Chapter 59 Kit
Kit
The long driveway is similar to the one for our cabin. Gravel, lined with just a strip of grass on either side, before the tree line starts. The truck tires crunch as Bowen drives us down, and I keep glancing over at him.
It's so surreal.
Especially when he glances back, always flicking his eyes down to my mouth before they go back to the road.
I asked him why we didn’t just walk over, but apparently, the Bennet property is three times the size, with many different homes on it.
Ian happens to live in the cabin closest to the lake now, the one that used to be the Bennet boy hangout.
The main house is towards the front of the property.
And it's beautiful. A pristine white two-story house that looks like it came straight out of a farmhouse magazine.
Wraparound porch with hanging ferns, rocking chairs and pots of colorful flowers up the steps.
There are bushes in the front garden, a chicken coop off to the side and a massive man wearing a leather vest, cargo shorts and combat boots watering what looks like a vegetable garden.
“Who is that?” And why am I so nervous? I feel like I’m about to meet his parents. Which is really bizarre considering his actual mom is like a second Mother to me.
“Clint. He looks intimidating, but he’s soft,” Bowen says. He does not look soft. Just intimidating. Especially when he looks over at the truck as we park next to the line of cars. Nothing soft about the way he glares, making the purple hose in his hand look like a weapon.
“Boe…” I’m about to tell him maybe I shouldn’t have come when the screen door in the front of the house bangs open, and a man that’s somehow bigger than Clint comes out with Ian’s head tucked into the crook of his arm.
“You’re fine, kitten. Just don’t ask about the missing brother.
Don’t look Emery in the eye for more than five seconds.
Don’t forget to take seconds of whatever Jo cooked.
Don’t engage with Gus.” Bowen swings open his door, twirling the keys around his finger.
“And don’t let Zane embarrass you about the hickey on your neck. ”
The asshole laughs as he closes the door.
“Bowen,” I hiss-yell after him, frantically pulling down the visor. No mirror.
Who doesn’t have a mirror in their visor?
I don’t have long to panic, not even long enough to break off the damn rear-view mirror to inspect my neck before my door is opened, and a grinning Ian is standing there.
“Kit! Why are you still in here?” His smile is just as sunny as it was the other day at the lake.
“Uh.” My laugh is awkward, and I scratch at my neck. “Considering some life choices?”
Ian zeros in on my neck and makes an “Oooohhhhh” sound right before Bowen hip checks him out of the way and holds a hand out for me to climb down.
“Don’t be weird,” he says, and I honestly don’t know if he’s talking to me or the maniacally grinning Ian. He’s got his hands on his hips, looking at us with a smug grin, like a proud dad.
I’m going to break out in hives.
“You’re going to scare him away, Eeyore. Back the muscles up,” someone yells, and I look to the porch to see a much smaller man leaning against the banister. He’s got long, perfectly styled brown hair, and he’s wearing a baby pink romper. Huh.
I let Bowen lead me to the porch, past a still-glaring Clint, who moves his whole body to follow us with it. Hose watering nothing but the grass. The guy who had Ian in a headlock is picking berries off a bush…also watching us.
I feel like a cow being led to slaughter.
I don’t know who Emery is, so I don’t look any of them in the eye. At all. Not a hard feat, really, when I feel like I’m seconds away from turning into an embarrassed puddle of hickey goo on the perfectly stained porch. No Zane needed.
Ian moves around us and swings open the door, gesturing us inside. I already hear old country music playing and a woman’s voice singing along.
We find her a minute later, short and plump with a mess of blond waves piled on her head, a rolled red bandanna tied like a headband in front. She blows her bangs out of her face and smiles when she sees us.
“And who might this be?” she asks, a southern twang in her voice.
“Yeah, Bowen, who might this be?” The guy sitting at the island looks up from his phone and grins, narrowing his eyes. Not a glare like Clint, but an assessing look.
I’m already obsessed with a man, not blind to others, okay? The guy is hot. Like, real, real hot. Not a linebacker Bennet, still big but in a sleek way. Toned, bronzed with darker hair and a sharp jaw.
Boe snorts. “Kit, this is Jo.” He walks over to her and kisses her cheek. Jo smiles up at him, pinching his in return before she turns her eyes back to me.
“Ah, the infamous Kit. Or should I call you kitten?” Hottie all but purrs. I’ve never felt as much like a kitten as I do right now. A scared little kitten up against a smirking panther.
But also…Boe told them my nickname?
I file that bit of info away for later, glancing at Boe in time to see him pick a roll up out of a basket on the island and chuck it at the guy’s head. Panther snatches it out of the air and takes a bite out of it like it’s an apple. Totally unfazed.
Jo rolls her eyes and swats Bowen’s shoulder. “At least let the food make it to the table, Bowen Lee.”
She government names him? Who are these people?
“Now go and get, I expect you all at the table.” Hottie goes to get up from the island, but Jo pulls a wooden spoon out of her back pocket and points it at him. “Not you, Zane Lee. Sit.”
Another Lee?
The table in question looks like it should fit fifteen people.
The center is already full of plates, platters and bowls of food.
Ian is just sitting down when we walk in from the kitchen, and Clint and the other of Ian’s brothers follow from the other doorway on the other side of the room.
Bowen leads me to a chair, pulling it out casually before sitting in the one next to me.
“What the fuck was that, Bowen?” Pink romper says, holding matching pink nails to his chest. “Did you just…gentleman?”
“Language,” Jo calls from the kitchen.
“Bowen is a perfect gentleman,” Ian says, perusing the food on the table and rubbing his hands together.
