21. Wicked

21

Wicked

I'm Great With Filling!

My brother has beef with other sports.

Fucking weirdo that he is, he finds surfing superior to pretty much anything else. So I'm not surprised when I enter his house on Thanksgiving morning to find him in a fuss over football being on the television.

Darby rolls her eyes but doesn't respond to him, hiding a smile as she entertains his dramatics. Lou shifts around him so she can get a better look at what's happening in the game, laughing into her cereal as Dahlia glances back and forth between them with a bemused expression. She slaps her knees as she stands and makes her way toward the kitchen.

I take one last look at where my brother and Darby are arguing, though the glitter in both of their eyes makes me question if it's some kind of weird-ass foreplay they've got going on. Regardless, I'm not nearly as interested in that as I am in the woman standing in the kitchen, so I follow her.

Her back is to me, handling something on the counter that I can't see as I lean against the island. "So, football fans, huh?"

She chuckles quietly. "Always have been. My dad had a couple of big-wig clients who'd take us out to Chiefs games a few times a year growing up. They were always business opportunities for him, but he'd drag us along to give the impression he was a family man." I watch her shoulders as she shrugs. "You know, it made him look more personable. Approachable. Less of a corrupt piece of shit. Darby and I always had fun, though." She turns around, and I notice she's holding a large plate in her hands, her blue eyes glittering with something like excitement. "I've got something for you."

"Me?" I ask.

She grins, nodding. Holding out the tray, I notice what appears to be a handful of donuts with some kind of bright orange frosting and chocolate sprinkles on top. "Maple Glazed Pumpkin Whatevers, I call them."

The laugh that bursts out of me takes us both by surprise, and my eyes shoot up to meet hers. They widen as our gazes clash before she returns my laughter with her own bright melody. We're both breathless when she sets the donuts on the counter and slides them toward me. I take one, and it tastes just like everything else Dahlia creates—sweet, warm, and insanely flavorful. It's like I'm drinking the iced latte she knows I love from our favorite coffee stand. I swear, there are even hints of the espresso flavor within the pastry.

"So good," I say, though it comes out as more of a moan. "Why can I taste the coffee too?"

"The sprinkles," she responds proudly. "They're espresso flavored."

"You are utterly divine."

Her eyes spark at the compliment, and I notice her dip her head to hide the blush my words bring to her cheeks. I seem to always be making her blush, yet she continues to hide it. I never get tired of seeing it, her flustered by me, knowing I'm capable of bringing that kind of reaction out of such a strong, independent woman.

We haven't had another…moment like the one on FaceTime a couple of weeks ago, but we've spoken every single night before we fall asleep.

I reach out to grab another donut, only now realizing I've demolished the entirety of my first one in just a few bites. A small, pink-manicured hand slaps me on the wrist. "Don't ruin your dinner. You can take them home and have them later."

"C'mon, Wildflower."

She's failing to hide her smile as she shakes her head. "Your mother would be upset with me if you didn't eat her turkey because you're filled up on my donuts." She grabs the tray and turns around, giving me a view of her phenomenal ass as she covers the plate. "Plus, I'm making pie I'll want you to try later."

I open my mouth to continue arguing when I'm cut off by the door opening and a loud whistle. "Whose pretty little blue thing is sitting out in that driveway?" my dad calls from the foyer.

"That'd be mine!" Darby chimes from the living room.

My brother bought her a beautiful new car for her birthday last week. Apparently, the car she had back in Kansas was actually owned by her father and, knowing there was no way he'd be willing to give it to her— or any way she'd be willing to go back out to Crestwell and get it herself— Darby has been going without a vehicle for the last few months. That is, until Leo surprised her with a baby blue, brand new Mustang, the perfect complement to his classic red one.

They do look fucking great parked next to each other in the driveway.

Laughs ring out from the other room as Dahlia turns to face me again. "Someday, I'm going to make that happen," she murmurs under breath.

"Make what happen?" I ask.

She starts, as if she hadn't realized she said it out loud. Shaking off the surprise, she sighs. "I'm going to buy myself an impractical car I can drive just for fun. Something with no top. No child safety features. Something that doesn't need to accommodate anyone but myself."

