Page 4

CHAPTER 4

GRIFFIN

I don’t know what to make of my new stepsister. She seems shy, or maybe she’s naturally reserved. Not everyone is as outgoing as I am. When I was a kid I spoke loudly and didn’t realize I had a volume issue. My mom finally took me to get my hearing checked, but as it turned out, my ears were just fine. I’m just a loud fucker.

We come to a red light, and I turn my head, sending a glance her way. With her hands wrapped around the cup of hot chocolate and the colorful knit hat on her head, she reminds me of a teenager. She’s not much taller than a child. No wonder my dad and stepmom don’t want her living alone. Especially in an area she’s not familiar with. I feel a blip of protectiveness toward her. Of course, I want her to be safe, but that doesn’t mean I’m happy about having a new roommate. I may be resigned to the fact that I’ll be sharing my home; however, I plan on keeping our interactions to a minimum.

The end of the regular football season is coming, and the playoffs will be starting right after. I can’t afford any distractions. And it only took one look at her beautiful face to realize she’s dangerous as fuck. The moment our eyes connected, I felt a squeezing sensation in my chest.

As soon as my truck parks in the driveway, my dad steps outside, zipping up his coat as he walks toward us. “I figured you’d need some help.”

“I thought that’s what I was here for,” Christine jokes.

“You can be in charge of decorating the tree,” Dad tells her.

She snorts. “Did you forget about my mom? Like she’d ever let someone else handle that.”

Dad pats her shoulder. “You can assist your mother.”

“Oh boy, lucky me,” she says, slowly progressing toward the house.

“I’ll pull the tree from the truck bed and then you can grab the other end,” I direct.

“Sounds good,” he agrees, getting in position while I slowly drag the tree backward.

When the top is near the edge, my dad grabs on, and the two of us carry it up the front steps. Dad manages to open the door, and we maneuver the cumbersome bundle inside. I kick the door shut behind us and we continue moving to the living room.

“What. The. Fuck?” The words reflexively leave my lips as I take in all the decorations spread about the room. Green garlands with red berries and pine cones are draped across the long mantel. What looks to be at least thirty electric candles of varying sizes and in a plethora of holders line the top of the wooden surface. Mixed in between the candles are nutcrackers painted all the colors of the rainbow. Red and green throw pillows have overtaken my large couch, and a large poinsettia in a golden pot sits in the middle of the coffee table. It looks like the spirit of Christmas threw up in my living room.

“Amazing, right?” my dad says, grinning ear to ear.

“I don’t know if that’s the word I’d use but it’s a surprise, for sure.”

“There’s nothing like some Christmas decorations to get you in the spirit of the holidays.”

Ba humbug.

With a little maneuvering, we get the tree situated in the stand that’s waiting in the corner near the wall of bookcases. My stepmother hurries over to check it out.

Apparently, she’s running this show.

She claps her hands. “What a beautiful tree.”

“Your daughter picked it out,” I say.

“Christine,” she calls out.

“Mom, I’m right here,” she answers from the kitchen island, where she’s drinking her hot chocolate.

Shirley studies the tree, touching the needles on a branch. “I know, dear. Will you bring me some water, please?”

Christine gingerly slips from the stool and grabs a bottle from the fridge. I watch as she walks toward us with her shapeless sweater hanging to the middle of her thighs. Her hair is still tousled from her hat and sticking up in a couple of spots.

“Climb under there and fill the tree stand with water,” Shirley instructs.

Christine looks at the small space between the bottom row of branches and the floor then back to her mom. “You should’ve filled it before the tree went in.”

“Well, hindsight is twenty-twenty, but I didn’t think of it until now. And since you’re the smallest of us, you get the honor.” Shirley’s expression lands somewhere between a smile and pleading.

Christine shakes her head, the only outward sign of frustration, but remains silent. She moves back and forth around the front of the tree a couple of times before she finally chooses the right side. Tentatively dropping to her knees, she holds the bottle in one hand and lowers her chest to the floor. Slithering her upper body under the branches, she rustles them, causing pine needles to fall on the hardwood floor. I hear the crack of the bottle cap followed by the water being poured into the stand. She slides backward until her head reappears, then slowly rises. I can tell she’s in pain.

“Thank you, sweetie,” Shirley says.

“You’re welcome.”

“How full is the stand?” Dad asks.

“Almost to the top.”

He nods. “Great. You’ll have to check it again tomorrow and possibly add more water.”

Christine presses her lips together and nods.

A timer goes off in the kitchen. “Time for dinner,” Shirley announces.

Excusing myself, I return to the foyer to remove my boots, hang up my flannel jacket, and drop my hat on the table. I run my fingers through my hair as I head to the kitchen. I give my hands a quick wash at the sink and then get in line to dish out my dinner.

“I thought we could all sit at the table together,” Shirley says.

“Good idea, honey,” my dad agrees. It’s strange hearing him call someone besides my mom that nickname. That’ll take some getting used to. As much as I miss my mom, I’m glad he’s found someone else to share the rest of his life with. He’s been alone for a long time, and he’s got a lot of life left in him.

