Page 42 of At First Flight
“What do you mean?” I ask as I gnaw at his words. He shifts his attention to me momentarily, cocking his eyebrow. “You said it’s blowing up in their face now. What does that mean?”
“Is this the turn?” he asks, swiftly changing the subject.
When I nod, Dean turns the vehicle toward the worn gravel path I know all too well. The path isn’t as tranquil as the one at Dean’s house. No trees lining the path or flowers blossoming along the edge. Just acres upon acres of grass until we reach the front of the house.
Most family members park their vehicles around back near one of the many barns, but I direct Dean toward a small graveled area under a large oak tree.
The kids are already bouncing in their seats, ready to get out. Oliver’s halfway through unstrapping his belts by the time I unbuckle myself.
“I’ll come around,” Dean growls as I reach for the door handle.
“Dean, that’s silly.”
“Don’t argue,” he says with narrowed eyes, staring at me until I pull my hand back.
Wordlessly, he exits the SUV and makes his way to my side. As he opens and holds out his hand to assist me, I’m struck by the realization that Prescott never once held the door for me. Not in the two years we dated and were engaged.
“Thanks,” I mumble, hating how my heart leaps the moment our hands touch.
Together, we maneuver the kids out of their seats and walk toward the front door. To anyone looking at us, we probably appear as a unit. A family. Two parents with their two kids wedged between them. Part of that dream everyone is supposed to yearn for. For me, my dream has always been to use my knowledge to better the world. I thought Prescott changed my mind about shifting my focus, but as I glance at Dean out of the corner of my eye, I fathom that maybe he is the one changing my mind.
I smooth my hands along the sides of my pants, my nerves rolling like the stones in the driveway that crackle under my feet. The scent of my mom’s daffodils lining the flower bedsfill the air around us, reminding me of the warm days I’d spend outside with her, pulling weeds and planting bulbs.
“You don’t have to look like you’re being dragged to the barracks,” Dean says with a smirk, his free hand shoved in the front pocket of his jeans and his other clasped with Evelyn’s. He looks handsome in his jeans and blue-and-white button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows in that effortless way.
And it’s not until I’m in front of my parents’ door, holding the hand of little Oliver, that I realize maybe I didn’t warn Dean enough about the chaos he was about to find himself in.
“Dean… you still have time to turn around and go home. My family can be…a lot.”
Ignoring my warning, Dean reaches out and presses the doorbell. Not that he needs to. I can already sense my mother standing on the other side of the door. The man has no idea how ill-prepared he is for tonight’s dinner.
Mom opens the door wide and hugs Dean as if they’ve been friends forever. In my mom’s defense, I want to wrap my arms around him too. Of course, it’s for purely intimate reasons that I need to keep it in check if I’m going to continue living in his house. I will not be the one to break.
Dean and I quickly follow my mom inside the house, and the kids trail us like little shy mice. It’s not until she gets down to their level and whispers something to them that they relax. Smiles grow on their lips, and their eyes sparkle with glee. My mom has a gift, truly, and it’s the kid whisperer. It takes just a split second for Oliver and Evelyn to dash off ahead of us, skipping toward the kitchen.
Dean stares after them, mouth hanging slightly agape.
“Damn, how does she do that? It’s the first time I’ve seen them smile like that since I took them to the State Fair a year ago.”
“My mom has a gift. Would you like something to drink before I throw you to the wolves?” I ask, trying to mask the nervousness in my voice as I move down the hall.
“A beer if they have one.”
We enter the open-air kitchen and living room space, and I’m not surprised to find my siblings all clamoring around the table, waiting patiently for Dean’s arrival. They’re treating him like he’s my…
“He’s not my boyfriend, guys. He’s my boss. Calm down,” I explain as I open the large fridge and reach inside for two beer bottles. I pop the top of one with ease, using the opener on the wall beside the fridge.
As I turn around, I notice my brothers haven’t adjusted their stance toward Dean, but my sister eyes him appreciatively. I cannot blame her, but even with that acceptance, a little green monster sneers from inside me.
Taking a sip from my own bottle, I walk toward Dean and hand him the other. “Dean, these are my brothers Rowan, Crew, and Holt.” The trio barely nods as I introduce them. I don’t miss the clench of their fingers around their arms crossed against their chests. Rolling my eyes, I add, “And that’s Hadley. She’s Holt’s twin. Everyone, this is Dean Harrington, and the two kids with Mom are Oliver and Evelyn.”
“Nice to meet you,” Dean says as he holds his hand out toward Hadley, clearly understanding that my brothers aren’t going to return his greeting. “It must have been great growing up in such a large family.”
Dean slips his hand free from Hadley’s grasp, and she visibly pouts as Dean turns his eyes in my direction. His signature smirk is etched in place at my brothers’ warm welcome instead of a furrowed brow I’ve seen him wear when he’s confused.
“Anyone seen Dad?” I ask, trying to get one of my brothers to say literally anything. Their infuriating stares in our direction are becoming too much.
“He’s outside. Strawberry harvest is coming up or have you forgotten already?” Rowan, the next to oldest brother, barks. He works on the farm with my father and was my closest friend growing up. Now, it seems the distance between us isn’t just in age.