"If you ever want to drive mine, Dal, you're more than welcome."

Her gaze softens, lips twitching up in the corner, pretty pink lips that I'd die to taste again. "I'm not sure I'm a Jeep gal."

I raise my brow. "You a motorcycle gal?"

I can tell by the way her eyes flare and her tongue flicks out to run along those pretty pink lips that I'm right on track. "I'm not sure I care enough to get a license and learn all that."

I smile. "I'll take you for a ride any time you want, baby."

We both know I mean that in more ways than one.

Dahlia's cheeks flush, and she looks away. "You can drive a motorcycle?"

"I've got a 1983 Triumph Bonneville sitting pretty in my garage right now." Her eyes flutter, glancing up at me through long lashes. "I don't get her out nearly enough, though."

She hums contemplatively just as my parents enter the kitchen with bags full of food. "Happy Thanksgiving!" my mother sings as she drops everything onto the counter and beelines straight for Dahlia.

She chuckles against the top of my mom's head as my mother wraps her arms around Dal's waist. She's tiny at just above five-feet-tall, whereas Dahlia has to be at least five-eight or five-nine. My mother finally pulls away and turns to me. "Hi, baby." She smiles, closing in on me too.

I pull her into my chest. " ?Y yo? ?Estoy pintado o qué? "

"I think we're both second-best when it comes to the three of them," Leo chides as he strolls into the kitchen and begins rummaging through the fridge.

"You know Spanish?" Dahlia asks.

"I can understand it. Can't really speak it, though," he says with his head in the freezer.

"What do you think you're doing?" My mother flicks his ear as she bumps him out of the way with a hip and begins filling the space with everything she brought over.

"Ah," my brother hisses, holding his ear dramatically. "I trained for two hours this morning. I need a snack."

Mom rolls her eyes. "You can wait until dinner like everyone else."

" Everyone else isn't a professional athlete."

My mother shoos him from the kitchen, waving her hands in his face as he skips around the island away from her. The stern look on her face slips as she chases Leo around the kitchen, fighting a smile. He skips backward, eyes zoning in on Dahlia's donuts on the counter. "Oh shit, what are those?"

"Fuck no. Those are min—" I reach out to grab the plate, but not before he swipes a donut and spins, barreling out of the kitchen doorway and back into the living room. He places the pastry between his teeth and gives me a salute then flips his middle finger at me before turning the corner. "He's insufferable," I mutter.

"You're the one who brought him home," Mom agrees.

"I heard that!"

We both laugh at that. I catch Dahlia's face light up too, but she looks between us like the concept is foreign to her, standing around a kitchen on a holiday, making jokes and messing with each other. I again wonder what it must've looked like to grow up in that house.

"Alright." Mom claps her hands. "Everyone not cooking can clear out. We've got work to do." She points at my dad. "Potato peeling." She looks at Dal. "Are you still making the pies?"

She smiles. "Yes, ma'am."

"Okay, you can stay." She lifts her head to me and makes that same shooing motion with her hand. "Out. We need the space. And send in my little helper!" She shouts loud enough that Lou will hear her anyway.

"What if I want to help too?"

Mom pauses, muttering something like " Dios mío " before letting out an exasperated sigh. "Never in your life have you offered to help with Thanksgiving dinner." Her eyes filter to the other end of the kitchen, where Dahlia reaches on her toes and digs through a cupboard, pretending like she's not listening and hiding the smile that tells me she is.

My mom looks back at me and raises a brow, I wink at her as I round the counter and close in on Dahlia. She's trying to grab a mixing bowl from the top shelf but can't quite reach it. I press in behind her, lifting an arm to grab what she's looking for. She sighs, falling back on her heels, which puts her body flush against mine.

I bite back a sound at the feel of her ass pressing against my dick, and in an attempt to hold my breath, I lose my own balance. Stumbling forward, I accidentally push us both into the counter, and all of me lines up with all of her. Soft curves brush against my all-too-sensitive cock. I know her body too well to be this close to it and not garner a reaction. Not only have I touched it, felt it, been inside of it, but seeing her touch herself on FaceTime those weeks ago?

