Chapter 10 #2
“I swear I’d never survive without a slow cooker.” She leans back on my counter and sips from a glass of white wine. “Tough call if I had to give up the Crock-Pot, my car, or good chardonnay.”
“I hear you.” I could probably do without the Crock-Pot. I’d never actually used one before today. “There’s plenty more wine in the cellar. Should I open a couple more bottles?”
“That’s okay.” Lucy sighs with a wistful glance at her glass. “After this weekend, we’re temporarily cutting alcohol and anything that’s not organic. I’d better get in the habit.”
“Oh?” The dangling cord of my Crock-Pot catches my eye, and I pray my cousin doesn’t see it. “Doctor’s orders?”
“The fertility specialist suggested it. That, and tracking my cycle while having sex at least every other day.”
My memory floods with the image of Luke in my bed. Heat fills my cheeks as I swallow. “Hopefully that’s not a hardship.”
Lucy laughs. “Peter just stared at the doctor and said, ‘You mean we have to cut back?’ I married a comedian, I swear.”
“Lucky girl.” I try not to think about Luke’s easy laughter. I think about family instead. How grateful I am to be part of this, even though I botched dinner. “Great news for Parker and Calliope, huh?”
“No kidding.” She laughs. “He’s been planning to propose for ages. I’m glad he finally did it.”
“And a new baby on top of all that.” The youngest Spencer-King sibling surprised us tonight over appetizers with a double-whammy of announcements. “I didn’t even know they planned to adopt right away.”
“I don’t think they did,” Lucy muses. “Calista’s teenage cousin turning up pregnant wasn’t on anyone’s bingo card, but the timing seems perfect. They’ll have a baby and a wedding all in one year.”
“Lucky them.” My fingertips toy with the cord of my Crock-Pot. Could I still plug it in?
The shimmer of sadness in Lucy’s blue eyes pulls my focus back to my cousin. “Hey,” I say softly. “Are you okay?”
“Definitely.” She sounds like she means it. “Surprised, but happy.”
“You’re sure?” Touching her arm, I gentle my voice. “It can’t be easy having your little brother get a baby so quickly when it’s not coming easily for you.”
“That’s the thing,” she says, dabbing her eyes. “I really do feel overjoyed. A tiny bit wistful, but mostly thrilled. Babies just make everything brighter, you know?”
“Yes.” My palm starts to lift to my middle. As Lucy’s gaze drops, so does my hand. “Hard to stay sad around babies.”
“So true,” she agrees with a warm, open smile. “And how cool is it knowing we’ll have a new baby in the family? It gives me hope that when Peter and I finally conceive, our kid will have cousins to play with.”
“That does sound amazing.” I think of my own childhood filled with Spencer-King cousins. Those are some of my happiest memories.
“I hope they’re all close, like we were.” Lucy’s smile broadens. “I’m hoping everyone starts pumping out babies. Cassidy and Brooke, and Erika, and Zoe—”
“Here’s hoping.”
Parker said something like that, though his was more of an order. “Make us some goddamn cousins, assholes” were his exact words.
His fiancée chimed in with a smile. “We’d love for our child to have family close in age.”
Forcing a stiff smile for Lucy, I pray she can’t see my sweat-slicked palms. “Shouldn’t be too much longer on dinner. How’s everyone liking the appetizers?”
“They’re delicious! Oh, good—you’ve got more.” She scoops up the plate of beautiful mini tarts. “Mind if I take these back out to the masses?”
“Please do.”
“You’ll have to give me the recipe for these. The bacon and ricotta ones are phenomenal.”
“Sure, of course.” I can’t lie to my cousin. “Actually, I ordered them from Weirdoughs. I’m not much of a baker.”
“Please.” Laughing, she picks up a mushroom and goat cheese tartlet. “You think Jake makes everything on the table when we have it at his place? And God knows I fucked up the cheesecake. The one I brought? That’s from Weirdoughs, too.”
“Oh.” That makes me feel marginally better. “I won’t tell.”
“It’s fine. I’m not embarrassed. This is why we do everything potluck. Everyone chips in whatever they can. That way if something doesn’t turn out right, we’ve got each other to fill in the gaps.”
