Page 102 of Came the Closest

“I see.” I cup my hand around the speaker and tell Milo not to grab the bananas. Indi takes him by the hand to look at the dips, and I return my attention to the call. “Anyway, the reason I’m calling is—”

“Because I have an incredibly sexy phone voice and you were positively dying to hear it?”

I set a carton of plump blueberries in the cart and roll my eyes. “Not quite.”

“Okay, well, thanks. That was rude.” He pauses. I imagine he’s leaning back in his desk chair, dress shirt cuffed at the elbows, smile dimpling his cheeks. “But for the record, you have a sexy phone voice.”

“Colton,” I say, laughing. “We’re getting off topic.”

“Ah, right. You want to know how you can gain access to the coveted lightspeed text thread, don’t you?” Teasing laces his words, and he lowers his voice. “It’s fairly easy; simple, even. I make you my wife, and poof! Instant access.”

I barely resist using my grocery list to fan my flushed cheeks. “That’s all it takes, huh?”

“That’s all it takes,” he confirms.

“I’ll have to consider that,” I say with outward nonchalance. Inwardly, my stomach barrel rolls at the thought of becoming Colton’s wife. “Right now, though, I need to know if you’re willing to grill double the amount of ribs for tonight.”

“Let me guess—make my special sauce for them, too?”

“Since you mentioned it…” Just the thought of his piquant BBQ sauce has me drooling.

His laugh rumbles against my ear. “Of course, I’m willing. I’ll text you what I need. Feel free to get anything else you want.”

“Mr. Del Ray, you shouldn’t talk so dirty,” I tease. “Giving a woman free rein in a grocery store can be very dangerous.”

“Good thing I’ve always been up for a little danger, then,” he says in a low voice. “Oh, and, Cheyenne?”

“Yes?”

“I fully intend to get you on the coveted lightspeed family text thread.”

With that, he hangs up. Two texts come through seconds later.

I love you almost as much as I love your sexy phone voice, and a selfie of him holding a landline phone to his ear.

Giddiness swoops in my abdomen. I grab a stray banana from the free child’s fruit basket and hold it up. I take a selfie and send it with I’m bananas for you.

Awe shucks, he types back with a GIF of freshly shucked oysters. You’re making me blush.

I laugh outright.

Is it cheesy? Absolutely.

But is it perfect? Unquestionably so.

If you asked me to describe my ideal summer night, this would be it.

The men are gathered around two grills, Solo cups of blueberry lemonade in hand, shooting the breeze while smoke tinges the air tantalizingly. The grandmothers adjust table settings and fawn over the floral arrangements I transferred to vases. Sam sits on the dock with my Uncle Ty to monitor the kids while they swim. Mom and the other women buzz around the kitchen, putting salads in bowls and washing pre-dinner dishes.

Dad clears his throat after everyone settles in their chairs. The long table is decked out in blue floral ceramic plates, white cloth napkins, Hazel’s flowers, and enough food to go around thrice. Beau scoots back and helps our dad to his feet; one steady hand supports his arm and the other hovers near Dad’s back.

“I’ll keep this short because I know I’m not the only one looking forward to this meal,” Dad says, eliciting soft laughter. “But I need to express my gratitude to everyone at this table. I’m still coming to terms with how much I’ve missed, and I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to fully accept it. But tonight, we’re together. I want to celebrate the night for what it is—a new beginning.” Slowly, he leans down to clasp his glass. He waves Beau off when he tries to assist him. “To life’s greatest blessings—family, food, and fresh lake air.”

Hear, hear, is murmured around the table. Dad lowers back into his seat, Grandpa blesses the food, and everyone digs in. More than a half dozen conversations float around the table; Labor Day plans what the best barbeque joint within a fifty-mile radius is, who will win the World Series.

The adrenaline of the day is fading after everything is cleaned up. I lean back on the cushioned outdoor swing near the house and yawn, stretching my arms overhead. Colton and Graham are tossing a blowup beach ball with Milo and Jolene in the backyard, and everyone else is scattered. Some are playing cards at the kitchen table, others are sitting on the dock, and a few are getting everything ready for s’mores.

“This seat doesn’t happen to be taken, does it?”

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