Fuck.

I lost my fucking mind watching her come undone at my command, at the soft, quiet whimpers of my name from her lips and the way she looked spread, bared, and naked in front of that mirror. You could've convinced me I'd died and gone to heaven, and I'd be none the wiser. There is no way I can feel the press of her tight ass against me now, knowing it's the same body I'm so fucking desperate for, and not get hard.

With my fucking parents in the kitchen, no less.

A small gasp escapes her lips as I brace my hand on the counter next to her and set the bowl she needed down.

"Sorry," I murmur.

"No worries," she whispers.

Fully aware I should pull off her, I can't seem to do so. I lean away but keep her caged between my arms. She spins so her back is to the counter. Her eyes lift to meet mine, and I realize I still haven't been able to match the color of those eyes to any shade I've seen in real life.

Incomparable. Just like her.

"So, what are we making?" I ask.

I watch her delicate throat bob as she swallows, and I can tell she's as flustered by our proximity as I am. I think that's what makes it impossible to pull away. She's so hard to read. I can never figure out what's running through her mind, except in these moments. When my skin touches her, she seems to melt beneath it. It opens up some kind of door that's typically shut tight, allows me a sliver of the woman inside—the woman who wants me as much as I want her.

"Pie," she says quietly.

"What kind of pie?"

She pulls her lip between her teeth, eyes fluttering around the room, looking anywhere but at me. "Boston Cream. And pumpkin."

I let out a low laugh. "Do you need help with that cream pie, Wildflower?"

Big blue eyes snap to me, growing brighter in complement with the blush raging up her neck and across her cheeks.

I hear the clattering of some kind of utensil, followed by an annoyed groan. "No. No, no." Dahlia stands up straight, and I reluctantly pull away from her. My mother drops the celery she was cutting, and I notice my dad standing over the kitchen sink, face beet red as he holds back laughter. "Whatever you two do behind closed doors is none of my business, but I'm not going to spend my family holiday listening to you make cream pie references and take seductive glances at each other." She points to the living room. "Out, Everett."

"Oh my God, Mother." I run a hand down my face. "It was a joke."

"Right. Just like I'm sure it was a joke that Colin's grandmother called me after that date I set Dahlia up on and told me that she left him high and dry at the bar, running off with some," she holds her hands out to make air quotes, "‘big, tattooed, motorcycle club member.'" She puffs. "I asked her what bar he took you to, and oddly enough, it happened to be Emilio's. The bar owned by one of my son's friends." She flicks her wrist, referencing me. "My big, tattooed, motorcycle-riding child."

I roll my eyes. "Why do I feel like that's not a compliment?"

"I swear, I didn't know who he was when it happened," Dahlia says, eyes wide. "And to be fair, Colin was a fucking dud, Monica. You know it too."

Mom's brown eyes soften. "I'm not upset that you're hooking up with Everett, carina . Lord knows that boy could do worse." I scrunch my nose at her, even though she's not wrong. Nothing's better than Dahlia, and we both know it. "I just have two rules: I don't want to see it and I don't want to hear it. Same goes for them." She points her knife in the direction of the living room, where I know my brother and Dahlia's sister sit.

"Please don't say ‘hooking up' ever again," I mutter.

"Please don't say ‘cream pie' ever again," my mom snaps back.

Dahlia's face falls into her hands.

"Deal."

"Deal," she replies. "Now, get out of my kitchen. Go get Lou."

Dahlia laughs beneath her hands, and I snap my arm out to pull her fingers from her face, wanting to see her smile. "What are you laughing at?"

"It's enjoyable to see you get put in your place."

"Okay, I'm being bullied. I'm leaving." Both women are chuckling at me now, and some force outside my control has me tugging on Dahlia's hand, bringing her into me and planting a kiss against her neck.

Her laughter stops, and the room goes quiet. I hadn't realized I'd done it. It was something that felt all too natural to me. Making her smile. Hypnotized by her laugh. Putting my lips on her skin and showing her affection. It's too easy, like something I'm just supposed to do.