“Of course.” I hold my stiff smile until Lucy retreats to the dining room. Then I turn back to face my disaster.
Apparently, Crock-Pots work best when plugged in.
In my haste to prepare slow cooker beef bourguignon, I somehow missed the most crucial step. The recipe sounded so simple. My mother used to make something similar, though hers was no doubt done the regular way. Is there any hope of saving this meal?
A quick peek inside confirms it’s a lost cause. My hunk of raw beef sulks in a bath of cold red wine and carrots. There’s no way that’s getting cooked in under an hour.
Squash gives a plaintive meow from her luxury cat tower.
“I know,” I mutter. “You’d probably eat it like this, but I can’t serve it to guests.”
She blurts her agreement and starts cleaning her ears with her paw.
“Now what?” I ask.
Squash curls herself into a soft tabby donut and drifts off to sleep.
“Thanks for the help.” I contemplate calling in a takeout order from Cal’s pub or even Mason’s brewery, but both guys are out in my dining room. The last thing they want is a meal from the place they work every day.
“Dammit,” I mutter, poking the hunk of raw beef. “I wanted this to be special.”
“What’s that?”
I whirl and see Noah, who’s still here in Oregon for some reason. This is the longest anyone’s seen my black sheep cousin in years.
“Nothing,” I say quickly. “Just working on dinner.”
“Smells good,” he says kindly, though there’s no trace of scent in the air. “Just looking for more of that sparkling cider. Guess who just made a big pregnancy announcement?”
“It’s so great for Callie and Parker, isn’t it?”
“No, I meant Jake and Cass.” Noah unearths two bottles of non-boozy cider from my fridge. “After you got up, Parker kept pestering everyone to produce cousins. Jake finally snapped and said—and I quote—‘Fuck off, you little prick. We’re having a baby in May.’”
I laugh. “That is the most Jake pregnancy announcement I’ve ever heard.”
“Right?” Noah chuckles as he uncorks the cider. “Cassidy tried to be mad, but you can tell she’s thrilled.”
“Good for them.” Now I really feel weird about dropping my bomb over dinner tonight. “Does it make you want to stick around and put down roots? Settle down, start a family, that sort of thing?”
Noah regards me like I’ve asked if he’d like to snort hot sauce off my granite counter. “I’m good, thanks.”
“Well, maybe you’ll change your mind someday.”
“Unlikely.” He studies me oddly. “You okay?”
“I’m great, thanks.”
He looks like he’s not sure he buys that. “Heard you’re looking to set up a child-based charity in Eastern Europe.”
“Romania.” I’m glad to be back on safe conversational ground. “It started as one of Spencer Holdings’ charitable endeavors, but it’s grown into a much bigger project. We have two-dozen donors and visions of founding a child-focused foster care center.”
“That’s great,” Noah muses. “An alternative to the sort of state-run orphanages that used to be common there?”
I almost forgot he’s worked in Eastern Europe. “That’s the idea. As countries have moved away from large-scale institutionalization, there’s a growing need for group homes, family foster care, that sort of thing. That’s where our center would fit in.”
“Sounds like a lot of work.”
“Yes, but rewarding. The project is still in its infancy, and we’re looking for in-country contacts. Project managers, people with experience.”
Noah looks thoughtful. “I’ve got ties to the area. I’ll rattle some cages, see if I can find you any useful contacts.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
He wanders back out to the dining room, and I can’t help wondering if it’s strange for him to be back in the family fold.
Noah’s always been a bit of a loner. He got into some trouble in high school and racked up a criminal record.
I don’t know the details, except that it’s one thing we never discuss as a family.
I’m guessing it’s part of why he’s stayed gone all this time.
Turning back to my Crock-Pot, I sigh. I should call out for pizza. Or maybe confess to my cousins that I screwed up our dinner and offer to treat us to a nice meal at Trillium. They have that big table in back that could hold all of us.
But when I pick up the phone, that’s not who I call.
“Luke?” I keep my voice low, peeking out at my cousins collected in my dining room. “I could really use your help.”