Page 79 of Free to Judge
Aunt Cori:
Phil, if you don’t stop, I’m going to make you help me in the kitchen.
Uncle Phil:
See you all soon! I’m going to walk on the treadmill now.
After a flourish of XOXOs, I’m cackling like a hyena as I read the text to Declan. He noticeably relaxes. “Think they’ll be like that in person?”
“Are you kidding? It will be worse.”
“How could it be worse?”
“Do you remember me mentioning the dancing?”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
I leanover to Jon as we sit at the table, shaking my head in disbelief. “I know you said your family had world-class cooks,” I say in a low, incredulous tone. “But this is Food Network worthy.”
“It should be.” His voice is tinged with amusement.
“Do you guys have it catered or something?”
Jon shrugs sheepishly. “Nothing quite like that.”
“Then what?”
“Check out who is in the kitchen.”
I twist around and catch sight of Kalie’s Aunt Corinna, who I was introduced to earlier. Next to her is a man who the world knows for his incredible country hits. Both are wearing aprons and having a fight with leftover caramel in front of a man with silvery-blond hair who has an outraged expression on his face—Kalie’s Uncle Phil.
I arch a brow and lean forward. “Is Brendan Blake cooking in your kitchen a regular occurrence?” I ask, my words edged with shock and awe. “If it is, I swear, I’ll take up a rotation. Something, anything. Side dishes, salad. You name it.” I can’t help but think of the past few years when, under the guise of my undercover persona, I’ve been feasting like royalty, yet this family, who is the epitome of the American dream, is having a damn food fight.
I yearn to be a part of it.
Jon slips his hand into his pocket and yanks out his cell. “There’s nothing about Uncle B on rotation in the guy’s group chat.”
I tear off a bite of the only thing left on my plate and chew slowly, my eyes never leaving him. “You all have a group chat too?” I ask, incredulous.
“Yeah. There are a few. First one, the whole family participates. You get added when your parents decide you’re mature enough for the conversation to go completely off the rails.” He gestures vaguely, as though the chaotic process of his family’s decision-making is somehow perfectly logical.
Recalling what Kalie read to me in the car, I can completely understand why addition is at parental discretion. Before I can question Jon any further about the other chats, I’m completely derailed when Rhianna’s voice blasts over the speakers. The bass reverberates through the walls, and even outside the steady hum of the party, you can feel the vibrations in your chest. It completely drowns out any chance of a conversation.
Jon rolls his eyes heavenward. “Here we go again.”
Soon, several men stop what they were doing and head inside, drawn by some kind of secret male bonding. Caleb, Keene, Colby, and Liam practically cause a traffic jam trying to push their way past one another. “What’s happening?” I ask, trying to seek out Kalie but unable to spot her.
He hesitates, eyes darting around at the departing figures before he speaks. “Well…”
I cut him off, voice firm, “Spill it.” Before I can move to get inside, Jon steps in front of me.
His next words are both apologetic and wickedly amused, even for him. “You know how some families force a karaoke session?”
My eyes widen, and I instinctively take a step back. “That’s not what’s happening inside, is it?” I ask, my mind racing. If they’re dragging relatives into some impromptu, off-key madness, I wonder if I can make it to Kalie’s car before anyone notices I’ve disappeared.
“Not quite,” Jon continues, his voice trailing off, “The women in my family—and my Uncle Phil—they…” His sentence trails off.
“They what?” When he doesn’t answer, I snap impatiently, “Jon, Kalie’s told me stories about your Uncle Phil and on the way here, read me selections from her chat. It can’t be any worse.”
