Chapter 12 Ewan
EWAN
Okay, I lied.
This definitely feels different from Sunday dinner before. Even with Maisey. But…why? We've done this. Lots. This shouldn’t feel weird. She's Maisey. My person. The one who has always belonged in the chair next to me at that table.
“Told you…” she whispers in a sing-song tone, looking up at me through her side-eye.
Her ability to read my mind is only half comforting in this moment, since it does little to ease this weirdness. At least I know we’re in it together. The way it should be.
I side-eye her back, pausing on the top stair of my parents’ front porch long enough to steal a kiss under the umbrella I’m holding. She told me all right. And I’m man enough to not argue about it.
Taking her hand, I don’t bother to knock, letting ourselves in like we own the place.
A low hum of voices wafts through the air, the welcome vibrations surrounding us like a warm hug, letting us know that all is right.
Something inside me clicks, settling the unease that has started to rise, the muscles in my back releasing as I exhale.
“Why, Maisey, you are practically glowing!” my father announces, sauntering down the stairs. “Y’all must have had quite the morning.”
And we’re back to things being weird…
The plastic container of store-bought brownies crunches under Maisey’s grip, her fingers reflexively tightening as her face flushes.
Auggie doesn’t seem to notice the weirdness in the air thanks to him unknowingly calling us out though, continuing his jaunt to cross the room in as few strides as possible, wrapping my girl in a dad-like bear hug, clearly thinking nothing about his comment.
“It’s so good to have you home, darlin’.”
It’s good to have her home…
I sigh, watching Maisey relax into his embrace, returning the squeeze, my own insides doing the same thing, enjoying the moment.
Because this is how it’s supposed to be.
Or at least how I always thought it was.
In high school I wouldn’t have thought twice about walking into this house with Maisey, my parents giving her a hug. Now, I’m savoring the moment.
Still, can’t let the old man have all the fun.
“That’s enough, Dad,” I say, nudging him gently with my shoulder. “You’re making it weird.”
“I’m doing no such thing,” he defends. “Can’t a man hug his favorite girl?”
“Mama’s in the kitchen,” I retort, not skipping a beat.
Maisey giggles and quickly covers her mouth, trying to hide her allegiance. My insides squeeze again, that beautiful sound going straight to my groin, making me have to fight the urge to kiss her. If I start that again, I know I won’t stop.
“Well now, Maisey, I think someone is jealous…” Auggie tsks.
Another giggle escapes as she lets go, moving from my father to me and wrapping her arms around me. Wordlessly, she rests her head against my chest and there’s no fighting my smile at this point. Or my automatic reaction of pulling her in closer and pressing my lips to the top of her head.
This is right where she belongs.
“He missed you,” Auggie whispers, winking at Maisey.
“Dad.”
I groan, unable to hold it back. Not that his statement is untrue, but does he really need to rat me out like that?
He could at least pretend to be on my side.
Then again, it’s no secret to men in this family that Auggie likes his daughters-in-love—as he’s recently taken to calling them—more than he does his actual sons.
“I think I missed him more.”
Fuck, yes…
The front door opens, stealing our attention—or better yet, taking the attention off us—as Milo and Brenna walk into the house.
“Are those brownies?” Milo asks, taking the container from her.
“Yeah,” Maisey admits sheepishly, the tinge in her cheeks deepening. “I felt like it would be rude to show up empty-handed. I planned on making something, but…”
She trails off, and I can see the words get caught in her throat. But what?
But Ewan spread me out on the kitchen counter and made me his meal instead? Licked me like he was searching for the center of the Tootsie Pop? All until I saw stars and screamed his name? Never mind what we got up to in the shower afterward.
Damn right she’s glowing…
I tell my brothers a lot, but that might be a bridge too far.
“Whatever the reason, I’ll eat them.” Milo shrugs, busting open the container and heading to the kitchen.
“Milo!” Brenna scolds.
“Someone’s got to before Dolly sees.”
“Before Dolly sees what?” comes a voice from the kitchen. Dolly’s voice to be specific.
My sister-in-law’s bright, bubbly, blonde head pops around the corner, her eyes going wide in an instant. Like a homing pigeon, she narrows in on the store-bought goods, their artificial goodness sending out radio waves alerting her to their presence.
“Are you really eating that in my home?”
“No,” Milo mumbles with a mouthful of brownie.
“I don’t remember anyone dying and making you matriarch.
