That Secret Crush (Getting Lucky #3)(12)

I hop down from the counter and press a kiss to her cheek. “You know I don’t cook anymore, Mom. I’ll be upstairs if you need me.”

With a parting glance at the spaghetti sauce—just from the scent, I know it needs a touch more basil—I speed out of the kitchen, make my way up the old set of stairs that I’ve climbed far too many times to count, and take a quick glance out the window, where light flakes of snow start to descend to the ground. Will this snow ever end?

My parents always try to get me involved in the kitchen in a not-so-subtle way. They want me to jump back into my old life, and I always turn them down. Those days are behind me.

I’m a different man now, with a different path. But despite my vow to never make another meal, every fiber of my being longs to chop a fresh crop of vegetables, to smash herbs between my fingers and take in a deep whiff.

My heart craves the kitchen, but I just can’t bring myself to feed it.





CHAPTER FOUR





EVE


“Want another?” Rylee asks, wobbling up to me with a pitcher of pi?a colada in her hand. She’s gone with the whole tropical theme tonight—Hawaiian shirt, steel drum music, and blow-up palm trees included.

And I would be remiss not to mention the tiny umbrellas that garnish our drinks.

“I’m good.” I hold up my hand, feeling a little tipsy. I want to hold on to that feeling, but I don’t want to get wasted; I just want to ease the ache in my stomach. I might put on an act, force a smile, and show everyone that everything’s okay, but in reality, the burn of my dad’s death, of this day, has set a fire in the pit of my stomach. Even though the company is nice, I’m at the point where I’m ready to just be alone. At least I think that’s what I want.

“You sure? I bought lots and lots of booze, so feel free to drink it all.”

I chuckle as her words slur. Good luck, Beck. “Not concerned about drinking all your booze.”

“Well, it’s here if you want it. You know Beck doesn’t drink, so someone is going to have to make a dent in it.”

Harper comes tottering over to me, wearing her bikini top and a pair of sweats. “Wowee, these drinks are strong. Wouldn’t you say?”

“Please tell me Rogan’s picking you up tonight.”

“Oh yeah, I told him we could do it on the counter again after I was done here.”

Lovely.

She holds up her phone. “He keeps texting me to see if it’s T-minus naked time yet.” She leans in, rum heavy on her breath. “I FaceTimed him in the bathroom and flashed him a boob. Let’s just say . . . he’s on his way.”

“Flashed him a boob, huh? Classy.” I wink.

She flips her red hair. “That’s me, pure class.” She stares down at my cup, hooks her finger on the lip, and pulls it closer. When she sees it’s still halfway full, her eyes widen. “Hey, how come you didn’t get a refill?”

“I want to be able to open my eyes tomorrow without wearing sunglasses.”

“What are we talking about?” Ren, Griffin’s girlfriend, asks. As a new-to-town algebra teacher, she was driven off the road by a wayward moose, but Griffin came to her rescue. It was a long and interesting courtship, especially since Griffin had to get over losing his wife, but they are adorable together, and I’m so glad Ren is a part of our little group.

“Eve here wants to be able to see tomorrow,” Harper says, jabbing her thumb in my direction.

I shake my head. “I’m just not getting super drunk, that’s all.”

“Griffin sent me a text asking if I was drunk and if I wanted to get frisky later.” Ren giggles. “I sent him back a GIF of an old lady humping the ground. Gave him the green light.”

“Wow, looks like the Knightly boys are getting lucky tonight.”

“Maybe Reid can get lucky.” Harper nudges me with her pointy elbow.

“Stop that.” I swat her away. “That’s never going to happen. He’s a good friend. He actually . . .” I swallow hard, wondering why I’m about to say this, blaming the alcohol. “He actually surprised me at the cemetery today. Told me he didn’t want me to be alone and then took me out to lunch. It was nice.”

Ren clasps her hands to her chest. “See? I just knew that boy had some of that sweet and kind Knightly blood inside of him. He isn’t always a smart-ass.”

“Oh, you should have known him growing up,” Harper says, taking another long sip of her drink, her cheeks puckering before the reminiscing begins. “He was always getting on Rogan’s and Griffin’s nerves. It was like he was born with this special knack for driving his brothers crazy. A negotiator, a poke-the-bear kind of guy, a weasel when he knew what he wanted. The number of times Griff and Rogan had to pay him off not to rat them out to their parents . . . you know, I think that’s when he really started saving for the restaurant. Funded by his brothers.”

I wouldn’t doubt that.

“Yeah, he would come over to our house and brag about banking another twenty from his brothers for not tattling. I mean”—I shrug—“you have to hand it to him: he knew how to mine his brothers for cash and did it well.”

“Ahh, you’re just saying that because you’ve always had a crush on him,” Harper says with a wave of her hand.