Page 197 of Well That Happened

Except Grayson’s watching from across the table, and the tiny quirk of his mouth says he saw everything.

“Amen,” everyone choruses, and I drop both hands like they’re on fire.

“So,” Grandma says, the second the turkey starts getting passed, “how did you all meet?”

“In college,” Hunter says quickly.

“Hockey,” Caleb adds at the exact same time.

“Through Fletcher,” I say, trying to save it. “My brother. He played with them.”

“Ah yes, Fletcher,” Mrs. Maddox says, spooning green beans onto her plate. “How is he doing these days? Such a shame what happened.”

“Good. Really good. Clean for almost a year now.” I smile, genuine this time. “He’s coaching youth hockey in Detroit.”

“That’s wonderful,” she says warmly, then she turns to Caleb. “And you’re all living together now? In California?”

Caleb grins, completely unbothered. “Yep! Got a great place. Pool and everything.”

“A pool,” Grandma repeats slowly. “How… communal.”

Hunter makes a sound like he’s choking on his water.

“The housing market is rough,” Grayson says calmly, speaking up for the first time. “Made sense to split costs.”

“Very practical,” Mr. Maddox agrees, but he’s got that look dads get when they’re trying to solve a puzzle. Or a complicated mathematical equation.

Under the table, someone’s foot nudges mine. I glance up to find Grayson watching me, expression unreadable except for the heat in his eyes. I nudge back, then immediately regret it when Caleb’s hand lands on my knee.

Not possessive. Just… there. Warm through my jeans. Casual enough that no one would notice unless they were looking for it.

Which, of course, Grandma is.

“Rilee, dear,” she says sweetly, “would you pass the cranberry sauce?”

I reach for it, hyperaware of Caleb’s hand sliding away, of Hunter’s shoulder brushing mine as I lean forward, of Grayson’s gaze tracking every movement.

“You have lovely table manners,” Grandma observes. “Were you raised in a large family?”

“No. Just me and my brother,” I say carefully.

“Hmm. And yet you seem very comfortable managing multiple… personalities.”

Mrs. Maddox coughs. “Mother.”

“What? I’m complimenting the girl. She’s clearly very…” Grandma pauses, eyes twinkling, “capable.”

That’s one word for it.

Caleb snorts into his stuffing. Hunter’s jaw is so tight I’m worried he might crack a tooth. Grayson just takes a calm sip of wine like we’re discussing the weather.

“So what do you boys do for work?” Mr. Maddox asks, clearly trying to steer us toward safer ground.

They launch into explanations—Caleb’s considering coaching positions, Grayson’s got some finance leads, and Hunter’s bound for the NHL. We chat about normal post-college stuff. Except Caleb’s hand finds its way back to my knee halfway through his answer. Except for how Hunter’s arm drapes across the back of my chair, not quite touching but close enough that I feel the heat. Except for Grayson playing footsie under the table like we’re teenagers.

“Rilee’s the real success story,” Caleb says, beaming at me. “Killing it in labor and delivery. Delivered six babies just last week.”

“Seven,” I correct, face warming at the pride in his voice.

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