Page 39 of Free to Judge (Amaryllis Heritage #2)

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

I lean over to Jon as we sit at the table, shaking my head in disbelief. “I know you said your family had world-class cooks,” I say in a low, incredulous tone. “But this is Food Network worthy.”

“It should be.” His voice is tinged with amusement.

“Do you guys have it catered or something?”

Jon shrugs sheepishly. “Nothing quite like that.”

“Then what?”

“Check out who is in the kitchen.”

I twist around and catch sight of Kalie’s Aunt Corinna, who I was introduced to earlier.

Next to her is a man who the world knows for his incredible country hits.

Both are wearing aprons and having a fight with leftover caramel in front of a man with silvery-blond hair who has an outraged expression on his face—Kalie’s Uncle Phil.

I arch a brow and lean forward. “Is Brendan Blake cooking in your kitchen a regular occurrence?” I ask, my words edged with shock and awe.

“If it is, I swear, I’ll take up a rotation.

Something, anything. Side dishes, salad.

You name it.” I can’t help but think of the past few years when, under the guise of my undercover persona, I’ve been feasting like royalty, yet this family, who is the epitome of the American dream, is having a damn food fight.

I yearn to be a part of it.

Jon slips his hand into his pocket and yanks out his cell. “There’s nothing about Uncle B on rotation in the guy’s group chat.”

I tear off a bite of the only thing left on my plate and chew slowly, my eyes never leaving him. “You all have a group chat too?” I ask, incredulous.

“Yeah. There are a few. First one, the whole family participates. You get added when your parents decide you’re mature enough for the conversation to go completely off the rails.” He gestures vaguely, as though the chaotic process of his family’s decision-making is somehow perfectly logical.

Recalling what Kalie read to me in the car, I can completely understand why addition is at parental discretion.

Before I can question Jon any further about the other chats, I’m completely derailed when Rhianna’s voice blasts over the speakers.

The bass reverberates through the walls, and even outside the steady hum of the party, you can feel the vibrations in your chest. It completely drowns out any chance of a conversation.

Jon rolls his eyes heavenward. “Here we go again.”

Soon, several men stop what they were doing and head inside, drawn by some kind of secret male bonding. Caleb, Keene, Colby, and Liam practically cause a traffic jam trying to push their way past one another. “What’s happening?” I ask, trying to seek out Kalie but unable to spot her.

He hesitates, eyes darting around at the departing figures before he speaks. “Well…”

I cut him off, voice firm, “Spill it.” Before I can move to get inside, Jon steps in front of me.

His next words are both apologetic and wickedly amused, even for him. “You know how some families force a karaoke session?”

My eyes widen, and I instinctively take a step back. “That’s not what’s happening inside, is it?” I ask, my mind racing. If they’re dragging relatives into some impromptu, off-key madness, I wonder if I can make it to Kalie’s car before anyone notices I’ve disappeared.

“Not quite,” Jon continues, his voice trailing off, “The women in my family—and my Uncle Phil—they…” His sentence trails off.

“They what?” When he doesn’t answer, I snap impatiently, “Jon, Kalie’s told me stories about your Uncle Phil and on the way here, read me selections from her chat. It can’t be any worse.”

“Depends on what you consider worse,” he mutters.

“Spill it.” I press.

“I told you they all like to dance on tables,” Jon reminds me with a combination of mortification, love, and amusement.

“All?” My head snaps in the direction of the door. The image of my fiery, irreverent woman—and it strikes me in the chest that I just claimed her as mine—takes my breath away. Suddenly, I’m painfully aware of the stir in my groin—a reaction that keeps getting worse every time we’re together.

She is going to dance on a table?

Fuck my life.

“All of them. It’s like they—” he starts, but his explanation evaporates as I catch sight of Kalie through a nearby window.

Holy. Shit. All the blood in my body has made its way to my dick. I’m not even certain if my heart’s pumping blood anywhere else.

One of her impossibly long legs is drawn up gracefully against the side of her body. Then she trails her fingers deliberately, tantalizingly down a path over her thigh.

I recall nearly having a heart attack earlier when Kalie stepped into the room wearing her yoga pants, and now I understand exactly why.

Each and every move pulls the thin material taut against her ass, proving she’s either bare beneath or the scrap of nothing is so small I can rip it off with my teeth.

I’m not certain which I’m hoping for.

With a fluid spin, she presses her hand against the wall. Her hips sway as though every movement were a deliberate challenge to gravity itself. Throughout this shockingly sensual display, she’s nonchalantly munching on a decadent brownie as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Uncertain of how my feet are able to move, I stumble toward the door.

I vaguely hear Jon call out, “Just remember, it’s your funeral.” His smartass voice is swallowed by Rhianna as she drowns out everything else in the room.

Inside, chaos reigns. The living room has transformed into a bizarre dance floor.

It’s not just Kalie but all the women—and, Christ, Uncle Phil—are dancing on tables.

Laughter overrides the pulsating music. If their partners are on a table, the men are beneath it.

But what stops me in my tracks is catching sight of Keene—Mr. Stick Permanently Glued Up My Ass—spinning his delighted wife around on the dance floor when the song changes to one by Kelsea Ballerini.

I’d wonder what was baked in those brownies but then, as if by magnetic force, my eyes lock with Kalie’s again.

Up on a table, she glows with the kind of happiness I could never imagine being able to give her.

Her spirit challenges the universe with every step, her presence defiant and intoxicating.

In that moment, every guarded part of me softens; I can’t tear my eyes away.

I never want to.

She might be a firebrand, but she’s the fire my soul needs to burn.

Jon’s voice comes over the cacophony, his tone rough but enthusiastic. “I told you it gets crazy!”

I just nod, unable to tear my eyes away from Kalie.

“You keep an eye on her.”

I never want to move them away. The thought is as truthful as it is terrifying. I force my way through the crowd, each step drawing me closer to her. I know this is a train wreck waiting to happen, but I can’t slow my movement down.

A part of me doesn’t want to.

With her arm draped casually around Laura’s shoulder and another of their cousins by her side, Kalie tilts her head back as she erupts into a wild, joyous whoop.

She spins gracefully, each movement exuding the same recklessness that leaves no trace of regret or restraint.

My heart hammers in my chest as I shorten the distance between us.

The moment our eyes meet, she leaps down from her perch recklessly—a mix of trust and daring that makes me want to give her everything and take off in the opposite direction because I’m terrified of what will happen to her.

What will I do if something happens to her? The weight of the potential scenario slams into me even as she drags me closer to her parents. For now, for this moment, I’ll let her have her way and just be free.

Even if I know nothing is.