17. Drew
DREW
The doorbell rings, and I immediately panic.
This is a mistake.
I just know something terrible is going to happen.
I can’t explain how I know that. I just do.
Ivy will probably say or do something crazy. Or Sebastian will run Violet off with his scowls and probing questions. Or Mr. Pickles will attack her, and she’ll run out of here, screaming.
I don’t know why I’m thinking any of that.
Breathe, Drew. It’s just dinner.
Except my chest feels tight. Like something’s off, and I can’t quite place it.
I count to five, then open the door.
Violet stands on the porch, looking completely at ease.
“Hey,” she says, her voice calm and soft.
For a moment, I can’t speak.
My eyes trail down the soft, purple sweater and pair of dark jeans she’s wearing. The color emphasizes her eyes, as does the subtle makeup she’s wearing. She’s dressed casually… but looks incredible.
Quit drooling and let her in.
“Hey,” I reply, stepping back and gesturing for her to come inside.
This is fine. No need to be nervous. Everything is completely—
A black blur darts across the floor to where she stands.
Oh no.
“Mr. Pickles—”
But it’s too late.
He skids to a stop by her ankle boots.
I watch, horrified, as he gazes up at her.
I point at him like that’s going to do anything. “Don’t. Move.”
“He’s not,” she says.
“He doesn’t like new people.”
“I’m not new,” Violet says calmly. “I’ve been here before.”
I go still.
Slowly, I turn my head toward her.
“…You’ve what?”
She sets her bag down as if she didn’t just casually drop something insane into the conversation, then waves her hand. “Not important.”
Not important.
My brain immediately disagrees.
Unfortunately, Mr. Pickles chooses that exact second to introduce himself to Violet by standing and moving closer, as if he’s deciding her fate.
I brace myself. “Oh, God,” I murmur. “This is where—”
He rubs against her leg, that rusty-sounding purr vibrating from him.
I freeze. “No.”
She bends down like she’s done this before and scratches under his chin.
Mr. Pickles leans into it, his purring loud and content. The bastard actually seems happy.
I stare at him, shaking my head. “No. This can’t be.”
“He likes me,” Violet says, her voice calm and certain. “We’re kindred spirits.”
I shake my head, still in shock. “He hates everyone.”
“He doesn’t hate me.” She straightens, a smile on her face. “Guess I won the bet.”
I blink at her. A slow, dazed smile forms. “Yeah, I guess you did.”
“Hi, Violet,” Sebastian says, coming up to her. “Come in. Make yourself comfortable.”
Ivy stands beside him, a soft smile on her face. She looks from Mr. Pickles to Violet. “I knew I was right about you. I had a good feeling as soon as I met you.”
She steps forward and wraps her arms around Violet, pulling her into a hug.
I open my mouth to say something, but Sebastian shakes his head and murmurs, “Let them bond.”
He’s right. Ivy doesn’t interact with anyone but us and her father. What’s the harm in her and Violet becoming friendly?
Violet winks at me over Ivy’s shoulder, hugging Ivy like they’re best friends.
“Have a seat,” Sebastian says when they pull apart. He gestures to the couch. “Dinner will be ready in about ten minutes.”
Ivy pats Violet’s shoulder. “I need to check on the food. I made steak, potatoes, and vegetables. But I wasn’t sure if you ate meat, so I also made lasagna.”
“Oh, you didn’t have to go to all that trouble.” Violet waves her hand. “I’ll eat pretty much anything. Except asparagus.”
“Wonderful. And don’t worry, I don’t like asparagus, either.” She pats Violet’s arm before turning and heading to the kitchen.
“Need help, baby?” Sebastian asks.
She looks at him over her shoulder and smiles. “I’m good. But thanks, baby.”
I press my hand to Violet’s back and gesture at the couch. She doesn’t flinch or recoil from my touch.
“Let’s have a seat,” I whisper in her ear. “Before they start making out.”
Violet laughs softly. The sound settles somewhere under my skin.
I really like that sound. A lot.
Violet sits, and I sit right beside her.
Mr. Pickles chooses that exact moment to climb onto her lap.
It took him months to sit on my lap.
Traitor.
She settles back on the couch beside me like this is all completely normal. Like she didn’t just win over the most judgmental creature on the planet in under thirty seconds.
Sebastian takes a seat across from us, watching the three of us like we’re the most entertaining thing he’s seen all week.
Ivy walks out of the kitchen, drying her hands on a towel, and stops. “Oh my God,” she breathes.
“Right?” I say immediately, pointing. “This isn’t normal.”
Mr. Pickles stretches across Violet’s lap, fully committed now. His eyes close like he’s found peace. With her.
Unbelievable.
The first time I tried to set him on my lap, he hissed, scratched me, and ran off. Then pissed on my comforter.
Violet looks up at me, completely composed. “I told you. I’ve already integrated into your life.”
My mouth goes dry. That doesn’t feel like a joke.
I press a hand to my chest. “I don’t feel safe.”
