Page 20 of Never Yours

“Everything’s done, just need to wash the blueberries.”

“Blueberries?” she squeals in excitement. “Are they from the St. Clair’s?”

“Of course! Ashlyn now sells them at the Saturday farmers market when she’s off-duty. Since she had to work yesterday, she offered to drop them off last night.”

He gestures with a nod toward the sink, and Ingrid spots them immediately, practically skipping to them. While she rinses them off, she plops a couple in her mouth and lets out the sweetest moan that has my cock standing at attention. I quickly adjust, but Pop catches me.

“What did I tell you?” he grumbles.

“It’s fine,” I assure him, but his glare doesn’t let up.

“No, it’s not. You’d marry her today if you could, then drag her all the way to the other side of the country with you, just for them to throw you on a sub for who the fuck knows how long.”

“She wouldn’t come.” My voice is a little too loud, and Ingrid looks over her shoulder, the blood draining from her face. “To San Diego,” I add, stifling a laugh, and she continues washing the berries and laying them out to dry. Thankfully, Pop didn’t catch it.

Ingrid grabs her mimosa and asks, “What’s this about San Diego?”

“It’s where they’re thinking of sending Caleb in three weeks,” Pop answers before I can; the emphasis isn’t lost on me. “That’s if they don’t put him on a ship or a sub.”

“The party has arriv—” Cass sets a bottle of champagne down on the counter. “Who died?”

“No one, sweetheart.” Pop wraps Cass in a tight hug. “I’m giving your brother shit for leaving.”

“Again? Typical Sunday, I see,” she laughs, steps out of his hold, then kisses Ingrid on the cheek, and whispers something to her that has Ingrid’s eyes wide and cheeks crimson.

“Now what?” I groan.

“I was right,” Cass sings and lifts onto her toes, reaching to ruffle my hair like I’m a fucking child. “How was the serenade?”

“There was no serenading,” Ingrid rushes out, but Cass isn’t phased.

“Ooo, Ashlyn must’ve popped by.” Cassidy tosses a few blueberries into her mouth, and when none of us reply, her hands go to her hips. “What’s going on? My best friend is here for the first time in years, and you all look sad as fuck.”

“She’s right.” Pop pulls out the bacon, sausage, and waffles he was keeping warm in the oven, then takes a seat at the kitchen table. Cassidy joins him and pulls out her phone, typing something. “Dig in before it gets cold.”

Ingrid rushes to the cabinet and removes four plates, setting them on the counter next to the food. Just like when we were younger, I watch as she plates two waffles, four strips of bacon, and three sausage links, then fills each crevice of the waffle with a blueberry. “Where do you keep the syrup?”

I rummage through the pantry to find the small jug of maple syrup for her. Stepping behind her, I set the syrup on the counter, sliding my free hand around her waist and pulling her flush with me.

With my fingers splayed on her stomach, I press a single kiss to her neck, and she hisses, “Your dad’s right there.”

“When we get home, you’re giving me more than three minutes,” I whisper, nipping at her earlobe.

Shimmying out of my hold, she adds a drizzle of syrup to the waffles, walks over to the table, and sets the plate in front of Pop.

“Suck up,” Cass teases Ingrid as she gets up to fill her plate. “So, what’s the plan for today?”

I load up a plate identical to Pop’s for Ingrid, and reply, “I was going to take Ingrid out on the lake later.” Ingrid takes the last plate, assuming the one in my hand isn’t for her. I snatch it from her, place it under the one I’m filling, and insist, “Go sit down.”

“I can get my own, you know.” Rolling her eyes, she lifts her hand expectantly, but I continue preparing her plate, and top off her glass with orange juice. “Really, Cay?”

I guide her by the small of her back to the table and set the plates down to pull out her chair. She reluctantly takes a seat, grumbling something under her breath, but she gives in and sighs, “Thank you.”

Pop and Ingrid dig in as Cass and I grab our food. As I hand the tongs for the bacon to Cass, she whispers, “Did she tell you?”

Ingrid claimed Cass didn’t know about her miscarriage, so I coolly ask, “Tell me what?”

“You think I didn’t see that sneaky little moment? You need to step up your game if you want to win over my best friend before you leave.”

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