31. Kirin #2
Evan was already sorting through the game pieces. “So, Rose, what do you wanna be? Palm trees? The truck? Maybe the tiny banana box?”
He waggled his eyebrows. Kirin reached around Rose and smacked him on the back of the head. “Knock it off.”
“No dirty comments about guests,” Mom said, pointing at her youngest before selecting her usual ship.
“It wasn’t dirty,” Evan grumbled as he passed Rose the stack of money. “It was more about Kirin, but whatever.”
“Was not,” Laurel called from the kitchen as she came back with her full plate. She dropped into her seat and tucked her legs under her, flashing Rose a grin. “Ignore him. He’s thirteen on a good day.”
“I’ve got one of those at home,” Rose said lightly. “No harm done.”
Evan snickered—until Rose added with a sly smile, “She’d eat you alive. And she’s only fourteen.”
The table burst into laughter.
“Rose’s right,” Mom said, shaking her head. “You’d never survive.”
“I’m not afraid of girls,” Evan muttered, cheeks turning red as he lined up his bills. “I’m just not as smooth as him.”
He jerked his chin at Kirin.
Rose’s eyes flicked toward him, teasing.
Kirin winked. “Don’t need to be smooth anymore.”
He brushed a kiss onto her temple.
“He was more eager beaver than smooth talker,” Rose said, smirking.
Laurel’s laugh was loud and sudden. He glared at his sister and then pinched Rose’s side gently. She laughed as she started organizing the bank like she’d been doing it for years.
“Harsh, Flower,” Kirin murmured. “Let’s play before my pride takes another hit.”
An hour later, Laurel looked ready to stab Evan with one of her chef’s knives.
She called a break under the pretense of needing to finish the birthday cake and hauled Kirin and Evan into the kitchen as her reluctant sous-chefs.
Mom stayed at the table sipping coffee with Rose, who cupped a mug of green tea in both hands.
Every few minutes they hid their smiles behind the steam as Laurel bossed everyone around—barking orders at Kirin while Evan mocked him from the sink as he scrubbed carrots for his cake.
“Are they always like this?” Rose asked, tucking her feet under her.
“No,” Mom said with a grin. “Laurel’s been practicing all week, even adjusted her schedule to try and get this right. She’s nervous and showing off for you.”
Laurel flipped her off without looking up. Mom laughed, even as Laurel defended herself. “Giving someone a bad impression is my nightmare. This has nothing to do with Rose and everything to do with my pride.” She shot Kirin a look. “You, on the other hand, clearly have none.”
“The mixer’s doing the work. I was told to supervise.” He gestured toward the machine. “Which I’m doing.”
“And you’re still doing it wrong.”
“What else am I supposed to do? Whisper sweet nothings to it?”
“Stop making eyes at your girlfriend, and maybe the frosting wouldn’t over-mix.”
Kirin lifted his hands in surrender. Laurel huffed and turned back to the bowl. When he caught Rose’s bright eyes, she hid her smile behind her mug and winked.
Mom leaned toward Rose, voice soft enough that Kirin only caught the rhythm of her tone. Whatever she said made Rose’s smile falter.
He drifted closer, half listening as Rose whispered, “I just don’t want you to think I dragged Kirin into anything. Or messed something up—”
Mom’s voice interrupted, gentle but firm. “Nobody thinks that, sweetheart. And no one drags Kirin anywhere.”
Rose hesitated. “But—”
“But nothing,” Mom said, her voice steady and kind.
“You were in a terrible situation, and it worked out. Maybe Kirin didn’t know what he was getting into at the start, but he knew you were worth the risk.
Take it from the woman who tried to drag him all over the place as a child with limited success—he’s been strong-willed from the second he was born.
Besides, whatever happened with your ex wasn’t on you. ”
Rose’s fingers tightened around her cup. “Yeah.”
Mom caught Kirin’s eye across the room and offered a small, knowing smile. “He’s an adult who made his own choices. So tonight, your only job is to eat and laugh at Evan’s sad carrot-cutting skills.”
“Hey!” Evan barked, brandishing his cutting board. “These are perfect.”
“Debatable,” Kirin said, peering over. “The ones on the left look a little scraggly.”
“They do not!” Evan cradled the carrots like newborns. “They’re art.”
Laurel snorted. “Bring them here, Picasso.”
A few minutes later, the cake took center stage on the table, their Monopoly game forgotten. Their off-key version of “Happy Birthday” was, as usual, painfully loud and gloriously off-beat.
When Laurel set down the plates, Kirin slung an arm around her shoulders. “You deserve a medal. This smells incredible.”
“I might’ve gone heavy on the carrots,” she fretted, chewing her thumbnail. “And the frosting’s too sweet.”
“It’s perfect,” he said. “Now sit down and let’s finish destroying Evan before you overanalyze a flawless cake.”
They dug in. Between the appreciative groans over frosting and the renewed arguments about who owed whom money, Rose was laughing so hard she had tears in her eyes.
And for Kirin, watching her there—hair loose, face soft with genuine joy—it hit him she wasn’t just fitting in. She belonged.