I clear my throat. "I'll grab Lou for you," I say gruffly, darting out of the kitchen before the awkward silence can settle in.

"And keep an eye out for August!" my mother chimes. "Should be here any time."

I pause at the threshold of the kitchen doorway, eyes locking on my brother from across the room. Surprise is plastered on both our faces. "How the fuck did she pull that off?" I ask.

"I don't think she did." Leo nods at Darby, whose head rests against his shoulder with a knowing smile on her face. "Something tells me it was all Honeysuckle's doing."

I plop down on the couch next to her, taking Lou's spot as she hops up and heads into the kitchen. A moment later, my phone buzzes in my pocket.

That was so embarrassing.

I smile at Dahlia's message, typing out a reply.

I notice you didn't correct her when she said we were ‘hooking up'.

Well, we are ‘dating.'

I never realized how much I fucking hate quotation marks until this moment.

Might as well live up to the assumptions, no?

I hear her giggle from the kitchen.

You're insatiable.

Let me know if you need help with that cream pie.

I'm great with filling. ??

Another laugh echoes through the house, and I know I'm smiling at my own phone like a goddamn idiot.

"What are you two doing?" Darby asks me.

Now I'm the one blushing.

The sound of knuckles clamor at the door, and all seven people in this house shout, "Come in!" at the exact same time. My parents, Dahlia, and Lou are too busy in the kitchen to answer it, Leo, Darby, and myself too comfortable on the couch to move.

I hear the door open and close before August's frame rounds the staircase into view. He stands awkwardly at the edge of the living room and waves at us. "Hey. Happy Thanksgiving."

Tall and lean, his dark, unruly curls are tousled messily on his head, green eyes darting around the room beneath his black-rimmed glasses. He's got an eyebrow piercing he didn't have the last time I saw him, and two more piercings on each of his ears. Unnoticeable beneath his long-sleeved tee and dark-wash jeans, I know his body is covered in more tattoos than even mine.

I open my mouth to greet him when the pressure next to me on the couch suddenly lifts, a flash of blonde hair darting past me. I catch the surprise filter across August's face too when Darby suddenly leaps into his chest and throws her arms around his neck. "I'm so happy you came," she murmurs.

He stills momentarily before slowly wrapping both arms around her waist. His eyes close as he lets out a sigh, the kind that tells me it might've been a long, long while since he has been hugged by someone.

August's been an irreparably broken shell since the moment they pulled his brother's body from the beach a little over three years ago. He shut out everyone, including me and Leo. We tried for the solid first year after Zach's death to be there for August, but he refused to answer our calls. He'd ignore us when we showed up at his house, his business. He wanted no part of the foundation set up in his brother's name—not that his father would've allowed it, anyway.

He wouldn't even talk to my mother, and that bothered me most of all.

Leo and I look at each other, and I know the same thought is running through his head. Maybe we didn't do enough. Because the way he hugs Darby tells me he's starved for connection.

Leo clears his throat, standing from the couch and walking over to them. It's a little awkward, the way he and August wrap their arms around each other. "Hey, Augustus. It's good to see you."

"Yeah." August sighs. "You too."

I stand too, but as I cross the living room, I notice Lou peeking her head around the kitchen door, taking in the sight of the new visitor she hasn't met yet. I smile, reaching out my hand. "Hey, Luz."

Her green eyes go wide as she turns to me. "Hi."

"Do you want to come meet my friend?"

"Your friend?" she murmurs.

"Yep. Since I was as old as you are." I beckon her with my outstretched hand. "C'mon."

I remember her hesitation the day she met me. I remember Leo telling me she was the same way when she met him too, and our dad. She's not comfortable around men, for understandable reasons. I don't know what kind of feeling it is that erupts inside me when she rushes around the corner and takes my hand, but something inside my bones feels settled.

She feels safe with me.

Keeping Lou's tiny hand in mine, I give August a one-armed side hug before stepping back to give the girl at my side space. "Lou, this is our friend, August. August, this is Lucille, Dahlia's daughter."

August gives her a genuine smile, holding out his hand. "It's nice to meet you, Lucille."

