Chapter Twelve
Elise
Lake Tahoe, California
“You came!” the young boy announced as soon as Brady and I were out of the car. “I knew you would. Mom and Dad told me not to be upset if you couldn’t make it, but I knew you would.”
Brady smiled down at the boy. “How could I not come? I heard there would be cake.”
“Right? And it’s double chocolate. The cake is chocolate and so is the filling. I helped make it, so I know it’s good.” The boy looked at me, then at Brady again.
Brady said, “Sam, this is my friend Elise.”
Sam wiggled his eyebrows. “Your girlfriend?”
Brady only laughed.
I held out my hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sam. Happy birthday.”
Sam stared at my extended hand for a long moment, then grinned and shook it. “Welcome to my party, Elise. Did you pick out my present or did Brady?”
“Brady did.”
Sam hopped in excitement. “Then I know it’s good.” He stopped, made a face, and added, “Sorry, you probably pick out good presents too, but Brady knows me.”
Brady knows me.
It was such a simple statement, but it echoed in me.
Brady didn’t just meet people, he sat with them, listened to them, took the time to know them.
I’d been raised to hold back until I could assess if someone was trustworthy.
Brady immediately opened up to everyone like the world wasn’t 99.
99 percent dangerous assholes, and somehow the majority of them were nice to him.
How effective was his mode of operation? He’d shown up at the wrong Steele home and was now being invited to birthday parties there.
I took a minute to survey the area beyond the gate.
Sound hit first in layered, overlapping voices and bright laughter. It was a competing noise, a chaotic signal-to-noise ratio with no clear priority hierarchy. More than a little overwhelming.
Then the visuals followed. A glittery “Happy Birthday Sam” banner sagged between two trees, one corner drooping where the tape had failed.
Lawn chairs in mismatched colors sat at uneven angles, abandoned mid-conversation.
A folding table overflowed with food. Nothing was plated for presentation.
It was all just set out in a high-volume, low-maintenance array.
People moved without a detectable pattern. No one lowered their voice to make space for another. Conversations ran in parallel. There was a complete lack of social architecture.
And it was oddly beautiful.
Brady stepped up to the gate without hesitation. I stayed where I was, running a quick risk assessment on the entry points. I couldn’t find the perimeter. People spilled out in every direction.
“You okay?” he asked, glancing back. He held the gate open.
I stepped through. “Yeah. Just getting my bearings.”
Brady bent as I walked by him and whispered, “I’m so glad we got the flipping water blaster. He’s going to love it.”
His breath brushed the shell of my ear, warm and close. A small shiver ran down my neck before I could catalog it.
I glanced up at him. Was that really what he was thinking about as we entered this chaotic event? There was nothing in his expression that hinted toward a hidden agenda.
“Me too,” I said, even though I had no idea yet how it might be received by the parents. The likelihood that I’d ever encounter these people again was low; therefore, so was the risk level.
“I’ll tell Mom you’re here,” Sam announced before disappearing into the crowd.
A beautiful woman with chaotic dark hair tied up in a loose bun was addressed by Sam and came rushing toward us.
“You came!” she exclaimed.
“Hello, Sarah,” Brady said warmly, exchanging a hug with her.
“You must be Elise,” she said to me, before closing the distance and pulling me into a hug. Full contact. No hesitation.
My nervous system stalled. Is this normal? Do I let her just hold me as long as she wants to? When do we let go? She was a wall of warm, human energy and smelled of a flowery perfume and fresh laundry.
I gave her an awkward pat. She pulled back. “I’m Sarah.” She looked me over, taking in my off-white silk shirt and linen slacks. “Did Brady tell you this is a barbecue?”
Brady’s hand settled on my lower back, steady and warm through the thin fabric. The simple pressure grounded me more than I wanted to admit.
“I might have left that detail out.”
“Bathing suits?” Sarah asked. “We have jet skis and beach access.” When Brady didn’t immediately answer, she added, “Don’t worry.
We have extra, never-before-worn suits in almost every size.
We’re so used to people forgetting to bring swim gear that we hand it out like party favors.
Just please remember to take your underwear with you at the end of the party.
Every season ends with me having a laundry basket full of left-behinds.
