Page 166 of Things Left Unsaid

“No, but they’re…”

When my words wane, he prompts, “What? Teenaged kids with a lot of hormones?”

I purse my lips. “The spitting image of Dad.” It’s probably why it’s always been easier to text them than to video call.

Unlike Colt, who’s great at being the older sibling, I suck at it.

His frown lessens. “Oh.”

“Dad was very artistic,” I muse as my spoon drifts through the bowl of oatmeal.

“I remember he had a class in town.”

“Yes. IfGrand-mèrehadn’t been his mother-in-law, he’d have gone into art full-time. He had the soul of a creator, but you’re not allowed one of those if you marry into the McAllister family.”

“Or the Korhonens,” he remarks as he doodles beside the Sudoku puzzle.

“His kids didn’t even inherit his last name,” I whisper.

It never registered how tiring it was to talk with people who don’t understand the burden of a legacy. That’s one thing we both share. Yet I never imagined it’d be our common ground in the here and now.

“Mom told me that she loved his artist’s heart but as soon as they married,Grand-mèrelaid down the law and made him learn how to run the ranch.

“H-He was an orphan, you know?”

“I do.”

Of course, he does. Everyone knows everyone’s business here—duh.

“I think he was happy to be a part of a family. Enough that he let go of his dream for it. It must have been that, otherwise, why would he put up withGrand-mère?”

“He was a good man.”

“The best kind. The boys are like that too. In their own way.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“I don’t want Callan’s safe space to be invaded by people he’s not friends with. Or for him to feel unwelcome in his own home like Dad was.”

Colt pins me in place with a grateful smile. “Thank you for that.”

“After everything with Lydia and him finding out about you being detained, he’s not in the best of headspaces.” I hitch a shoulder. “They don’t get along.”

“They’re family. Whether they like it or not.”

“Yeah, but?—”

“It’d be a BBQ in the yard,” he reiterates in a calm tone.

“So, they’d be on his turf but notinit.” I eat some oatmeal. “That’s not a half-bad idea.”

“I’m capable of them sometimes.”

His teasing tone has me blushing.

“I’ll talk to Mrs. Abelman,” he continues, “and get it set up.”

“Thank you.”

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