She keeps her fingers tight in my palm but extends her other arm and returns his shake. "You too," she whispers. "You can call me Lou."

He grins, his own emerald eyes showing the most emotion I've seen in years. "Okay, Lou. Happy Thanksgiving."

Lou returns his with a shy smile, hiding her face against my side. It's less nervous, almost more…bashful.

"Lucille?" Dahlia calls out. I hear her voice grow louder, and even though I'm not facing the doorway to the kitchen, I suddenly feel her presence there.

I feel her pause as she takes in the scene. Leo has his arm slung around Darby where they stand next to August, and I watch Darby's eyes lock on something behind me, a knowing smile rises on her face.

Lou, still glued to my side, turns her head back toward her mother. "Hi, Mom."

"Hi, bug." Dal steps up to her other side, eyeing me with some expression I can't decipher before turning to August. "Hi."

"Auggie, this is Darby's sister, Dahlia."

He chuckles, a sound I haven't heard in fucking years. "I can tell." He extends his hand toward Dal. "You two look so alike."

"Thank you," the girls say together.

"And you look just like your mom too." August looks down at Lou again.

She lifts her head, swiveling back and forth between me and Dahlia, as if she's not sure how to respond.

I smile at her. "Your mother is the most beautiful person in the world, Luz. That was a compliment, so you can tell him thank you."

Darby's eyes widen, and my brother's mouth drops open. I hear Dahlia's breath hitch, but she doesn't respond. Lou's little cheeks pinken, and she can't meet August's face as she murmurs, "Thank you."

I think she might have a fucking crush on the guy.

"You're welcome," August responds, seeming confused by the entire ordeal.

August hasn't been close enough to any of us to understand the situation surrounding the girls' dad and our ‘arrangement,' but I wouldn't be surprised to hear his clients have been talking about Leo and I during their appointments with him. It's a small town, after all.

So he may very well be under the impression Dahlia and I are together, meaning that the shocked expressions everyone is giving me now are probably extremely confusing.

"Augustus?" my mom calls from the kitchen. "Is that you?"

"Yeah, Mama!" he shouts back.

"You better go see her before she blows a gasket." Leo grins.

August nods. "Yep. You're right." He darts around me, waving at Lou and Dahlia. "Nice to meet you. I'll, uh, I'll be right back."

As soon as he rounds the corner and disappears, Dahlia's mouth drops open, and she turns to her sister. "He is so fucking hot."

Darby grins, nodding rapidly.

"Please," I mutter at the same time my brother throws his head back and groans.

A half-hour later, the eight of us are sitting around the formal dining table. It was Dahlia and Darby's grandmother's, one of the few pieces of her furniture Darby and Leo kept in the house when they bought it.

My dad sits at one end of the table, flanked by my mom and August on either side. I sit beside my mother, with Lou between me and Dahlia. Darby is next to August, Leo on her other side. Darby whispers in August's ear every so often, like she's checking in on him.

"August, your parents are in Palm Springs for the holiday?" my mom asks.

He swallows hard before taking a sip of water. "Sounds like it."

"That must be fun for them," she murmurs quietly, and I can hear the hint of disgust in her voice that she's trying to mask. None of us know the true details of where his relationship with them stand, but we know the blame that was placed on him, by his father in particular, after we lost Zach. My mother has a hard time hiding the way she feels about that.

Changing the subject, she looks back and forth between me and Leo. "Have either of you talked to your sister yet today?"

I shake my head at the same time Leo says, "I called her on my way back from the gym. She didn't answer." No surprise there.

"Maybe we can all video call her after dinner," my dad suggests. "I'm sure she'd love to talk to you, Augustus."

It's at that moment August is tilting his glass of water against his lips, and when the words filter through his ears, the glass falls from his hand, clattering against the table as he begins coughing.

"God, are you okay?" my mom gasps.

Darby pats his back, concern on her face. My brother and I give each other looks across the table. There's another piece of the puzzle we've never been able to fit together: something happened between our sister and August, something bad. Neither of them has ever opened up to us about it, won't tell us a goddamn thing.

