Page 102 of The Thought of You

“Where to begin,” he mumbles with a smirk.

“Jenga?” Lottie claps.

Laurel checks her watch. “I have time for one round, and no cheating!” She directs the last part to Whitney. “Just because you have a baby doesn’t mean you get five free passes.”

“Tell that to Dad,” Lottie says. “He’s the one who lets her get away with it.”

“She’s the youngest. What can I say?” Bill shrugs as he stands from the table and shuffles into the living room.

“Addie, you in?” Lottie asks. “We can add your name to our ongoing scorebook.”

“Sure,” I answer without hesitation, and I feel Owen’s eyes on me. “How exactly long is ongoing?”

“For the last fifteen years,” Whitney chimes in. “I was almost seven when Mom and Dad decided they needed more ways to occupy all of us since eating and running around the yard weren’t enough.”

“The rain put a real damper on their tempers,” Dorothy explains. “We needed an inside game, and Owen suggested Jenga.”

“It was the only thing on our shelves at the time,” Bill adds with a good-natured grin.

“Aside from peppermint snowball cookies at Christmas, Jenga is our longest-standing tradition.” Laurel maneuvers around the table in the direction where their father disappeared.

“I love traditions,” I whisper as a pang of sadness mixed with jealousy spears my chest.

This family might make their playful jabs at one another, but they’re wholesome and loving. They’re kind and inclusive and welcoming.

The Conrads have traditions in their homes, and they value them as much as I do.

As a kid, my parents established plenty of them—camping in the yard with s’mores on the first night of fall, movie nights with bowls of Skittles every Sunday, and more. These nights brought us closer together as a family. With every laugh, moments of juice spewing from our noses, and comparisons of rainbow-colored tongues, we were tied together.

But once my parents divorced, almost all of the traditions stopped. The one that remained was chili dinner with my mom.

From then on, I relied so heavily on the traditions of the school, especially those of homecoming. It’s why I’m so adamant—and desperate—about upholding the importance of such annual activities.

“We’re ready!” Laurel calls out, and the rest of us filter away from the dining room.

Owen and I are the last ones out. With his family far enough ahead of us, Owen squeezes my ass, and I yelp.

“Are you okay?” Whitney’s head whips around, Huck cradled in her arms.

“Thought I saw a… spider. Just a fly.” I force a smile, and when I turn around to scold Owen, his red face tells me all I need to know.

He’s not sorry one bit. In fact, he’s rather proud of himself as he watches me with a twinkle in his eye. It’s the kind of look people have when gazing at the stars or drinking in a sunset over the ocean.

It’s a look of awe.

And I’m deliriously happy to be on the receiving end of such a look from Owen.

chapter

thirty-two

OWEN

“Next time, bring your losing hat because you’re going down.” Laurel wags her finger at Addie, then shrugs her jacket over her shoulders.

“We’ll see,” Addie taunts back.

“You are trouble.” Laurel shakes her head, then flicks her gaze toward me.

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