Page 52 of Close Match
I bow my head as he walks away, unable to come to grips with the emotions coursing through my system.
* * *
We’ve decimated dessert.Even Linnie couldn’t resist the novelty of roasting a marshmallow. We all laughed at her when she screamed, “Fire! Fire!” when her first one lit up like a torch though. Doing my duties as the wiser, more experienced marshmallow roaster, I blew it out. And then I ate it directly from the stick.
She made a disgusted face that caused everyone to howl with laughter. Me? My teeth were stuck together with the sticky goodness.
Shaun merely shook his head. “You can’t dive headfirst into the heat. You have to let it warm up around the edges. Then when it’s ready to catch on fire, that’s when it’s ready to devour.”
I muttered to Ev, “Is he talking about roasting marshmallows or…”
“I don’t want to know, son. I don’t want to know.”
“Linnie, so is the adjustment out here on the farm tough since you grew up in the city?” Shaun asks her.
“How do you…” I begin.
Shaun shoves me in the shoulder. “Dude. Look. Her. Up. Now that you know who she is, will you—for all that’s holy—find out exactly who your new stepsister is?” His voice must carry loud enough because when I turn across the fire pit, Linnie’s eyes are resting on me.
I shake my head back and forth without losing her gaze. “Nah. I think I’ll let her tell me. I think that’s important to her.” Linnie sends me a smile so bright, it makes the flames jumping in between us look dim.
And besides, I can’t think of Linnie as my stepsister.
Now Shaun’s randomly plucking at the guitar he always brings along, and he asks Linnie, “Do you always listen to Broadway music?”
She counters by asking, “Do you always read crime reports?” knowing he used to be my partner.
“Not a chance in hell. That’s morbid!”
She leans back in the chair she’s curled up in with a snicker. “There’s your answer. I listen to all kinds of music because I love all kinds of music.”
“Classical.” Shaun’s lip curls in a sneer.
“Of course. I was in the ballet.” My eyebrows shoot to my hairline.
“Pop,” he counters.
“Shawn Mendes and OneRepublic.”
“Rock,” I throw out.
She sneers, “Rush. Best band ever. I might have sold my soul to play the lead if Neal Peart ever wrote a musical.” Everyone breaks out into laughter.
“Hip-hop,” Ev asks curiously.
“I’m a throwback. I dance all the time to ’90s hip-hop. I love me some Blackstreet,” she sighs nostalgically before we all chuckle.
“How about this?” Can’t claim to have a family from this area and not know this group,” Shaun teases. He strums a few notes.
Her smile quirks. “Bris and I saw them in concert…oh, like ten or so times since I was in college? My crush on Marc Roberge is ongoing.” Everyone doubles over laughing.
“You and every other woman who hears him sing,” Ev calls out from where his arms are wrapped around my mom, who’s nodding emphatically.
Shaun thrums the chords to one of O.A.R.’s most popular songs. He nods over to Linnie, who begins to tap out the beat on her bare thighs. Her voice joins in about their famous song about giving up comfort and ease to create something more. It’s a song that teaches people how to move forward through all kinds of adversity to find a new triumph. Her hips shift back and forth in her chair, her long hair swaying around her as she embraces the fast-paced lyrics.
There’s a quiet that descends upon the group. Mom breaks it by saying, “Why aren’t you recording an album of your own?”
Linnie squirms in her seat. “Well, I kinda just did.”
