Page 69 of Broken

Chapter

Thirty-Six

NATHAN

Mel’s sweet-sounding laugh fills the car. “I’m telling you it’s right.”

Shaking my head, I stare down at the newspaper on my lap. “I’m almost certain the answer to thirteen down isn’t cockblocker, corazón.”

She trails her fingers over the two letters already filled in. “But it fits, see?” She laughs louder, and tears stream down her cheeks.

I can’t help but smile at her infectious joy. “If I’d known you were going to be this much trouble, I never would have asked for your help.”

Her laughter subsides, and she wipes the tears from her eyes. “Well, when you said you had the perfect way to spend forty minutes, I had no idea you meant completing the Sunday crossword.”

“I’ll have you know that theNew York TimesCrossword was an institution in our house.”

She places a hand over her heart. “Then I’m honored to be a part of it.”

Is she sassing me? I toss the paper onto the seat beside me and pull her into my arms. “So you agree that a crossword is the finest way to spend forty minutes on a Sunday afternoon?”

She presses her lips together and looks up, like she’s taking time to consider her answer. “No,” she eventually says.

“No?” I gasp, feigning indignation.

“I can think of way more fun things to do with you,” she says with a sultry purr.

“Is that so?” I tickle her sides, and she curls herself into a ball on my lap, giggling uncontrollably and trying to barricade her torso with her arms.

Before long, I’m laughing along with her and wondering how the fuck I ever lived without this woman in my life.

By the timeMel and I get to my father’s house, Mason and Elijah are already in the kitchen, bickering about how to make the best gravy.

They stop when we walk in, and both my brothers greet us with a hug. When the salutations are finished, Mason taps his mouth with a wooden spoon. “You know, I’m sure Mel can settle our Thanksgiving debate.”

“No. Absolutely not.” I shake my head. “You don’t get to make my wife a juror in your annual mashed potato proceedings.”

“What?” Mason feigns innocence with a dramatic shrug. “She’s the perfect person to decide. She’s never eaten with us before, so she has no idea whose mashed potatoes are whose.She has no skin in the game.” He chuckles at his own pun, and I roll my eyes.

“Thanksgiving is only four weeks away and she’ll be eating with us this year, so she should have a say in how the mashed potatoes are made,” Elijah adds.

Mel looks between the three of us, soaking up every word with a confused smile on her face.

“It’s ridiculous,” I argue. “We’re having mashed potatoes the way I always make them.”

“Dad doesn’t care one way or the other, and just because you and Drake like them that way doesn’t mean we should all be subjected to your subpar potatoes. It’s time for a revolution!” With a triumphant grin on his face, Mason hoists his spoon into the air. “And Melanie James shall be the one to lead us, heralding a new era of mashed potato splendor in the James household.”

Mel snorts a laugh but quickly composes herself. Gripping Mason’s elbow, she tips her chin up and smiles. “I’m in.”

“Hell yeah!” Mason shouts.

I lift one eyebrow and stare down my little brother. “What if she chooses my mashed potatoes?”

He scoffs. “Never gonna happen.”

I cross my arms over my chest and glare first at my brothers, then at my wife. “Fine. Bring it.”

Elijah narrows his eyes and frowns at me. “No cheating. No giving her any signals or anything like that.”

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