Page 55 of Never Fear (Whiskey Ridge)
“That’s because my biggest desire is in danger.”
I nearly tripped over my white sneaker, and Austin grabbed my elbow to steady me.
“Should probably fix that.” No way would I let on that I was flustered for the second time in the span of ten minutes.
“Trying,” he gritted out as Brynne and Booker joined us by the sad display of watermelons. Autumn was not their season. Apparently, it wasn’t mine, either.
Brynne pointed at the two scowling men. “You two, appetizer ingredients. McKenna and I will be over here.” She pointed to the third aisle down. The store wasn’t big enough to warrant those big, hanging numbers for each row, just like it wasn’t fancy enough to have those big automatic sliding doors at the front.
Austin shot me a look I couldn’t decipher as Brynne hooked her arm in mine and led me toward the aisle full of seasonings and baking supplies. “Have you ever made a pie?”
“We really don’t have to go all out for this Friendsgiving thing, Brynne.” This wasn’t like her. She was usually a low-key type of girl, not wanting to do much for the holidays. I wondered if her relationship with Booker was spurring this on, feeding into her desire for a happy family.
I pretended I didn’t see the look of defeat flash over herface. “Well, Grace likes pie, and I know you invited her, so?—”
I tugged on her arm still looped in mine to stop her. Facing her, I asked, “What’s all this about?”
Suddenly her eyes grew glassy, and she gnawed on her bottom lip. “You almost died.”
“But I didn’t.”
“Stop saying that!” she whisper-shrieked. “Stop acting like everything is fine.Nothingis fine.”
“Brynne, we talked about this?—”
“And you didn’t listen.” She sniffled, but no tears fell. “I am finally in a position in life to have a family. Maybe not kids, but Booker is the closest thing I have to it besides you. He almost lost me, and now I almost lost you. I just—” She swallowed, blinked away the building moisture in her eyes. “I want to celebrate things and be happy and pretend none of this stupid, annoying shit has happened.”
I didn’t speak. I didn’t need to. I pulled her into the tightest hug I could muster, ignoring how her blonde tips tickled my nose. She inhaled shakily, like a breakdown was imminent. If Booker came back to us and found her crying, he’d surely find someone to kill. And frankly, I was tired of all the murder.
When I finally released her, she seemed lighter. “Nothing is going to happen to any of us.” I looked over my shoulder and muttered, “The guys would never let it.”
She nodded, mustering a small smile. “Booker does get pretty pissed about that stuff.”
“I know. So if you could dry your eyes before he gets back, that’d be great. I’d really like to attend the dinner I’m helping shop for.”
This made her grin widen, and she looped her arm back in mine. We continued down the aisle, stopping when we came up on the tins of pie crust. As she pondered over pre-made or making it herself, I said, “Stupid, annoying shit, huh?”
She laughed. “I was upset.”
“Clearly,” I mumbled, which earned me an elbow to the side.
Once she decided on the already-made crust, we moved on to contemplating the filling. “Shall we make a strawberry pie?”
“Can we manage strawberry, or is that not Thanksgiving-y enough?” I asked.
“Well it’s notonThanksgiving. It’s more like a really fancy homemade dinner for friends. So really, we can do anything.” Brynne tapped a finger against her lower lip, elbow resting on her arm slung across her stomach.
“Can never go wrong with cherry,” a man piped in, causing the two of us to spin around. Neither of us had heard him approach, and now he stood behind us with an empty basket in his hand. He wore a heavy, dark jacket and a baseball cap. His full, black beard hid some of his face.
“Cherry’s boring,” I replied before turning back to the shelf of cans.
Brynne inched a little closer to me, her posture stiff. We were both thinking the same thing. The guy wasn’t harming us, but this was probably why Booker and Austin didn’t want us to separate.
The man reached around me, arm hovering a little close to my shoulder as he grabbed a can of cherries off the shelf. He plopped them in his basket, and though I’d beenexpecting the sound, my heart skipped a beat as a wave of anxiety shot up my throat.
“They’re sweet,” the man commented. “Everyone likes sweet.” I didn’t think he was talking about fruit.
But before I could snap at the man for looming behind us, his footsteps disappeared down the aisle, no longer silent. Brynne’s shoulders fell a little as Booker and Austin turned the corner from the opposite end.
