Page 83 of Tell Me Something True

Miles glanced down and realized he had his fork gripped in his fist like he was ready to stab someone in the heart. And that it had at least eight mangled beans on it.

He shoved them into his mouth and chewed violently.

He hated green beans.

Toby went back to his conversation with Ian, who sat at one end of the patio table. Though Ian was Silas’s son, he resembled Toby more than his blonde father with his wavy dark hair and glasses.

Urban, who took after their dad the most with his quiet, serious personality, brown hair and eyes, and reddish full beard, sat at the other end of the table. Urban’s best friend, business partner, and now-girlfriend, Willow Kincaid, a pretty blonde with pale, short hair and light blue eyes, sat next to him, discussing one of the upcoming renovations their construction company, J&K Homes, was working on.

Next to Willow, Verity was telling Kat her plans for her birthday party next month which were surprisingly lowkey and not the blowout he’d expected her to want. Just dinner at home with family.

Kat, a fucking smoke-show with long, dark hair and a body to make a man’s hands sweat, usually had no problems making excuses for not attending Sunday night dinner. Her favorite being that she wasn’t a Jennings, just the mother of one. But she’d given in tonight because Ian had wanted to stay and she hadn’t seen him all day due to being called into work.

There wasn’t much she wouldn’t do for her kid.

Including her least favorite thing; being around any of the Jennings brothers.

There were worse places either he or Kat could be on a warm summer night than this backyard.

Tiny, white lights twinkled from where they were draped across the crab apple trees, along the pergola and around the top of the fence—no doubt Willow’s doing. She’d helped Urban renovate their parents’ house years ago, including turning the basic backyard into a cozy outdoor living space. They’d replaced the wooden deck with a stamped concrete patio and added an outdoor kitchen separated from the rest of the patio by a tall, brick counter, but kept plenty of space for a long dining table and a larger seating area around a brick firepit.

Ed Sheeran’s “Bad Habits” played over the Bluetooth speakers mounted on the wall on either side of the large, flat screen TV in the outdoor kitchen. The TV was on but muted, The Drillers game against the Cubs playing.

“Uncle Eli’s up,” Ian said, pointing at the TV.

They all turned to watch Eli, up to bat for the second time after striking out looking in the first inning. This time, he held on for a full count, including three foul balls.

And went down swinging.

“He needs to lay off those high fast balls,” Urban grumbled as Eli jogged back to the dugout, the camera zooming in on their youngest brother’s pissed off expression. “He’s thinking too much. He needs to get out of his head.”“Aunt Vee says he has the yaps,” Ian piped up.

“I said he has the yips,” she corrected. “And that was supposed to be our secret.”

He scratched his cheek. “I forgot.”

“Uncle Eli doesn’t have the… word you said,” Urban said, tone gentle with Ian—unlike the sharp look he gave Verity for teaching their nephew that word in the first place. “So we should all stop saying it.”

Urban had played baseball for Penn State and was on his way to a professional baseball career when their parents’ deaths forced him to quit college—and any hopes he’d had of going pro—and return to Mount Laurel to take care of his brothers and sister.

Verity ate a bite of cornbread. “Athletes,” she said around her mouthful. “So superstitious.”

Urban bristled so hard, even his beard vibrated. “I’m not superstitious.”

Miles, Toby, Verity, and Willow exchanged glances then spoke at the same time.

“Yips.”

And Urban twitched like he’d been electrocuted.

Willow patted his forearm. “Want me to go get your lucky socks? Wearing them might help ward off any bad omens.”

Eyes glittering, one side of his mouth hitched up, Urban leaned over and said something in Willow’s ear that had her blushing from her chest to the top of her forehead.

But then she looked at him from under her eyelashes and murmured, “Yes, please.”

“Look,” Verity said, waving her fork between them, “while I’m thrilled you took my excellent advice and finally realized you’re meant for each other, I think I speak for everyone here when I say whatever you two plan on doing, I hope it does not involve his lucky socks in any way shape or form, because those things are disgusting.”

Willow grinned at her, though she still looked hot and flustered. “No socks involved. Promise.”

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