I swear one day I’ll get a big corkboard and pin up a wall of shame.
My gift to you is a bathing suit. Your gift to me should be to leave with all the clothing you came with. ”
“Sounds like a good deal,” Brady said with a chuckle.
I nodded, not fully understanding if this was a serious conversation or a joke.
“Come on,” Sarah said with a wave. “I’ll introduce you around.”
With Brady at my side, I met exactly forty-two point five people. I designated a half value to the pregnant woman who’d already named the baby she was pregnant with. The span of their ages was prenatal to ninety-five. I suspected that some diapers were near each end of that spectrum.
“Don’t worry about remembering all the names,” Sarah said. “I still get some of the cousins on Tom’s side confused. Like Eli and Ellie.”
“Ellie is the one who went to Dartmouth. Eli is allergic to bees,” I said automatically.
Sarah smiled. “You’re right! Next time I should have you introduce me around.” She excused herself to go speak to someone, promising to return soon.
Brady glanced down at me, both impressed and curious.
I shrugged. “I’m good with details.”
He looked like he wanted to ask me something, then seemed to decide against it. His fingers brushed lightly along my spine before settling again, a small, unconscious touch that sent another quiet spark through me.
Grandma Laura, Sarah’s father’s second wife and technically her stepmother, approached us holding something in her hand.
“Oh honey, that blouse is too pretty for the ribs we’re about to serve. I brought you this.”
Before I could assess her intention, she held up an apron that said Steele My Heart in tacky white lettering.
“Put this on,” she insisted, looping it over my head. “You’ll thank me later.”
I stood there, the Guardrail of the Steele compound, wearing a pun-based apron. I felt the scratchy cotton against my neck, a foreign texture that didn’t belong in my curated world.
Do I like this? Hate this?
Is this who I would have been had I not grown up the way I had?
Brady coughed, likely hiding a laugh. I shot him a look that should’ve been a system override, but he just winked.
And my anxiety melted away, replaced by something lighter.
My mind defaulted to racing with protocols and fail-safes, but no one there was thinking about the rising cost of computer chips.
The only disagreement I’d overheard so far was regarding whether there would be enough cheese if everyone chose to have a cheeseburger.
People weren’t asking me about my family or the compound. Instead, I fielded questions about whether I’d remembered to wear sunblock from a five-year-old. I was also interrogated about my stance on whether a hot dog could be eaten by a vegetarian since no one actually knew what was in it.
The nine-year-old girl planted her hands on her hips and waited for my response.
“Technically,” I replied, “a hot dog is a processed protein suspension extruded into a cylindrical casing and served in a split carbohydrate sleeve. So, not vegetarian.”
“What is processed protein?” she demanded.
“Oddly delicious?” Brady offered.
She pinned me with a stare. “Why won’t anyone tell me?”
“Because,” I started, “if you knew—”
“Oh look, Sierra, your mother’s near the salad. And she’s looking for you,” Brady interrupted.
The little girl stomped away, and I exchanged a look with Brady.
“She has a right to know,” I said.
He grimaced. “She knows.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Do you eat hot dogs?”
There was a twinkle in his eyes. “I’m a simple man. I’ll eat almost anything smothered in condiments. Especially if it was cooked on a grill.” After a pause. “You?”
“I’ve never.”
“Maybe you should.”
He leaned in, his breath tickling my ear. “I always suggest trying something before determining if it’s something I do or don’t enjoy. Sometimes I’m pleasantly surprised.”
His voice dropped on the last words, low and warm against my skin. Heat flared low in my belly. I looked away and back, no longer certain if we were still talking about culinary preferences.
“I tend to be more discerning than that.”
“So you’re not normally spontaneous?”
My mouth went dry from nerves, and I licked my bottom lip. “Never.”
His hand caressed my lower back as he said, “But you said yes to today. And coming here.”
“I was curious.”
He leaned closer, so close my body came alive for him. “I guess I’ll have to keep you curious, because I like it when you say yes.”
I would have answered if I could have, but my brain went absolutely blank. There was only him and a wild desire to turn, throw my arms around his neck, and kiss him with an abandon that definitely didn’t belong at a family birthday party.
This.
This is what my life was missing.
Heart racing.
Cheeks burning.
I want more of this.