Page 2 of Cajuns. Love. Curves.

“To keep things hush-hush, I’m assuming,” I say. “She’s a fucking adult.”

Wade clears his throat. “I need you to do this for me. I know you’re on leave. I know you’re probably already home. Probably eating some of mom's cornbread right now.”

I glance down at the residual buttery crumbs I left on the plate to my right and roll my eyes. “It’s my leave, Wade. Can’t this colonel just come down here and get his own damn kid?”

But even as I ask the question, I know the answer. He’s a colonel and he outranks me. Even if this isn’t an official mission. Even if I’m not a part of the Army and therefore he’s not in my direct chain of command—or anywhere near it, for that matter—I know the answer. I’ll do it because my brother asked me to. That’s all that really matters.

I exhale slowly. “Don’t worry about it, brother. I’ll take care of it.”

“I’m texting you her information, now.”

“How's rehab?” I ask.

“Rehab is rehab. I don’t mind the physical work, but I could do without the group talk sessions.”

I chuckle. “I imagine the therapists are enjoying that as much as you are.”

“Fuck off,” Wade says. But I do hear a hint of a smile in his voice.

chaptertwo

Ava

I know everyone thinks their older sibling is the coolest person when they’re growing up, but my big sister is the actually the coolest person ever.

Hear me out.

Our dad is this super scary Army colonel. Very cold. Super mean. Grown men cower before him, kind of guy. Despite all that, Rory is not, and has never been, afraid of him. He wanted her to stay in Dallas and live her life under his thumb … but she didn’t!

Instead, she moved to the small town of Saddle Creek, which, okay is not like moving to Paris or New York City or anything. But given how we were raised, three hours away is a pretty big move.

And she opened her dream business. She bought a little farm outside of town, where she has the coolest collection of small and exotic animals and people from all over Texas hire her to bring them for petting zoos and school visits.

She has miniature fainting goats and Flemish Giant rabbits and a chinchilla that’s so soft it’s like petting powdered sugar. Her latest addition is an actual kangaroo joey that sleeps in a cloth bag she keeps draped over the bedpost of her bed.

Now, just to be clear, this isherdream. Not mine.

Her dream life involves way more animal poop than I’d ever be comfortable with. And I’m less into collecting animals and more into collecting … oh, makeup palates from Sephora. My point is this: she is living her dream life.

And I am … not.

But, I came here this week to try to siphon off some of her courage and innate coolness so that I can break free from our controlling parents and actually live my life.

I arrived earlier today. She knew I was coming and had texted me the location of her hidden house key. She was out at a school an hour away, doing the whole petting zoo thing for an end of the year party. I let myself in and almost immediately climbed into the bed in her guest room to take a nap. It’s not that the drive from Dallas to Saddle Creek is that exhausting, but the drama of the past couple of days has left me feeling drained and empty.

I wake up several hours later, to find Rory laying in the bed beside me, just like she used to do when we were kids. We’re both curled on our sides, facing one another, like the opening and closing quotation marks on either end of a sentence. I just wish I knew what our sentence was.

She smiles at me when I open my eyes. “Hey, Goldilocks.”

I blink, sleepily. “Hey. I swear I didn’t eat any porridge.”

“Of course not. Porridge is gross.”

I pluck at a lock of my hair. Holding it in front of my face, I grimace. “And not goldilocks either.”

“Yeah, about that…”

“I was going for seafoam green.” I glare at the lock of hair that is decidedly not seafoam. “Instead I look like an Oompa-Loompa.”

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