Leo thinks they're both just too tied up in their own grief, but I think there's something more. Before, they were inseparable, attached at the hip an understatement. It was like they spoke a language only the two of them could understand. None of us could come in between their friendship, not even Zach.

But after he died, the mere mention of each other's names became nuclear.

"We'll call Elena later," I answer finally. August shoots me a grateful look.

The table goes back to awkward small talk, and when everyone's finished eating, Darby and Leo begin clearing plates. Clean-up is their designated job, since neither of them can cook for shit and were of no help preparing dinner. I technically didn't do anything either, but I'm hoping nobody will notice.

As their seats vacate, August offers to help them, and Lou scampers off into the kitchen to get pie for Dahlia and myself, although I'm fairly certain she just wanted a reason to follow August. I slide into her seat next to Dahlia, desperate to be closer to her. My parents are at the head of the table, chatting amongst themselves as they continue eating.

"So, what's the deal with August?" she asks quietly.

I had a feeling the question was coming. "I don't know the full extent of it. I know that the day Zach…" I sigh. "Elena said some things to him that made no sense. Still doesn't make sense to me. Neither of them will talk about it. Talk to each other." I shrug. "I'm in as much of the dark as you are, but before Zach…they were best friends. I'd never seen two people closer."

"That's awful," she murmurs. "And everything with his dad too? I can't even imagine." She's quiet for a moment, brow furrowing. "How could anyone treat their own child like that?" She laughs cynically to herself. "Not sure I'm the one to be asking that question, actually."

"You think your father would treat you that way too? If something so horrible had happened?"

Dahlia bites her lip, eyes going a bit hazy as she stares down at the table. "I mean…it's not the same. It really isn't. But…" She huffs. "After Darby left her wedding, my father blamed me. I told him I had sent Leo the letter. I was the reason he showed up in town. He told me I ruined his chances of ever getting to walk his daughter down the aisle, that I had taken that from him."

"He has two daughters," I mutter through clenched teeth.

"That's what I said." She laughs again, but it's not genuine. "He told me he didn't. He only had one in his eyes, that he'd felt that way for a while. That no good man would be willing to bother with me. That I was ruined, damaged goods. That any man who'd ever want to take that step with me wouldn't be worthy of my father's blessing anyway. Therefore, there was no reality in which I'd be walked down the aisle by him."

I'm going to fucking kill this man .

I hate him. Disgust coats my throat at the thought of Dahlia having to endure those words, that pain, from someone who's supposed to love her. I glance briefly at August as he re-enters the dining room and decide I hate his dad too. I hate any person who could make their own child feel that way.

Dahlia continues staring at the table, at her hands folded together in front of her. She's completely unfazed by the things she's saying, and I know it's only because she's numb after a lifetime of hearing it all. I place my hand over hers, brushing my thumb across her knuckles.

The touch seems to break her out of her haze as her head snaps up to look at me. I let myself drown in the oceans of her eyes, hoping she sees the sincerity in my own. "You're worthy, Dahlia. You're worthy of everything."

And my words seem to open some kind of gate inside her, because that numbness disappears, and I watch those beautiful, bright blue eyes fill with tears. She blinks hard, willing them away, but one escapes. Cascading down her soft cheek in slow motion. I reach out and catch it with my thumb. Nuzzling her face into my hand, Dahlia closes her eyes and lets out a shaky sigh.

We stay like that a while longer, letting her take whatever comfort she finds in my touch. Only the pitter-patter of small footsteps hurling through the dining room is enough to pull her away from me. She smiles at her daughter as Lou sets two slices of pie on the table in front of us, her own face smothered in chocolate.

"Thanks, Luz." I smile at her.

She huffs. "I've come up with all these cool nicknames for you, and you hate them. The only one you can come up with is Luce? I wanted a better one, Everett."

She climbs into one of the chairs across the table from me and leans over it, dipping her finger through the whip cream on her mom's slice of pumpkin.

"It's not Luce , like short for Lucille. It's Luz . L-U-Z. It means light in Spanish."

Both of the girls turn their heads to me, surprise on their faces.

