Page 33

ANTON

“You cannot seat Judge Robinson with Sutherlands.”

My mother’s seemingly gentle voice assaults me as I walk into the house, the underlying strain in it razor sharp.

That tone should be more than enough of a warning.

One that tells me to do an about-face and head for the hills.

The fact that it is quickly followed by my little sister’s equally stubborn voice doesn’t make this any more comforting.

“Except I was trying to keep him and his daughter together. And you don’t put Stacey Conrad at a table without Moira Schneider, and if those two are together, I can’t separate their third musketeer, KatieRae, who is now married to Parker Michaels, captain of the Atlanta Rising Football Club.”

Closing the door behind me as quietly as I can, I sneak through the house toward the kitchen, hoping to make my way through undetected. Or at least into the kitchen enough to get a drink without being sucked into the “discussion.”

“I understand that…”

“And how exactly do I not put the team captain with the coach and team owner?” Willa continues, not letting our mother say her piece.

If there was ever a battle of wills between two strong women, this is it.

My money is on Miss Belle though. I think.

“So Gunnar Gracin and Felicity Sutherland are there too. And where Felicity goes, so does her brother, adding in Dalton and his wife, Zara.”

“And now you have too many people at that table.”

If Miss Belle could physically drop the mic right now, I’m fairly certain she would. Instead, she’ll simply drop the proverbial one, tilting her head just enough while giving Willa a pointed look.

“Fuck me,” Willa mutters, crashing back into the stool behind her.

“Pretty sure that’s Nash’s job,” I comment, unable to help myself as I open the fridge, grabbing a Coke.

“Anton!”

“And he’s damn good at it,” Willa whispers under her breath, but not quietly enough that our mother doesn’t catch it.

“Willa Mae Hayes!” Miss Belle reaches across the counter, swatting at her daughter, careful not to disrupt the large poster board diagram and sticky notes precariously arranged on the quartz top.

“I’m sorry, Mama,” I say, cracking open the can. “Were you unaware that the two of them got up to that? Figured that was common knowledge, especially considering it took thinking she was knocked up for this one to admit she had feelings for him.”

Willa glowers at me, extending me the middle finger. She can’t argue with me, since that’s exactly how it went down between her and Nash, despite their fairy-tale-ride-off-into-the-sunset ending.

“Anton, do not think for one second that I am unaware of what my children are, or are not , doing,” Miss Belle sasses, turning her pointed look at me as she says are not , leaving little to the imagination with her implications .

Well, Mama, maybe there are a few things you don’t know…

“Buuuurn…” Willa murmurs.

“Also, you kids should really stop thinking you’re the only ones who get up to anything.”

She winks, her own version of the infamous Hayes smirk appearing, spreading across her cheeks like wildfire. Turning away from both of us, she saunters over to the pantry, leaving Willa and me looking at each other in horror.

“I think I just threw up a little in my mouth,” I say.

It’s no secret that our parents are still very much in love, even forty-plus years of marriage and seven kids later.

They’ve never hidden their PDA, flirting, or adoration of each other from us, always wanting to be a model of a loving, healthy relationship.

In every way, Auggie and Belle Hayes are couples goals, not only for the seven of us, but for a lot of Hickory Hills.

Still, for as much as we tease them about their “sex boat” or “grown-up naps,” zero part of me actually wants to think about my parents that way.

“Hey,” a familiar voice greets.

I look up, my eyes landing on the one person I absolutely do want to think about that way. Covered in red Georgia dirt, Sawyer swipes at the rogue piece of hair falling out of her messy bun piled on top of her head, smearing the streaks on her forehead.

“Hi.”

It takes everything in me to utter that single-syllable word, the breath literally stolen straight from my lungs, as my eyes scan her up and down.

Ripped jeans, a Hayes T-shirt she must have commandeered from the lab, and sun-kissed skin from what is clearly an afternoon in the fields without protection, she’s a mess if there ever was one.

I can tell from looking at her that every inch of her is sticky, sweaty, and dirty.

She’s never looked more beautiful .

I cross the kitchen in a few strides, closing the gap in no time flat.

Wrapping an arm around her, I haul her into me, capturing her lips in mine.

The sweet taste of her takes over, filling my brain and taking over my senses, but still not satisfying the need inside me.

The one that is making all the decisions right now.

Like not letting up on this kiss or giving her time to react before I deepen it.

Sawyer grabs on to my shirt, twisting her fingers in the fabric, holding on as our tongues meet, sending sparks straight down my spine.