Or you taking over this house,” Jace hollers from the couch on the other side of the great room that blends into the kitchen.
We make our way toward the group, cautiously joining the fray.
“Wouldn’t that be Margeaux anyway, once she marries Gus? ”
“When it comes to food, I relinquish that power to Dolly,” Margeaux comments from over toward the stove.
“See,” Dolly claps back.
“I’m not touching that,” I mutter, loud enough for only Maisey to hear as we join the group.
Gus, Hux, and Jace are seated on the couch and love seat, not paying attention to the baseball game they have turned on the TV, while Miss Belle and Margeaux move about the kitchen working on something.
Dolly, looking like she just stepped out of a cooking magazine in her jeans, blouse, and frilly blue seersucker apron, smiles at us as she walks back to join them, nodding at Sawyer sitting at the counter, Anton standing behind her, holding up her end of the bargain of staying out of the way.
Shaking my head, I let go of Maisey, giving her hand a squeeze as I nod to the fridge, silently asking if she wants a drink.
She nods, taking a seat next to Sawyer, and it’s like something inside me clicks.
My insides swell, suddenly feeling very full as I take it all in.
Everything about the scene feels exactly as it should be.
Despite the gross, wet, rainy weather outside—or maybe because of it—everything in here is warm, sunshiny, and light.
This is what I want. I just hope it’s truly what Maisey wants as well.
“Milo,” Miss Belle says, looking up at my second oldest brother.
He stops, brownie midway to his mouth, still not bothering to look guilty. Dolly chuffs, shaking her head. Maisey hold up her hands in surrender, ready to take the blame. But Miss Belle cuts her off.
“Are you helping support someone new?”
“Huh?” he mumbles, mouth full.
“Your shirt. That’s not one of your brands. Is that a friend’s place? Someone local? I haven’t heard you mention them.”
I turn to look at Milo’s shirt, taking a moment to fully read the logo over his heart.
When he walked in, I didn’t think twice about it—simply assumed it was a Southern Brothers shirt and that was that.
But now that I look at it—the perfect cerulean color of the shirt, with the massive circular logo, a large, overflowing barrel of apples in the center, with the words Cummins Cider around it—that isn’t a Southern Brothers brand.
In fact, I’ve never heard of Cummins Cider.
Cummins Cider.
Come inside her.
O..M…F…G
I choke on my laugh, trying to stop myself, immediately turning to the fridge so my mama doesn’t see. Milo has always been the sassy brother and loves his punny, borderline inappropriate shirts. But that one…wow. He’s brave to wear that one in this house.
“No, Mama, it’s…”
“Cummins Cider,” Miss Belle says. “Cumm—”
She stops short, the smile on her face slamming on its brakes faster than a car who just passed a cop while going sixty in a thirty.
“Milo Jasper Hayes!”
“Oh, triple named!” Anton exclaims from across the room.
“It’s funny!” Milo defends. “Brenna bought it for me.”
Miss Belle turns to Brenna, wide-eyed at first, like she can’t believe that this beautiful young woman would ever do such a thing. Then, a split second later, she softens, knowing exactly who her child is, and that he found his perfect match in said brunette.
“For the love of all things, you two…” She sighs. “Just do not wear it any place that someone will see.”
Milo shrugs, as if he may or may not heed our mother’s warning.
“Cummins Cider. They related to Dickens Cider?” Jace asks, pushing up off the couch and walking over to the fridge.
I grab a couple of Cokes, handing him one, then cross the kitchen to join Maisey. Without thinking, my smart-ass response bubbles up.
“All part of the same pub crawl.”
“Oh!” Milo exclaims, giving me a high five. We laugh, the two of us already able to feel our mother’s eyes rolling behind us, tired of our shenanigans.
“A pub crawl you’ve never been on,” Anton quips.
Shots fired.
I freeze, a sharp chill shooting down my back at my older brother’s clapback.
As the instigator of the family, Anton’s always been right there to push everyone’s buttons and have some kind of comment about something.
Very little is off-limits when it comes to what he won’t tease us about, but in the months since he met Sawyer, he’s toned it down quite a bit.
Part of me likes to think it’s because he’s grown up some, or maybe it’s that he learned his lesson after losing the bet that his stupid mouth got him into in the first place.
Then he does something like this.
A hush falls over the room, no one seeming to know how to react to that comment. No, that’s not true—they’re all waiting on me. So I do the only thing I can think of.
I flip him the bird. With both hands.