I only smile wider. "Because you're like a burst of light, all bright and warm. You're la luz ."

Lou's cheeks redden, and she hides her face behind her hair. "Oh, okay. That's a good one, then, I guess."

"You guess?" I laugh.

She shrugs, but I can see her coy smile through the curtain of her hair. I turn to her mother, but Dahlia's speechless, staring at me with emotion on her face, fighting back the tears once more. I place my hand back over hers, whispering against her ear, "She's the light, and you're all the colors, Wildflower."

Dahlia and I didn't talk much more after that. After Leo and Darby finished the dishes and all the dessert was devoured, we sat around the table and played an extremely heated game of Monopoly, which resulted in my brother nearly flipping the table with his over-competitive, dramatic ass.

A phone call from my sister had August on edge the rest of the night, and he decidedly had to use the bathroom at that exact moment. Now, August is quiet, my dad is drunk and bellowing George Strait in the kitchen, and Lou is quite literally passed out face down at the kitchen table.

Dahlia rubs her back where she sits between us, and some kind of strange contentment rushes through me at the sight. It's like sitting here, with the two of them, is where I've always been meant to be.

"Dahlia, do you have any formal culinary experience? You're an incredible baker," August says.

"Oh, thank you." Dahlia blushes, and it kind of enrages me. I know he didn't mean anything by it other than a genuine compliment, but I don't like the thought of anyone else making her blush like that. "I don't. I just got into it when I was pregnant, and it has been a hobby ever since."

He nods thoughtfully. "You could've fooled me." He takes another bite of the Boston Cream pie and points his fork at me. "You know what would be good for one of the empty suites on the boardwalk? A cafe. A coffee shop with an ocean view? It would bring so much traffic to the area and make a fortune."

"You know, that's not a bad idea. I think a lot of people were wary about replacing Sweet Rue's after Ruby passed, but there is definitely a demand for that."

"I think a chain would be a terrible idea, but another small business? It could work. Maybe we could even contact her kids and see if they have any of her old recipes on hand that could be incorporated, maybe as a way to honor her?"

Leo rounds the corner at that moment, snapping his fingers at us. "You're fucking brilliant, Augustus." He nods toward me. "We need to get with Scarlett and talk about this idea."

"Why don't you do that in the office when you return to work? You're shouting, and we've got a sleeping child at the table." Dahlia laughs quietly.

I look down at the strawberry blonde sprawled out next to me. "That can't be comfortable for her. Do you want me to carry her up to bed for you?"

She smiles at me with enough gratitude to bring me to my goddamn knees. "Yeah, maybe. We can wait until everyone leaves, though."

"Speaking of, I should probably head out," August says.

"Oh, no. I wasn't suggesting—" Dahlia starts.

"No, I know." He smiles. "It is late though, and I've got to open the shop in the morning." To my surprise, August hugs both Dahlia and me.

He stands from the table and stalks into the kitchen. I hear him say his goodbyes to my parents, along with Leo and Darby, who're still boxing up all the leftovers. When he returns, hands full of Tupperware, Darby's with him. She walks him to the door and hugs him again as he leaves.

As softly as possible, Dahlia helps me lift Lou into my arms, and she hardly stirs. I'm pretty sure she ate way more dessert than she let on and has fallen into some kind of sugar coma. She's completely limp as I carry her bridal style up the stairs. Dahlia navigates me to her bedroom. I slowly lay her down in her bed, and I know I should probably leave, but I can't.

Instead, I watch from the doorway as Dahlia settles her in and covers her with blankets. She kisses the top of her head, sitting at the edge of Lou's mattress for a prolonged moment, stroking her hair.

I can hear my parents downstairs saying their farewells. I can hear the television shut off, the glow of the lights on the staircase dimming. The night has ended, and that means it's my turn to leave too, to go back to my quiet townhouse on Pacific Street. Except the quiet I used to find peaceful only feels lonely now. An empty house feels isolated, and all I want to do is stay here. I tell myself it's because today is a holiday and I want to prolong the time with my family, but as I watch Dahlia whisper into her daughter's ear, I know it's simply because I don't want any of these moments with her—with them—to end.