Page 50 of Finding Home with You

I step into the doorway of the kitchen and Ryan winks at me, but doesn’t say anything. His gaze quickly returns to his sister, as she gives him a defiant stare from across the room. I missed what was said, too wrapped up in my own thoughts, but whatever happened, neither looks like they’re backing down.

This is the first time since we arrived that I actually get a good look at Ryan’s sister Sarah as she stands leaning with her back against the counter and well, fuck me if she’s not gorgeous.

Tall and thin with blue eyes and blonde hair, absolutely stunning. And then there’s me; wild red hair, fair skin and green eyes. I look like fucking Strawberry Shortcake next to a Barbie doll.

I take my place by Ryan’s side and he slips an arm around my waist and pulls me close, kissing the top of my head, but I can tell he’s distracted. He lets out a long sigh and then leans down whispering, “good morning” to me and kisses me on the lips a little longer than necessary.

“Oh my god, Ryan, get a room,” Sarah yells and then smiles at me. “No offense, Erin,” she adds as she continues her argument with Ryan.

Turns out, it’s a long standing argument about which Red Sox pitcher is better, with Sarah choosing Pedro Martinez and Ryan taking Roger Clemens. The argument ultimately leads back to Clemens’ suspected steroid usage after he was traded to Toronto. I don’t say it out loud, but I side with Sarah on this one. Although, I could go head to head with these two, tossing in Greg Maddux when he played for Atlanta, as my top pitcher.

I kinda love Sarah and the way she doesn’t back down to Ryan. She reminds me a lot of myself, only crazy fucking hot.

“Good morning, Erin,” Ryan’s mom says pointedly, interrupting the argument and shooting both of them a nasty look as she motions for everyone to sit down at the kitchen table.

“Good morning,” I answer back, smiling as I sit down next to Ryan.

The table is covered in a massive spread of food that makes a buffet look like a snack stand. There are pancakes, fresh fruit, bacon, sausage, biscuits, coffee and juice; it’s the kind of breakfast that puts the sleeve of Chips Ahoy I would’ve eaten to shame.

“Do you do this every morning?” I ask, almost confused by the effort that goes into something this elaborate.

“Only when I come home,” Ryan states conceitedly, again glaring at Sarah as he says it.

“Bullshit,” Sarah mutters back, shaking her head as she helps herself to the plate of pancakes. “Ryan likes to believe he’s the favorite, and shit like this happens only when he comes home.” She pushes back from the table and grabs a bottle of champagne from the refrigerator. “Mimosa?” she asks, glancing at me as she pops open the bottle and adds the champagne to her glass of orange juice.

“Sarah, it’s eight-thirty in the morning,” Ryan says, sounding appalled by Sarah’s offer and I nearly laugh out loud. I’ve seen Ryan drink a beer at eight a.m.

“It’s a mimosa, Ryan. It’s not like I offered her a glass of whiskey.”

“Yes, please,” I say to Sarah, confirming that I feel it’s okay for her to drink this early in the morning. And anyway, I’m gonna need it if I’m going to settle down. “And you,” I say turning to look at Ryan, “Like you’ve never had a drink before nine a.m.” I flit my hand in Ryan’s direction and give him a little scowl.

“Yeah, Ryan,” Sarah adds. “ I think I’ve earned my right to drink in the morning once in a while. I’m twenty-six, I still live with my parents and I bartend at the only bar in a town of two thousand people. Drinking at eight-thirty a.m. is as good as gets for me.” Sarah lets out a chuckle and holds her glass up. “Cheers” she calls out and taps her glass against mine.

A few seconds later Ryan’s mom and dad join us at the table with Ryan introducing me to his father, Tom, who was already in bed when we arrived last night.

“To answer your question, Erin,” Ryan’s mom says, as she takes a few pieces of bacon from the platter. “I don’t do this every day. Only on days when my kids come home.”

“See, Ryan’s her favorite,” Sarah chimes in. “I live here and she never does this for me.”

“That’s because we’re trying to get rid of you,” Ryan’s dad says with a smirk on his face. “And drinking at eight-thirty? Come on, Sarah.” He gives her a dramatic eye roll.

The table laughs, with Ryan laughing the loudest. Even as adults these two seem to really like to give each other shit and I love every minute of it.

“Oh my god, I’ve got to get out of this house,” Sarah laments and both her parents echo her sentiments.

Trying to ease the humiliation and teasing that Sarah is being dealt, I add, “Why don’t to you come down to Rockport one weekend and stay with Ryan and me?”

“Sold,” she says and Ryan looks over at me, a small smile on his lips as his hand gives my thigh a little squeeze as if to say thank you.

The conversation dies out and the table grows quiet. It’s the quiet that makes me nervous. I can deal with Sarah being the center of attention and the conversation focusing on little things that don’t really have to do with me, but I can feel that’s not where we are heading.

“So how’d you two meet?” Sarah asks and I pick up my mimosa and down it in a few gulps.

We fucked in a public restroom in a bar after arguing like children.

Ryan leans over and kisses my temple and says, “We met through Beck, my ex-partner. Erin grew up with him and his fiancé, Kelsey.”

Okay, that was better than what I had floating around in my head. Clearly I need to get my shit together.

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