Page 19 of Lucky Strike

Turned out Ma was fine with it. “Make sure you’re on your best behavior,” she said about three times.

“You sure you guys will be okay without me?” I hoped she didn’t feel like I was abandoning them or something.

“Of course, Bri. I’m just glad you have friends up there. We’ll see you at Christmas, okay?”

“Tell Grammy I miss her.”

“She knows you do. But I’ll tell her.”

“Are we picking your brothers up?”I stood aside, watching the driver, Bo, put my bags besides Maeve’s in the trunk of his Mercedes. When she said a car was coming for us in the morning, I thought she meant an Uber, not a personal driver.

She shook her head. “They finished with exams early, so they drove back last night.”

Inside, the windows are tinted, the seats a soft, buttery leather. I turned the vent my way, enjoying the stream of warm air. “How long does it take to get to Winchester?”

“Forty-five minutes.” Maeve glanced at her watch. “Maybe an hour, depending on traffic.”

The Kellys lived in Boston, but we were going to the “cottage” where they spent most big holidays. “It’s my favorite place,” Maeve said once, showing me pictures on her phone of an idyllic, sprawling estate. “I’ll probably get married there.”

We spent the car ride gossiping and poring over social media. Maeve was currently on the outs with Callum, but that didn’t stop her from examining his most recent posts. “Have you ever been there?” she asked, staring at the picture. “Brighton Beach?”

I looked at the picture of Callum and his cousins, smoking blunts on a boardwalk. Very on brand for him. “Yeah, that’s pretty close to Coney Island. My dad grew up around there.”

“You don’t talk about him much.” Maeve looked up. “Do you ever get to see him?”

“Not really.” I gave her a quick smile, hoping she wouldn’t pry.

Thankfully, she didn’t. Tossing her phone aside, she reached for my hand, and the dull ache I got in my stomach whenever I thought about my father faded a little.

Thanks to holiday traffic it was nearly noon by the time we got to Winchester. It seemed quintessentially New England with its charming homes and cozy shops and then, as we drove on, quiet, curving autumnal roads. The Kellys’ white two-story sat back from the mainroad, tucked into a lightly wooded area. A brand-new Audi sat in the driveway, as well as a basketball hoop, surrounded by fallen leaves.

“What do your parents do, again?” I breathed, gaping like a peasant. The Sweet Sixteen had been one thing; this was entirely another.

“They do the most,” Maeve quipped unhelpfully, stretching as we climbed out of the car.

Once Bo had carried our bags to the door and left, Maeve fished her keys from her backpack and let us inside. The house had an open floor plan, and from the front door I could see into the living room, a tasteful yet lived-in room with vaulted ceilings, built-in bookshelves, and a piano. The windows were bare, showcasing the fall foliage outside. “I can see why this is your favorite place.”

“Wait’ll you see it in the summer. Mystic Lake’s right on the other side.” Maeve closed the door behind us, shutting out the cold air. “Hey, you don’t mind dogs, do you?”

I shook my head. “They’re fine?—"

“Is that my Mae-Mae?” Sloane appeared from another room, her light gray eyes sparkling as she strode toward us. Her dark hair and creamy, pale skin was like her daughter’s, but she was petite. Tugging Maeve into a fierce hug, she kissed both cheeks. “That took a while! Did Bo head out already?”

“Yeah, traffic’s beastly and he needed to get back to the city,” Maeve said, hugging her back. “Bria, welcome to the cottage.”

“Bria!” Sloane smiled warmly. “So good to see you again! I’m glad you could make it—last time we saw you, it was a little hectic, eh?”

I laughed, glancing at Maeve. “Well, thank you for having me. Your home is so beautiful.”

“Thank you, sweetheart—this is our hideaway. Our safe haven.” She drew Maeve beneath her arm, dropping another kiss onto her cheek. “Go ahead and put your things away while I finish up lunch.”

I liked Sloane. I saw a lot of Maeve in her—physically, but also in how she carried herself.

“Where are Tate and Keeva?” Maeve asked.

“In the bedroom,” Sloane said. “I didn’t want them jumping all over our guest.”

“And Con and Tristan?” Maeve grabbed her bags from the floor, whereshe’d dropped them when we came in. “Guess they couldn’t be bothered.”

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