“How long do you think it’ll take Jo to bring up the massive hickey?” Romper says. “You do realize it’s just called an Adam’s apple, right, Briggs? Not an actual apple? You can’t suck it out of his throat. Looks like you gave a valiant effort, though.”
I cringe, flicking Bowen’s thigh under the table.
“So, you must be Emery?” I question, hesitantly. I already know he’s not Zane, but he still feels like a guy who would come with a warning.
Emery smirks, a little humor and a lot wicked. “Has Bowie been talking about me?”
“Just telling him to avoid you like the plague and never, under any circumstances, give you his number.”
The biggest brother reaches forward and snags a piece of lettuce out of the bowl in front of him before Clint can smack his hand away. Clint may have been able to move with more swift accuracy if he wasn’t still glaring.
If eyes could actually shoot lasers, I’d be a walking slice of Swiss.
“That’s insinuating I don’t already have it.”
Bowen narrows his eyes, pulls his phone out of his pocket and types something. Three beeps go off at the table. Ian, Emery and the big dude all pull out their own phones. All four of them are typing in what I’m starting to gather must be a group chat.
Emery gasps loudly, then says out loud, slamming his phone on the table. “Oh my God, Briggs. You love him. Disgusting. This is wonderful.”
“Emery, chill,” Ian says, still eying the roasted chicken in front of him like a dog.
“Someone owes me twenty,” big brother says. Emery pulls the bill out of the tiny pocket in front of his romper and flings it across the table.
“Just because you’re the only other one of us whose been dumb enough to fall in love. Where is my dear sister-in-law anyway, Warren?”
Warren is suddenly very interested in the condensation on his glass of water. “She doesn’t need to come every weekend.”
Emery opens his mouth to respond, but he's cut off by the high-pitched scream that fills the room. Much to my horror, it's my scream.
“Bat!” I scream.
Emery snorts in his glass of wine. Warren looks around, confused, bypassing the flying black creature completely. Ian is blinking owlishly at me.
“Warrennnnn,” it squawks.
Bowen sniffs and rubs circles on my back. He’s definitely trying to hold back a laugh.
The bat lands on Clint’s shoulder; Clint doesn’t even flinch. It takes a whole two seconds to see that it’s not, in fact, a bat. But a half-bald, grayish black parrot of some kind. It has an honest to fucking God eye-patch on. Pirate parrot.
My heart hasn’t even considered recovering when Jo and Zane come in, each carrying a basket of yet more food.
“Gus, Clint’s bodyguard,” Bowen murmurs into my hair before pressing a kiss to my head. Like it’s natural. Normal. Like I wasn't convinced he hated me yesterday. My cheeks flame, and I’ll be annoyed about not being able to fully appreciate the moment later.
Much later, when I’m not watching the pirate bird like it’s a rabid skunk about to spray or attack.
“Warrennnn. Holes.” The way the bird says Warren is nightmare fuel for months to come, and Warren isn’t even my name. The actual Warren doesn’t even flinch. Pretty sure he was just threatened by the bird.
“Don’t mind the bird, honey. He’s old and senile, just like his owner.”
For what feels like the first time since I got here, Clint releases me from his death glare. I watch in real time as his brown eyes melt, and he breaks into a cheesy smile, all for his wife.
“Senile? Jo-bunny, you weren’t saying that last night.”
“I said senile, Clint, not erectile.”
“Here we go,” Emery says, sighing.
“It’s erectile dysfunction, Ma,” Ian supplies. I think the chicken has moved closer to his plate.
“Could we not?” Warren grumbles.
“Hold hands,” Jo demands.
I startle, grabbing onto Bowen’s upturned hand on my right and Ian’s on my left. Ian gives my hand a few quick squeezes and me a smile. “You’re doing so well, man. Haven’t cried or anything yet.”
I gape, but snap my mouth closed when Clint clears his throat.
“To God, the Universe, or whoever the hell blessed me so much in life, thank you. I’ll continue to be confused about ya, but I’ll be thankful until the day I die, you hear?
Bring back my one kid, and I’ll even consider reading the big book.
Oh, and if the newcomer is bad people, leave me a sign.
” He peeks an eye open to look at me, and I quickly slam mine shut. “Amen and all that.”
“Close enough,” Jo says, then claps her hands. “Eat up.”
The air is thick with spice and an assortment of hearty foods.
I can even smell a sweet undertone wafting in from the kitchen.
Luckily, the Bennet boys seem to be content to leave me be for now.
I have a first row seat to the chaos. Emery slyly roasting everyone, Warren dodging conversations about his absent girlfriend.
Jo threatening everyone with her spoon at least once.
And Zane pipes in only occasionally, choosing to watch the show with laughing eyes instead. There are laughs, scolding, threats.
It’s the loudest, most insane family dynamic I have ever witnessed. The craziest part?
Bowen is right in the middle of it all. Slinging comebacks, roasts of his own. He compliments Jo’s cooking and threatens Gus to cook him over the grill if he keeps threatening everyone with holes.
By the time Jo slides me a second piece of pie, ignoring my weak smile and hands holding my stomach, it hits me.
Bowen wasn’t alone. Not really.
Bowen found people here. These loud, chaotic people. And they welcomed him in with open arms and ample threats. The bittersweet sting lands somewhere in my chest.
“So,” I say, trying to walk like a normal person that wasn’t just stuffed with more food than I normally consume in a whole day. “Was that punishment? Feels a little like I got chewed up, spit out, then called pretty.”
My cheek is still warm from Jo’s kiss.
Bowen smiles at me when we climb into his truck. Smiles. It’s soft and beautiful, the closest thing I’ve seen to the Bowen I used to know. “It will feel like that every single time.”
He says it like…like there will be many more Bennet dinners.
I find myself smiling back.