That Second Chance (Getting Lucky #1)(33)

“Um, not really. He’s super nice, but it’s really all been friendly since we started talking.”

“He’s not married, is he?”

I shake my head. “No. There’s no wedding ring. But you know, I never thought that he could have a girlfriend. Although I feel like he wouldn’t have taken me to Walmart if he was attached.”

“Yeah, if your dad was taking the pretty neighbor to Walmart, we would be having a serious conversation about what’s appropriate and what’s not.”

“That would be weird.” I laugh as I set the kitchen towels to the side and lean on the counter. “I don’t know if I should make a move or not. He’s really nice and can hold a good conversation, but I’m nervous that maybe he’s not interested in me. He could just be a nice guy, and do I really want to ruin a friendship?”

“First of all, if he’s not interested in you, he’s an idiot. You’re the entire package, sweetie, and I’m not just saying that because I’m your mom. And secondly, maybe just take your time, develop a friendship with him; if things progress forward into something more, then you’ll know. But for now, just be friends.”

“As a friend, am I allowed to gawk at him?”

Tilting her head back, my mom laughs, the sound a sweet memory of my childhood.

“Only when he’s not looking, sweetie.”





CHAPTER TEN





GRIFFIN


“There he is, my favorite child,” my mom says, taking both my cheeks in her hands, pulling me down, and plopping a wet kiss right on my lips. “So handsome.”

“You know we can all hear you, right, Mom?” Reid asks, always salty when my mom claims me as her favorite.

She turns toward him, her arm wrapping around my waist. “Well, when you’re the only child who doesn’t split me from front to back during childbirth, you’re bound to be my favorite.”

And there it is, the old front-to-back story.

Everyone groans, except Jen, who chimes in. “I agree with Mom. The twins are my favorite. They still make me want to bang my head against the wall just as much as Braxton does, but at least they didn’t shoot out of my vagina. They were ripped from my body during the world’s easiest cesarean.”

Rogan winces and holds his hand up. “Please, for the love of God, can you not say ‘ripped from your body’? You’re ruining the miracle of childbirth for me.”

Jen scoffs. “Please, like you’re going to have kids one day.”

“What?” Mom spins on Rogan. “What does she mean by that? Are you planning on not having children?”

Rogan shifts in his seat, pulling on his pressed black dress pants. “Are any of us really having kids other than Jen?” he answers with a laugh, but a part of me thinks he might not be joking.

We haven’t said a word about the curse to anyone outside the family. None of us have, except for one person.

Brig.

The loudmouth got drunk one night at the Har-Bahr and told Jenna Davenport—yeah, Mrs. Davenport’s daughter—all about the curse. Word spread like a brush fire, and we’ve had a giant scarlet letter on our shirts ever since, making us completely undatable. None of the local women have approached any of us since . . . and a part of me can’t blame them.

When our mom finally heard about what had happened—one of her bingo friends told her after a few games in city hall—she gathered the four of us and told us to pull our heads out of our asses and stop paying the “curse” any attention, because there’s no such thing. Whenever it’s brought up around her, she shoots it down quickly. As one of the matriarchs of the successful tourist town, she makes sure no one messes with her family. Want to see a mama bear in action? Piss off Karen Knightly; she will rattle your bones with fear.

Mom points to all four of us boys, a stern look on her face. “You will be having children, do you hear me? All of you will give me grandchildren. I don’t care how you make it happen, but after the hell I went through giving birth to you, you are required to pay me back with at least one grandchild.”

Reid, the instigator, takes a large gulp of his beer. “Jen gave you three, so does that mean only one of us has to provide a grandchild now?”

“Oh no, you can’t use my children as your plus one to this family,” Jen says, stepping in. “You had no role in the making of my children, therefore you have no claim.”

“Technically, I have some claim.” I raise my hand to gather everyone’s attention. “I introduced you to Zach, who impregnated you; therefore, I can at least claim Braxton.”

“Nice try,” Jen shoots back and then smiles slyly. “Speaking of relationships, why don’t you tell Mom all about Ren?”

“Ren?” My mom turns excitedly toward me, practically spinning in her deck chair. The wind from the ocean whips behind her, a familiar scene since we’ve spent many nights out on the deck of my parents’ house at this very table, talking and joking around. “Who’s Ren—oh, wait . . . is that the girl who fell out of a tree?”

I need more alcohol for this. “She didn’t fall out of a tree, Mom. She ran her car between two trees after swerving to avoid a moose. I helped her out of her car.”