I add a healthy portion of roast and potatoes to my plate and then drop two biscuits on top. I grab a fork and knife, snag a bottle of water from the fridge, then I open the freezer, peering inside. I find what I’m looking for tucked in the shelf along the door. I settle down in the first open seat available at the table, which places me next to Christine. She scoots her chair away from mine, giving me more room.

“Thank you,” I say. Being a larger man makes it difficult to fit into average-sized spaces.

Then again, maybe she just doesn’t want to sit next to me and I’m mistaking it for thoughtfulness.

I wait for a moment when Shirley and Dad are busy talking. “Here.” I lean over toward Christine, keeping my voice low and hand her the ice pack. “You should sit on this.”

A half snort, half laugh leaving her pink lips, she takes it and tucks it behind her in the chair. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” I cut my meat and take a bite mixed with potatoes. It practically melts in my mouth. “Shirley, this is delicious.”

She beams at me. “Thank you, Griffin. I’m glad you think so.”

My dad pats his almost flat stomach. “She feeds me too well.”

She shrugs. “I like to cook. It makes me happy.”

“That works for me. I like to eat,” I say.

“I’m happy to prepare all your meals while we’re here, but once I leave, you’re out of luck. My daughter will be too busy with school,” Shirley adds.

“Why are you bringing me into this?” Christine asks.

“I don’t want Griffin to have unreasonable expectations,” my stepmom explains.

“Well, I have no expectations at all. Christine, while you’re staying here, you can do whatever you’d like. I’m not your keeper.”

“Well, you are her big brother now,” Dad chimes in.

“Stepbrother,” I correct, forking another bite in my mouth.

“Tomato, tomahto. Family is family whether you’re born into it or it’s through marriage.”

While I understand his sentiment, it’s difficult to consider Shirley or Christine in that light when I only met them a few hours ago. Maybe I’ll get there someday, but it won’t be today.

My gaze flicks to my stepsister as her fork shifts the food around on her plate. She looks as though she’d prefer being anywhere but here. I study her profile, taking in her smooth forehead and straight nose. Her bow-shaped lips are full and dark pink, and her slightly angled chin hints at a stubbornness I’ve yet to see any sign of. But I sure as hell notice how pretty she is.

Sensing my gaze, Christine turns her head. For a moment, we lock eyes, and I’m hit with that chest squeezing sensation all over again. But there’s also a shared understanding running between us. We’ve both been thrust into this unfamiliar situation neither of us had a hand or a say in. We’ve both gained two new family members, and we’re sitting here eating dinner like nothing has changed. And the way her mom and my dad are ignoring the elephant in the room and acting as if we’ve done this hundreds of times before makes it even weirder.

Looking away first, I take a sip of water before asking, “So, Dad, you never mentioned how long you’re staying for.”

“Are you in a rush to get rid of me, son?”

“I didn’t say that. I’m trying to plan. I have a game on Sunday and want to know if you’d like tickets.”

He nods. “I meant to ask you about that. We’d love to come if it’s possible.”

“Yeah, it shouldn’t be a problem.”

“My daughter and I have never been to a game,” Shirley says.

Christine shakes her head. “I don’t need a ticket.”

“Of course you do. You need to go cheer on your new brother,” Shirley tells her.

“Stepbrother,” Christine corrects and then adds, “I don’t want to sit outside in the cold. I’d rather stay home and read.”

“This isn’t a negotiation.”

“Mom, I’m almost twenty-three. I don’t need your permission to stay home.”

This is the first time I’ve seen Christine push back at anyone.

“No, but the least you can do is go cheer Griffin and his teammates on. He’s letting you live under his roof.”

Christine’s eyes lower to the table and she nods. “I’ll go.”

Shirley’s hands meet in a single clap. “Good. Now that’s settled.”

I think it’s time for a change of subject. I clear my throat. “So, Christine, what do you do in your spare time? Any hobbies I should know about?”

Wrinkling her nose, she sends a brief glance my way. “None that you’d be interested in.”

“Try me.”

“I love to read books and knit.”

I rub the short hair on my chin. “I like a good book myself, but I’ve never tried knitting.”

She snorts.

“What’s so funny?” I ask.

“I was picturing you trying to knit.”

“You don’t think I’m capable?” I feel like she just called me out.

She wrinkles her nose again. “I don’t think it’d be your forte.”

“Maybe not, but that wouldn’t stop me from trying.”

“Christine, you should teach Griffin how to knit something,” Shirley suggests.

Thanks a lot .

“Mom, he has enough to keep him busy with football.”

“You can wait until his season is done.”

Christine shrugs, bouncing the brown strands resting on her shoulders. “If he wants to learn.”

I notice something green in the back of her locks and lean closer. “Hold still. You have a pine needle in your hair.” My fingers close around the small object, and her silky tresses drag between my fingers. “Here you go.” I set it down on the table between us. “A memento to remember this weird-ass day by,” I say, smirking.

Her only reply is a subtle curving of her lips, but knowing I’m the reason feels like a mini victory.