat when everyone turns their attention upon her, dipping her head, which is so unlike Arabella that I’m shocked. She’s all about reveling in other people’s attention. What the hell is wrong with her?

“To family,” Dad concludes, lifting his glass into the air.

“To family,” everyone else murmurs as they lift their glasses as well. My gaze cuts to Arabella and she looks like she could burst into tears at any moment. Leaning into her, I press my shoulder to hers, murmuring. “Bells. Something’s wrong. I can tell.”

Her smile is weak. “I’ll tell you later. Let’s enjoy dinner, hmm?”

Throughout the meal I’m attuned to every little thing Arabella does. She picks at her food, swirling it around with her fork like she’s trying to make it appear she’s eating. She’s quiet and she is never quiet, always loving to chat about something. Anything. When Iris tries to engage her in conversation, Bells smiles and makes a quick comment, then drops her gaze.

I hate being kept in the dark. She’s upset. And I’m dying to know what it is.

“We have an announcement,” Iris says once everyone starts groaning about how they ate too much and the men grumble about needing to check the football scores. Her gaze goes to Brooks, and I glance over at him too. He’s profusely sweating and his cheeks are red. I think he might be drunk. “Do you want to tell them Brooksie, or shall I?”

He inclines his head toward her. “You do the honors.”

Her smile is coy, her eyes dancing with mischief because my cousin knows that she’s about to drop a bomb. “Well … there will be another family member who’ll be at the table next Thanksgiving. He or she will be arriving in approximately seven months, give or take.”

The entire table goes silent. Brooks looks like he wants to slide under the table, and it figures my big-mouthed brother is the first one to break the tension.

“You knocked her up, Brooks? Holy shit!” Beau exclaims.

Everyone starts speaking at once and I can’t make out who’s saying what while Iris sits there and takes it all in, seemingly pleased with herself. The voices rise higher and higher, those who are speaking and trying to talk over the other until finally there’s a bang on the table.

And that bang came from Whit Lancaster’s fist.

“Enough!” Whit is glaring at poor Brooks, who’s barely holding it together, and his face has turned green. If he pukes at the table, everybody is going to lose it. “Are you going to make an honest woman out of my daughter, Brooks?”

“Oh, Whit, stop it. We weren’t married when August was born,” his wife points out as she rises from her chair and goes to her daughter, pulling her to her feet and enveloping her in a hug. “My sweet girl. You’re going to be a mother. Congratulations.”

Iris clings to her mom, crying into her shoulder, and Whit goes to them as well, patting Iris’s back awkwardly, like he’s not sure what to do. Brooks stands, a little wobbly on his feet, but he manages to make his way over to Iris, who extracts herself from her mother’s embrace to wrap her arms around Brooks. We’re all watching them like it’s a movie, the majority of us quiet, waiting for something to happen, for something to be said. And we’re not disappointed.

Brooks drops to his knee in front of Iris, clutching her hand and staring up at her like she’s his entire world. “Marry me, Iris. So we won’t have a bastard child who’s like your brother.”

“I take offense to that,” August mutters, shaking his head.

“Oh my God.” Iris presses shaky fingers to her lips, nodding over and over again. “Yes, Brooks. Yes, I’ll marry you.”

He slips a giant diamond on her finger that he withdrew from his pocket and rises to his feet, delivering a deep kiss upon Iris’s lips, who circles her arms around his neck and hauls him in closer. People start applauding, even the servers who’ve entered the room to clear the plates.

“This is so romantic,” Arabella murmurs, tears shining in her eyes.

I rest my hand on her thigh, giving it a squeeze, and she turns to look at me, her gaze locking with mine. “You want to slip out of here?” I ask, my voice low.

She slowly shakes her head. “I wouldn’t miss this moment for the world to sneak off and give you a hand job, Rowan. I appreciate you trying though.”

I blow out a frustrated breath. “That’s not what I wanted—”

“Later.” She pats my thigh a couple of times before removing it. “I’m going to go congratulate the future bride and groom. And parents.”

I watch her, baffled by her reactions. It feels like she’s trying to avoid me, and I hate that. I also don’t like how she thinks I wanted to get out of here only for her to give me a hand job or whatever. Right now, I’m not looking for sexual gratification. I’m concerned about her and want to make sure she’s okay.

The realization hits. It’s never only been about sex between us. I care about this girl. I think I always have, and this week my feelings for her have grown to the point that I can’t think about anything else.

Only her.

I’m not pissed about the broken ankle or the opportunities missed with football. I’m not mad at the world or eager to get out of Lancaster Prep so I can get away from everyone. I’m actually happy to be here today, in the presence of my family, my cousins who we’ve all grown up together. It’s a good day. It was a good day, until Arabella’s mood had to throw everything off.

Throw me off.

I’m going to get to the bottom of this, whether she likes it or not. And I’m going to fix whatever it is that’s bothering her too. I know I can.

I’d do anything for her.