Page 71 of Wrecked on the Mountain
"We could be a little late," he suggests with a wicked grin, eyes still glued to my tits.
"Absolutely not."
I disappear into my kitchen and return with the apple pie I spent three hours making this morning, complete with a perfectly golden lattice crust that looks like it belongs in a magazine.
Jamie stares at it. "You made that?"
"I keep telling you… YouTube is a wonderful teacher." I hand him the pie, feeling proud and terrified in equal measure.
"It didn't help you with woodchopping, but this…" His eyes gape and a feeling of pride washes over me.
"Think it'll buy me some goodwill?"
"Sweetheart," he looks at the pie like it's made of gold, "this might just get you adopted. Come on, let's go."
The drive to Jamie's family home takes fifteen minutes through winding roads that showcase Stone River Mountain at its most breathtaking. Snow-covered pine trees line the route like sentries, and the setting sun paints everything in shades of amber and rose gold.
"One more time please. Tell me about them again," I say, gripping my purse like a lifeline. "Your family."
Jamie glances over with an amused smile. "You've already heard this three times."
"Shut up. I'm having a moment."
"Mom's name is Sandra. She owns the flower shop downtown and will probably hug you before you get through the front door. Dad's Gavin—he's the strong, silent type, but don't let that fool you. He notices everything."
He turns onto a gravel driveway lined with old-growth maples, their bare branches creating a canopy overhead.
"Then there's Maya, thirty-two, elementary school teacher, married to Sean, they have twin boys who are basically tiny tornadoes. Chloe's twenty-nine, owns the bakery, single and loving it, will probably interrogate you about your intentions. And Zoe's twenty-six, graphic designer, recently moved back from New York, dating the town vet."
"And they're all going to be there?" I ask, wondering if it's too late to fake the brutal return of my migraine.
"Every Sunday. All of them. Plus the twins. And probably the dog."
"The dog?"
"Ranger. He's a golden retriever with boundary issues and a serious addiction to attention."
The house comes into view around the final bend, and I actually gasp.
It's not just a house—it's ahome.
A sprawling farmhouse with a wraparound porch, warm light spilling from every window, and smoke curling from a stone chimney. Icicles hang from the eaves like nature's chandelier, and someone has strung fairy lights along the porch railing that twinkle against the approaching dusk.
"Oh my god, Jamie," I breathe. "You grew up here? It'sbeautiful."
"Wait until you see the inside," he says, parking next to a collection of trucks and SUVs that suggest the entire Striker clan has indeed assembled for the occasion.
He helps me down the steps of his truck and before I can spiral into another wave of panic, the front door flies open and a massive golden ball of fur comes bounding down the porch steps, followed by two small boys who can't be more than six years old.
"Uncle Jamie!" they shriek in unison, launching themselves at him the second he gets out of the truck.
"Hey, monsters," Jamie laughs, scooping them both up like they weigh nothing. "Where's your mom?"
"Inside yelling at Aunt Chloe about the potatoes," one of them says.
"And Grandma made us wash our hands three times already," adds the other.
That's when Ranger the golden retriever reaches me, tail wagging so hard his entire body wiggles. He immediately plants his front paws on my dress and looks up at me with the kind of adoration usually reserved for saints.
