Page 97 of South of The Skyway

“All our clothes—”

“Trophies.”

“—books, posters—”

“Shoe collections.”

“Journals, craft supplies, beading kits.”

“All of it,” Elora finished with a huff, leaning back to admire her handiwork. When Brexley raised her eyebrows, looking to me for an explanation, I merely shrugged.

“Island life gets boring,” I said by way of justification. It was true. “If we weren’t working or out on the water, doing chores or schoolwork, we were at the library or getting into trouble out on the road.”

“That means at the gathering spot at the end of the main road through town, for reference. Rhy forgets not everyone grew up on the island. You should come up, by the way!”

“To Alaska? I mean, I’ve always wanted to see it. It’s supposed to be beautiful.”

“It is. Honestly, I’m so sick of being stateside. I nearly cried when I booked my ticket home,” Elora said wistfully.

“You headed back already?” I asked, a smile snaking through my tone. Hadlee and Finn were the only ones of us that seemed content to be gone for long stretches of time. Everyone else wandered on back more often than not.

“Portland is not my jam. Neither was Seattle. I miss the local flavor, the consistency, the bankers that know my name and who my family is. There’s something about going home.” Elora sighed, turning to plant her feet on the hardwood. “I’m famished. You have snacks worth stealing?”

“Oh, me too,” Alice said, nearly flying to her feet.

“Help yourself,” I said, motioning to the trailer. Royal had finally emerged from the rabbit den and perked up as the girls headed towards the promise of kibble and treats.

“Brex, you wanna join?” Elora tossed over her shoulder. My girl looked to me on reflex before rushing to follow.

“Yeah, thanks. I could go for a brownie.”

I cleared my throat. “Alice.” Grey-blue eyes twinkled with amusement under the string of lights as she smothered her knowing smile. “Should Brex trust your baking?” Alessandra was the most rebellious of my sisters, always giving the guys a run for their money in the department of questionable behavior. When Alaska legalized marijuana, she’d taken up baking, eventually opening The Happy Pastry, and selling edibles every weekend at the farmer’s market during the summers. She flashed me a cheeky grin, tossing her braid over a shoulder without answering as she ascended the steps. Brex was gaping at me, her eyes alight with equal surprise and mischief.

“Brex,” I warned as she followed Alice’s lead into the RV. “Start with a half,” I insisted, shaking my head. Brexley’s answering grin was punctuated with a raised, mocking brow. The front door slammed closed right as Jameson arrived beside me, sluicing water down his frame to pool onto the hardwood.

“Well,” he said, grinning. “This should be fun.”

* * *

“Amateur hour up in here,”I teased, nudging the coffee across the counter. Brexley had made the unfortunate mistake of attempting to keep up with a Rhodes last night, matching Alice drink for drink. Between that and the highly suspect baked goods now residing in my freezer, she’d ended her evening with her head in the bushes and my hands wrapped in her hair—not in a fun way. Her groan of misery made me chuckle. I was constantly laughing these days.

“Come on, trust me, drink this.” I slid over Elora’s patent-worthy hangover elixir. She’d left it in preparation for Jameson and Hadlee, but Brex got priority in my books. The other idiots knew what they were getting into when they started.

“What in the hell happened last night?” She raised as far as her elbows, palms permanently pressed against her eyes. Good Lord, where to start? She’d probably like to know she’d robbed them all blind and had Jameson fuming mad by the third round of poker, aptly living up to her nickname. But for the sake of her self-image, I should likely not share that she’d also sung karaoke with my sisters, tripped off the deck and fallen on her ass in the bushes, laughing so hard it took both Jameson and I to get her upright. I’d keep it simple and summarize.

“You went toe-to-toe with Alice Rhodes. Rookie mistake.”

“You could’ve warned me.”

“I tried,” I insisted, hands up in self-defense. “You didn’t listen.”

“I know how to hold my liquor.”

“Clearly,” Jameson drawled, wincing at the streaming window light as he slid into the stool beside her. Her responding middle finger reminded me exactly why I loved this woman.

I loved this woman.That phrase had casually battered my skull like the inside of a pinball machine, lighting up the neurons every time it rattled around. It resonated. I loved Brexley Snows. Even as she drug her hands across a hungover face, scowling at the sunlight. Lucky for her, the shop was closed on Sundays. Otherwise, I would've had to peel her out of bed hours earlier.

“Come on, Ace, down the hatch.”

---