3. ashton #2
“I suppose. Not all of us grew tall enough to reach the top shelf.” She shrugs and winks, and I realize she’s been hugging me on tiptoe.
I’m on the taller side at five-foot-seven, but Harriet must be at least three or four inches shorter.
I laugh. Our brothers and I have been fetching things from tall shelves for Harriet for years.
“Touche.”
“Hey, Ash,” Everett interrupts us. “Ashey, I want you to meet my wife. Ruth, this is my sister, Ashton.”
Ruth bounces on her heels and immediately steps forward to wrap me in a hug.
It’s soft and warm, like her smile, and she smells of vanilla and a hint of coffee—exactly as I imagined from Everett’s truck.
She has a way about her that puts me immediately at ease, and after only a few seconds in her presence, I think I understand how my brother fell so hard for her so fast.
“It’s so good to finally meet you,” she says into my shoulder. She’s about the same height as Harriet—maybe slightly taller—and I stoop a little in her embrace. “Everett talks about you so much, I feel like I know you already.”
“Whatever he said, it’s all lies,” I say with a laugh. “Unless he was nice about me.”
“No, that would definitely be a lie.” Everett winks at me.
He’s watching us with the biggest smile on his face.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen this kind of happiness in him—this kind of peace and contentment.
The way he looks at Ruth damn near takes my breath away.
There’s so much adoration in his eyes, and I feel bad for ever doubting this relationship of his.
For thinking that getting married to a woman none of us even knew was sudden and rash; a wild, impulsive decision, probably born from copious amounts of alcohol.
Maybe it was impulsive, and who knows—maybe alcohol was involved. But one minute in a room with Ruth, and I’m convinced. They say when you know, you know, and hell, I guess Ev really knew.
By the time Ruth and I have broken apart, Dad is turning one of my Tupperware boxes in his hands.
“Is this what I think it is, kiddo?”
“Dunno,” I say. “Depends what you think it is.”
Harriet snorts. “Never change, Ashton.”
Dad sniffs at the seam where the box and its lid meet.
“Smells like cookies.”
“If it looks like a duck and shi—smells like a duck…” I censor myself quickly when I remember Emmy coloring at the kitchen counter. Mom raises an eyebrow at me and I concede immediately. “They’re cookies. Made your favorite.”
Dad beams at me, clumsily tearing into the box, almost snapping the tabs off of the lid in his haste. Everett is at his side in a flash, hand snaking around to snatch a cookie as soon as the box is open. He groans in delight as the cookie meets his tongue, crumbs falling onto his shirt.
“Baby girl, you gotta taste this,” he mumbles through a mouthful of chocolate and hazelnut. Ruth reaches for the cookie in his hand and he snatches it away. “Nuh-uh. Get your own. This one is mine.”
He shoves the rest into his mouth, not even bothering to bite.
“Good lord, Ashey girl. You get even better at baking or somethin’ in New York?” Dad spits crumbs as he talks.
“Derrick, don’t talk with your mouth full,” Mom admonishes him. Emmy looks up.
“Eat! Cookie, Mommy?”
“I have some without nuts.” I grab one of the other boxes. “I don’t know if she’s old enough for nuts yet. This box is all oatmeal raisin.”
This time, it’s Mom whose face splits into an even wider grin. She’s never had the sweetest tooth, always preferring a savory option. But oatmeal raisin cookies are her weakness, and I was in my teens when I found my recipe and perfected it for her.
“Before you polish off that entire box, Mom, lemme take one for Jody,” Everett insists. He reaches across the counter to dip a hand into the box. “I promised him a cookie.”
“No need, bro.” A familiar voice—Jody’s voice—sounds from the back door and two pairs of heavy boots stomp through the mudroom into the kitchen. “Thought I heard voices. Y’all started the party in here without us.”
Jody makes a beeline for the cookie box, waiting just long enough for Harriet to take one and break off a small piece for Emmy before diving in. Brooks follows him.
“Knew you only wanted me for my cookies,” I say with a smirk, watching them dig through the boxes and stuff baked goods into their mouths.
“Naw, we like you for more than just your cookies, cowgirl,” Jody says, swallowing a mouthful of cookie.
I don’t even think he chewed it first. He flashes me his best grin, the one that could make most girls drop their panties immediately.
Luckily for me, he’s basically another brother, and there’s absolutely nothing he could do that could make me see him any differently.
Especially when cookie crumbs drop from his lips as he speaks. He flings an arm across my shoulders.
“Speak for yourself. Got any macadamia cookies, devil?”
I suppress a shiver. Brooks is right behind me, chest almost pressed against my back, and his voice is even deeper and warmer than I remember.
He reaches around me to inspect the boxes of cookies, finding exactly what he’s looking for in the first box.
It’s the chocolate and nut collection—Dad’s favorite milk chocolate and hazelnut, and Ev and Brooks’s favorite white chocolate and macadamia.
There are a few dark chocolate and walnut ones buried in there, too.
I spot Ruth digging through the box for a second one and make a mental note—Ruth likes dark chocolate and walnut.
Brooks snatches a white chocolate cookie and shoves it in his mouth greedily, groaning in delight.
“Good job, Emmy Bug,” Harriet says loudly. “What a big, grown up girl, eating your cookie so nicely while Uncle Brooks and Uncle Jody make a big mess.”
Jody opens his mouth to protest, but I beat him to it.
“You got a little somethin’ right here…” I point to my own face in the spot where Jody has a streak of chocolate from his second cookie.
At the same time as Jody drops his arm from my shoulders to wipe at his face, Brooks reaches around me again, this time brushing his firm chest against the back of my shoulder, and I stiffen at the contact.
Has he always smelled this good? Surely he can’t have been working cattle all day in the August heat and still smell like that.
It’s not fair.
“These cookies are great, Ash,” Brooks mumbles, mouth full of crumbs. “You can come home more often if this is how you treat us.”
“I’ll bear that in mind,” I say distractedly.
Distracted by how rich his voice is. How close he is to me, bantering above my head with Jody and Everett.
Winking at Ruth, who is clearly well and truly part of the family already.
Breaking cookies apart and sharing them with my brother.
Pulling faces with Emmy, who is clearly absolutely besotted with all three of her uncles, blood and surrogate.
Mom wipes crumbs from her hands on a tea towel and then crosses the kitchen to me, pulling me into a sideways hug as she surveys her family.
“I’m so happy you’re home, Ash,” she says quietly. “It’s good to have all of my babies together again.”