Page 127 of Steinbeck
She caught her breath.Stared down at this man, their future in his impossibly blue eyes.And nodded.
Jack smiled.Then he stood up, caught her to himself.“Wow, I was miserable without you.”
“Yeah, you were,” she said, holding on, her face in his neck.
He laughed, then he set her down, took her face in his hands.And in front of his entire family, he kissed her.
Sweetly.Perfectly.
But when he lifted his head, a spark shone in his eye.“That’s for now.”And he winked.
When she looked up, the family was setting the table, but Mama Em stood holding Grover’s hand, grinning.
“Now it’s a family dinner,” she said.
They laid the table, pulled out chairs, and sat down to a pot roast, mashed potatoes, rolls, green beans, salad, and prayer.
Jack held her hand under the table and squeezed.
They began to pass the food, Doyle and Tia asking Declan about an exhibit, and Oaken and Boo talking about his concert tour, and Steinbeck asking Conrad about training camp, and then the woman beside Emberly said, “Who’s Flo?”
A few smiles all around, and Stein passed her the beans.“Flo is?—”
And that’s when the King’s Inn blew up.
THIRTEEN
Five minutes ago,Emberly had been sunk into the delicious Kingston family chaos, the back porch magical with the laughter, the proposal, the...family.
The long oak table had stretched across the weathered boards, piled high with Mama Em’s pot roast—juicy, thyme-laced, the meat falling apart under her fork, gravy pooling rich and dark on her plate.Mashed potatoes had steamed in a chipped blue bowl, their buttery warmth slicing through the crisp September air, while cinnamon rolls oozed sticky sweetness, the scent curling up to tangle with the bite of frost and the rustle of dry leaves skittering across the cool lawn.
Fall had draped the Minnesota dusk in fiery golds and deep reds, the sky a bruised canvas stretching over the compound, chrysanthemums along the steps glowing amber in the porch light’s flicker.
Jack had lobbed a roll at Doyle, who had ducked, his laugh barking over the clatter of plates and forks scraping their plates.Steinbeck had sat beside her, his broad shoulder brushing hers, his hand—warm, rough, a lifeline she hadn’t known she’d needed—sneaking under the table to squeeze hers.Her ribs had throbbed beneath the tight wrap, but his touch had dulled the ache, made it something she could carry.
Across from Emberly, Nimue had perched, picking at green beans, her brown hair catching the light, freckled nose wrinkling as Conrad razzed Oaken about his latest sold-out show at the Utah State Fair, the country star’s tenor laugh rumbling.
Emberly had wanted this, more than she could voice, and maybe had communicated that in a glance at Steinbeck.
He’d smiled back at her, those blue eyes landing, stirring, igniting.
Oh, she loved him, and that thought had spread through her in a warm, delicious heat.
Emberly had speared a chunk of roast, the gravy thick and savory on her tongue, and smirked as Boo teased Oaken about recent swooning fan mail.
It had been loud, messy—family, real and raw, perfect.
Maybe this was it.The end, the beginning.No more slipping through shadows, living on edges and longing for perfect moments.Here, with Steinbeck’s blue eyes crinkling at her, she didn’t itch to bolt.She wanted this—him, this loud, sprawling tribe, whatever it looked like.A life with Steinbeck, his hand in hers, his gruff voice growling “I’ve got you” when the world caved in.She loved him—God help her, she did.His steady heart, his unshakable faith in her, in them, the way he’d chased her into the darkness and dragged her back.
Then, the thunderousboomhad shredded the night.
The blast punched the air, rattling the porch, shattering the inn’s kitchen windows a hundred yards off.Flames erupted, a jagged orange beast clawing the dusk, glass spraying across the grass, glinting in the fading light.
Mama Em screamed, and the entire family hit their feet.
“Em—call 911!”Grover shouted, even as Jack and Conrad sprinted off the porch, Doyle behind.
Emberly jolted, ribs screaming, her fork clattering to the plate, gravy splattering the table like blood.Steinbeck’s grip tightened, pinning her hand to the wood.“Stay here!”
