Page 43 of Day Shift

I stepped into the kitchen, watching Atticus as he expertly seasoned some steaks that were lying on a cutting board. Inhaling deeply, I took in the scent of herbs and spices that mingled with the smoky aroma wafting in from the outdoor kitchen by the pool.

“Smells amazing, Atticus,” I said, admiring his culinary skills as he moved to start assembling chicken kabobs. He grinned and pointed a skewer at a charcuterie board laden with cheese and sliced meats. “Thanks. Just wait until you taste it. How about you help us get all this outside? You can take that to the table on the patio.”

Sam and I carried the various trays and other stuff outside, setting up for what promised to be a fantastic cookout. The late afternoon was warm, and the music playing from various speakers around the house created a fun atmosphere.

Beside a spacious teakwood dining table that perfectly complemented the luxurious patio and poolside ambiance, Conan wrestled with putting together an old-fashioned hand-crank ice-cream maker. “This’ll be worth the workout,” he promised as he set it to the side.

“Angel, wait till you try Conan’s homemade strawberry ice cream,” Samantha said. “He’s got a secret recipe.” She laughed, nudging me with her elbow as we laid out the chips and dips.

“Yeah, wait to be amazed,” he added with a wink, popping a grape into his mouth. Then he straightened up and looked around at us. “All right, who’s thirsty? There’s beer and wine.” He gestured to a large galvanized tub filled with beer, various bottles of wine, canned cocktails, and water.

“Do you have anything strawberry flavored?” I asked, my eyes lighting up at the thought.

“I bet we do,” he replied with a grin. He fished around and found a can in the bucket, grabbed a glass, filled it with ice, and poured the Straw-Ber-Rita before handing it to me. He served Samantha her favorite blush wine and snagged a bottle of water for Atticus. “Here you go,” Conan said. Atticus accepted the water with a nod. Then Conan grabbed a beer for himself.

“Thanks, Conan,” Samantha said, taking a sip of her wine. I took a grateful drink of my icy Straw-Ber-Rita. It was dessert in a can.

As we worked, the banter flowed as easily as the wine and beer. Conan kept pouring for everyone except Atticus, who I found out didn’t drink.

Samantha, with a mischievous glint in her eye, started teasing Atticus about the house’s history. “He bought this fortress so I wouldn’t have any ghosts of girlfriends past to worry about.”

Atticus, standing by the grill, shot her a smirk, tossing a towel over his shoulder. “And what promise did I make you, huh?”

Samantha blushed slightly, but before she could reply, Conan cut in, his voice booming across the patio. “He swore he’d fuck you on every surface of this new house, didn’t he?” He laughed heartily as Sam playfully slapped his arm.

“I can’t believe you told him that!” Samantha fired back an exaggerated glare at Atticus, her cheeks reddening further.

Conan leaned in close to Samantha. “Oh, no, I overheard him say it loud and clear the night he asked you to marry him. Trust me, neither of you excels at keeping your voice down.”

Leaning in my direction as if he were going to whisper something privately, but still speaking plenty loud, he said, “It’s not easy to spend the night in this house. I warn you, Angel, you’ll practically experience everything they do alongside them.”

Samantha rolled her eyes, her comeback swift. “Oh, like you’re one to talk. Don’t let him fool you. It’s not like Conan’s shy. He’s kissed nearly every girl he’s ever met! He doesn’t have a prudish bone in his body.” She giggled. “He’s even kissed me before.”

“And you loved it,” Conan retorted.

“Yeah, about as much as making out with a basset hound after it’s slurped up half its water bowl,” she quipped.

Before she could dodge him, Conan scooped her up in an exuberant hug, peppering her face with sloppy kisses. Samantha squealed and swatted at him while Atticus pretended to be outraged.

“Get the fuck off my wife,” he demanded, his chiseled jaw tightening as he moved toward Conan. Conan let Sam go and turned toward Atticus with his fists up. A smirk formed at the corner of Atticus’s lips as he threw a mock punch at Conan, who ducked.

“She’s not your wife yet.”

The two men started a high-spirited scuffle, throwing air punches and sparring around the patio. Laughing, Conan grabbed Atticus in a light choke hold.

“You know, I should have let the hospital fire your ass for not being able to control what the fuck you do with your mouth,” Atticus grumbled, though the crinkles at the corners of his eyes betrayed his jest.

The atmosphere shifted subtly, the laughter dying down as Conan released Atticus, his face turning serious. “You swore you wouldn’t mention that in front of her,” he muttered, glancing my way.

I awkwardly stood there, tilting my head in confusion. Samantha glanced over at me and stepped in. “Okay, time out. Conan, maybe now’s the time you should explain to Angel what happened after you kissed her.”

Everyone turned and stared at me, and Conan’s embarrassed expression made my stomach twist with dread. He cleared his throat, motioning for me to follow him toward the pool, where we could talk with a bit more privacy. As we walked to the far end, Sam and Atticus turned back to their tasks.

Chapter twenty-four

The evening sun glinted off the gently lapping water as Conan and I sat down at the edge of the pool, dipping our feet into the surprisingly warm water.

“So, you just vanished after that kiss,” I said, my words sharper than I’d intended. “What gives?”

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