Sebastian snorts.
Ivy laughs, stepping closer. “Okay, hold on. What is happening? Mr. Pickles doesn’t even like me this much.”
“He barely tolerates me,” Sebastian adds.
“Exactly,” I say. “What is this betrayal?”
Violet’s fingers move absently through Mr. Pickles’ fur, like it’s second nature.
“He just has good instincts,” she says lightly.
“His instincts are terrible,” I shoot back. “He once knocked a glass off the counter just because I looked at him wrong.”
“That sounds justified.”
I stare at her. “You’re siding with him?”
“I’m siding with the one who’s consistent.”
Sebastian loses it. Ivy grins.
I don’t even know what to do with this.
I should be questioning it.
Instead, I’m watching her on my brother’s couch, the cat in her lap, smiling like she’s been here a hundred times before.
And for some reason… it doesn’t feel wrong.
It just feels… easy. Like it’s supposed to be this way.
Which might be the most concerning part of all.
I stand in the doorway to the kitchen for a second longer than necessary, taking in the spread across the table.
“You overdid it,” I say to Ivy.
She looks up from the stove. “That’s your fault. You couldn’t tell me whether Violet ate meat. So I had to have options.”
I glance over at Violet.
I tried texting her this morning, but everything I typed sounded stupid.
So I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, jumping an imaginary rope while chanting, You can do it. Be cool. You've got swag.
Ivy and Mr. Pickles walked in halfway through. It was the most embarrassing two minutes of my life.
Mr. Pickles's judgmental stare still haunts me. I swear he called me an idiot when he meowed.
“Smells delicious, baby.” Sebastian leans against the counter, arms crossed, watching her with that look he always gets—like he’s half-impressed, completely in love, and fully resigned to whatever chaos she brings into his life.
Then his gaze moves to me. He gives me that look like he’s about to go to war for his wife. “She’s been cooking for two hours.”
Noted. I’ll shut up now.
The last thing I need is for my brother to start kicking my ass, and Violet to intervene like she did with Smoke.
“I like to be prepared,” Ivy replies sweetly.
“You didn’t have to go to all this trouble,” Violet says from beside me. “But it looks and smells delicious.”
Ivy’s smile widens at Violet, but then she looks at me, and it falters. “Drew should have asked more questions. Preparation is key.”
“Can’t argue with that,” Violet mutters.
“In my defense, you two got home after I was already asleep.”
“That was last night,” Ivy says.
“Well, I was busy today,” I grumble.
Ivy’s lips twitch. “Busy doing what? Pretending to be Rocky Balboa?”
“What?” Sebastian’s brows fly up, amusement on his face. “Did you go for a run again?”
“No, I did not go for a run,” I huff.
“He was jumping rope. With an imaginary jump rope,” Ivy supplies cheerfully.
Violet looks down at her feet, biting her lip so hard it’s probably bleeding.
Meanwhile, Sebastian doubles down. “Jumping rope? Where? Why?”
Ivy pats his chest. “In his room.”
“What?” Sebastian stares at me like I’ve lost my mind.
“He was giving himself affirmations. Like a pep talk.”
I see Violet’s lips twitch as she fights for control.
“Okay.” I hold up my hand. “We aren’t doing this.”
Ivy and Sebastian exchange a look while I pretend not to die of humiliation.
Violet shifts beside me, and that’s when I see Mr. Pickles sitting at her feet. Like he chose a position and is guarding her.
I shake my head. “Unbelievable.”
“Okay, sit,” Ivy says, bustling toward the table. “It’s time to eat.”
I gesture for Violet to go ahead of me, then pull out a chair for her beside the spot I normally sit. Sebastian watches with a smirk. I almost flip him off.
“Thank you, Drew,” she says as she lowers herself. She moves with an effortless grace. Kind of like a cat.
Mr. Pickles positions himself beside her again, glaring at me like I’m in his way.
I shake my head, ignoring him. Or trying to.
As I push her chair in, I inhale her scent. She smells like jasmine.
It's suddenly all I can focus on.
Mr. Pickles stares up at me. I swear the bastard’s saying, Don’t screw this up with her, or I’ll claw your balls.
Considering that’s not the first time that’s happened, I shift slightly, trying to protect my sensitive anatomy.
I take Violet’s plate. “Would you like some steak? Or lasagna? Or both?”
She grins. “A little of both would be amazing.”
I load her plate with food, then hand it to her, ignoring the way Ivy and Sebastian’s eyes bore into me.
I serve myself, trying very hard to focus on the food instead of the probing eyes watching me.
“This is amazing,” Violet says, her voice soft.
Ivy lights up instantly. “Thank you! I’m glad you like it.” Then she narrows her eyes at me like it’s my fault I haven’t been stalking Violet.
I’ve never stalked anyone, so I don’t know what all’s involved. But I’m certain I’d screw it up and be busted in seconds.
My eyes narrow at my sister-in-law.
Unless I asked her for lessons. She’s an expert.