Page 53 of Cru's Crush

“I can’t believe it’s over,” said Daph. “I don’t even want to think about the fact they were here in Paso Robles.”

“You’re safe now,” I said, pulling her close and kissing her temple.

“We don’t know how to thank you,” Noah said to me.

“Thank him.” I motioned to where my brother sat on the sofa with our ma, Alex, and Maddox.

I thought Daphne would go with them, but she remained by my side.

“Thank you doesn’t feel like enough,” she said, watching her parents embrace Bit after he stood.

“I’m sure he’d appreciate leftovers.”

“Right!” Daphne’s smile was huge. “Help me?”

“Wanna hear how Maddox broke his ribs?” I asked when my sister’s husband and Bit returned to the kitchen and sat on the stools by the island. Daphne’s parents stood beside them.

“I do,” my brother said before taking a big bite of one of the sushi tacos.

Maddox glared at me. “I never should’ve told you,” he said under his breath.

“But now that you have, there’s still the matter of what you’ll give me in return for my silence.” I turned to Bit. “I suggested he withdraw the Demetria Cab from competition this year.”

“I have a better idea. Host the first wine dinner in the old tasting room with us,” said Bit.

“What’s this?” Maddox asked.

I let my brother take the lead, telling him about the work he’d done to restore the dilapidated building, and his suggestion that we host events in it, given its more intimate setting.

“I’m all in,” said Mad when Trev stopped talking. “In fact, let’s make a festival out of it.”

Bit’s face lit up. “When?”

“How’s my husband holding up?” Alex asked when she and our mother joined us too.

“Fine. He and Bit are planning a festival here, at Los Cab. I think I heard them say it should take the place of the bachelor auction.”

“Very funny.”

I shrugged. “I guess you’ll find out soon enough.”

She glared at me. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.”

“You’re mean,” said Daphne, leaning up to kiss my cheek.

“You have no idea how much shit I’ve endured from her when I was growing up. In fact, it continues to this day.”

“Poor baby,” she said, linking our arms and resting her head on my shoulder.

“Think we could skip dessert?” I asked at the same time I saw Beatrice take it out of the fridge.

“Not on your life,” my mother said, leaning over to stick her finger in the whipped cream on top of the trifle.

“Ma!” I scolded.

“What? You did it enough as a boy. It’s my turn.”