Making everything feel different. For the first time in my life, this is more than a kiss.

It’s a promise. An acknowledgment. And most importantly, an announcement. This is real.

“What was that for?” Sawyer asks, inhaling deeply as she draws back.

I smile, loving the knowledge that I kissed the breath right out of her. “You walked in here looking irresistible, and well, I couldn’t resist.”

“I’m covered in dirt,” she chuckles.

“Like I said, irresistible.”

“Oh, Sawyer, darlin,” Miss Belle says, ignoring the fact that we’re still completely wrapped up in each other. “Tacos work for you? I know it’s not fancy, but the afternoon got away from me workin’ on all this wedding stuff.”

I shake my head. If ever there was proof that Sawyer was now considered family, it’s that my mama is talking to her, rather than me—her own child—about an acceptable dinner option. While she’s standing here in my arms. Nonetheless, it makes my heart happy.

“Tacos are great,” Sawyer answers. “And I totally understand the afternoon getting away from you. It was a busy day.”

“Yeah?” I ask quietly, skimming her up and down again.

My mind runs wild with what could have gotten her in this state, other than outright rolling down a hill somewhere. Which, knowing Sawyer, was probably not on the top of her to-do list.

“Yeah…” Biting down on her bottom lip, she looks up at me with wide eyes. “I kinda did a thing…”

A thing? She did a thing? Oh, boy…

“And I am also aware that it is not Tuesday,” Miss Belle adds, interrupting our whispers. “And I do not care one bit. One can eat tacos on other days of the week, so I will not be hearin’ any lip from you, Anton.”

I raise my hands in surrender. “Wouldn’t think about it, ma’am.”

Turning back to Sawyer, I press a kiss to her forehead, my stomach doing cartwheels with excitement. An evening curled up with her, listening to her talk about whatever breakthrough she made, sounds like absolute perfection.

“Can’t wait to hear all about it,” I tell her.

Peeling away from me, she walks into the kitchen, leaning against the counter and looking down at the mess my sister has spread out in front of her.

“Seating chart?”

“Yup,” Willa answers, popping the p . “Something I am very much regretting at the moment. Because believe it or not, this thing is an organizational nightmare. You have to make sure all the right people are together, certain sets of people aren’t together, and ugghh…

it just sucks. Take my advice—when you get married, let the seating be a free-for-all. ”

Sawyer nods. “Noted.”

Instinctively, she reaches for my soda can to her right, lifting it to take a sip, stopping halfway as she realizes it’s not hers. Nudging her, I give her a nod, silently letting her know it’s okay, our wordless communication skills taking over .

“So, where are we sitting?” I ask, my eyes still glued to Sawyer.

“You’re here, table three.” Willa points to a circle on the poster, a purple sticky note next to it with a list of names.

Lucy Keller

Jack Keller

Pops Keller

Anton Hayes

Jace Hayes

Ewan Hayes

Cary Adler

Tizzy Pullman

I read it once, twice, then a third time, blinking harder with each reread. Because this isn’t right. Table three is clearly a family table, including Nash’s parents, grandpa, my brothers, my best friend, and me. But there is someone missing. Someone very important.

Sawyer Brown.

“Errr, hate to be the one to tell you this, Wills, but you get to redo this. You messed this up.”

“Excuse you?” she exclaims.

“You heard me. This isn’t right. Sawyer’s missing.”

Willa narrows her eyes at me, her expression going stony and cold, her normal sass morphing into something hard. Her eyes flick to Sawyer for a second, but only the briefest of moments, before they’re back on me.

“That’s because you didn’t RSVP for Sawyer.”

What? That’s not possible. My whole family knows I’m bringing a date. It’s all they’ve talked about—given me shit about—for weeks, not bothering to be shy about what I “owe” them if I don’t show up to this wedding with a date.

“Did too.”

“Did. Fucking. Not,” Willa counters, popping up from her stool. “Do you want me to pull out your RSVP card? Because I can!”

She holds up a small recipe card-sized box, fire in her eyes, nostrils flared like she is ready to battle. One she’ll win. My sister brought receipts.

“Then change it.”

“No.”

No? I balk, stepping back, my insides starting to boil. Willa has got to be fucking kidding me if she thinks that I’m going to roll over on this.

“Yes. It’s not that big of a deal. You’ve known for weeks that I planned on bringing Sawyer with me.”

That I’m bringing my girlfriend with me…

“Then you should have RSVP’d properly,” she snaps.