Page 43 of Fixing to Be Mine

Emmett moves into the kitchen, cursing under his breath. “Wanna help?”

“Did you help me last time?” I pat him on the back with a laugh. “That’s your answer.”

He groans, and I leave the kitchen. Sounds of plates clank together, along with running water. When I move back to Sunny, I can see overwhelm in her eyes. I lean in, brushing my hand lightly against her back.

“Come on,” I say under my breath. “You look like you could use some air.”

She glances at me like she’s surprised that I even noticed. Everyone else moves into the living room or the kitchen to help Emmett.

I guide Sunny out through the front door, holding it open as she steps onto the porch. The warm night air greets us, heavy with the scent of honeysuckle and the soft chirp of crickets. The house glows behind us, but out here, it’s quieter.

I motion toward the porch swing. “Sit with me for a minute.”

She does, tucking one leg beneath her. Her dress shifts with the movement as she settles in, and it looks like she’s still deciding whether she belongs here.

I sit close beside her and let the quiet settle between us.

“You okay?” I ask, keeping my voice low in case any of my family members are eavesdropping.

She exhales and then nods. “Yes. Makes me realize how families are supposed to act.”

“Your family doesn’t get together?” I ask.

“They do, but no one wants to be there. I’d say it’s like we’re a bunch of strangers in a room, but after that friendly, welcoming experience, I’m not sure I can use that analogy again.” She looks over at me, and something like gratitude flickers in her eyes. “You noticed I needed a breather.”

“It was easy,” I tell her. “I’d been watching you all night.”

She huffs out a quiet laugh. “You’re intense with your truth bombs.”

“Maybe,” I say, leaning back against the swing. “But it’s not bullshit, which I’m sure you appreciate.”

She lets the words hang between us and leans in a little closer.

“I don’t remember the last time someone made sure I was okay.”

“You deserve better than that,” I tell her.

She turns toward me, and the way she glows in the warm porch light nearly knocks the breath out of me. Her hair is loose again, a little windblown. Her lipstick has worn off. She looks soft and a little raw.

“You’re so fucking pretty.”

I stretch one arm along the back of the swing, not quite touching her. She leans into the space like she’s comfortable.

“I forgot what this felt like,” she says softly.

“What?” I ask.

“Belonging. Even if it’s for a night.”

“You didn’t just belong,” I say. “You fit.”

Her eyes meet mine, and I know I said too much, but I don’t take it back.

We stay like this, with our shoulders touching, for several long seconds.

She tilts her head, studying me. “You’re not what I expected.”

“Good.” I smile.

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