Page 38 of The Spite Date (Small Town Sisterhood #1)

“Too soon,” Daphne says to him. “He should have at least a glass of wine and a false sense of comfort before you spring that one on him.”

“Simon, I’d apologize, but I think you probably knew what you were getting yourself into when you didn’t argue about everyone coming to dinner,” Bea calls.

“Is the risotto worth it?” I call back.

“It’ll get a little uncomfortable when my brothers start moaning over it, but there’s very little in life that can top this butternut squash risotto. Don’t worry—no butter, only olive oil, so it’s lactose-friendly. I used fresh sage from Ryker’s greenhouse too.”

I sit straighter again. “This is unlike what I expected of a farm. Do you not have acres of wheat and corn?”

Ryker slides me a look as he flips the chicken breasts on the grill. “Nope.”

“He rotates crops every year and does crop shares,” Hudson says. “Grows what people actually eat, like tomatoes and zucchini and eggplants. Except I don’t actually know anyone who eats eggplants. Plus, there are the chickens and goats.”

“All he needs is a wind turbine or two, maybe some solar panels, and he could live completely off the grid,” Daphne adds. “It’s so self-sustaining that I have farm envy, and I have never in my life wanted to be a farmer. What about you, Simon? Ever wanted to be a farmer?”

“Never given it much thought.”

“Dad! Dad, look! There are goats!”

I peer over the deck railing at my boys, who are now racing further away toward a fence with goats on the other side, the dogs running along with them.

“But upon further reflection, I suspect farming would be a poor combination for me, my sons, and the animals,” I tell Daphne as I rise. “Boys, remember to be kind to the animals.”

Ryker looks at me, then at my boys, then at Hudson.

Hudson grins back at his brother. “Your animals, bruh. I’ll flip the chicken.”

I head after my children. Pinky follows me. Ryker overtakes me and reaches them as Charlie climbs onto the lower fence rung.

Even as the smaller of the two boys, he’s much too large to need to stand on the fencing to reach over it to pet the goats, but he does it anyway.

“They bite,” Ryker says.

Both of my children look up at Bea’s brother, and while they’re vastly different in appearance, they’re identical in the way they jump back from the fence.

Eddie angles behind Charlie, which should be hilariously funny, considering Eddie is the larger of the two.

“How bad do they bite?” Eddie asks.

Ryker doesn’t blink. “Took off my last girlfriend’s finger.”

“Whoa,” Charlie whispers.

“Did she get it back?” Eddie asks.

Ryker folds his arms. “No.”

“Dinner,” Bea calls from the deck.

The boys look at each other and promptly break into a run toward the house.

Once again, the dogs follow, and I’m reminded of the fortune teller’s suggestion that I get them a dog.

Rather unlikely to get that approved by Lana. Not as long as she’s spending so many of her hours caring for her mother and I’m due to leave for four to six weeks for filming as soon as school begins.

I glance at Ryker. “I was under the impression you don’t date much.”

He stares me down much as he was staring down my boys a moment ago. “And now you know why.”

Without another word, he turns on his heel and heads back to the deck.

I trail along, wondering less if his statement is true and more what it would take to make the man crack a smile.

It’s suddenly a personal challenge.

A goal.

Secondary to finding an opportunity to be alone with Bea, naturally, but still a goal.

“Which one of these was the dog who disappeared?” I ask Ryker.

He slides me a look.

“Bea mentioned it.”

“Roseanne. She didn’t come back.”

“Oh. Terribly sorry.”

Once again, he doesn’t reply.

I experience that unfortunate wash of emotions that tells me I’m not as impervious to the feelings of wanting to fit in here as I tell myself I am.

Not the first time I’ve encountered a family that made me wish I could belong in ways I never did as a child.

Likely won’t be the last.

“Wash your hands first,” Bea tells my boys on the deck. “Sink’s just inside. Don’t let the cat out.”

“Yes, ma’am,” they chorus.

Manners they clearly learned from Lana.

“You too,” Bea calls to Ryker and me.

“She still mothers you?” I inquire.

As expected, he declines to reply.

Fair enough.

I wouldn’t answer me if I were him either.

Bea’s issuing orders to Daphne to get the chicken off the grill and Hudson to start prepping to serve the food in the kitchen.

I follow Ryker into the kitchen, where my boys are attempting to squirt one another with the flexible-handled sink hose.

God help me, I both want to indulge in a water fight with them and also ground them at the same time.

“Boys,” I begin, but before I can finish, Ryker’s rescued the sprayer and has both of my children pinned against the cabinet with the sprayer aimed at them, but not spraying.

“Do you know what I have that you don’t?” he says to my children.

“N-no,” Charlie stammers.

Eddie shakes his head.

“Wisdom, strategic thinking skills, and a mortgage. You want to scrub this kitchen floor to ceiling?”

Now both of my boys are shaking their heads.

“Then wash your hands and go sit and eat, including your vegetables.”

“But is corn really a vegetable?” Hudson says behind me.

In one swift motion, Ryker flips the sprayer around and sends a short burst of water at Hudson, who ducks behind me.

Not that he needed to.

Ryker was always aiming at me, I’m certain.

And I’m just slow enough to not duck myself, which means I take the full spray of lukewarm water square in the chest.

Eddie’s eyes bulge.

Charlie gasps.

Ryker glances over his shoulder, inspects his handiwork, and smirks. “Whoops.”

And me?

I smile.

You’re bloody right, I do. “Jolly good shot, mate.”

The back door bangs, and all of us turn to see Bea.

She looks at Ryker first, then my boys, then me.

And she heaves a sigh that would make my mother proud.

But on Bea—with her lips pursed together as though she can suppress the smile that I am certain she’s suppressing, her dimples popping because she can’t suppress them, and her eyes cast heavenward but also smiling—well, on Bea, that long-suffering sigh is nothing short of erotically appealing.

She shoves a container of barbecue chicken at Hudson. “Set this on the sideboard. Ryker, if you got water in my risotto, you’re grounded.” She looks out through the back door. “Daph, first glass of wine is mine.”

“On it,” Daphne calls back.

Bea points to all of us collectively. “I will take back all of the risotto if you don’t behave. Understood?”

“I can make my own later,” Ryker says.

“I can help him,” Hudson says.

“I don’t like risotto,” Eddie says.

“Me either,” Charlie agrees.

They share a look.

I don’t like that look.

That look spells trouble.

Based on the way all three of the Best siblings are now glancing at each other, I suspect they’re also familiar with this look and they know it means trouble as well.

“Better go light on Simon’s,” Bea calls to Daphne. She grins at me. “How would you say it? You need to have your wits about you tonight?”

“Indeed,” I agree.

My children smile at me.

So do both of Bea’s brothers.

Still doesn’t count on Ryker’s behalf though.

This isn’t yet an actual happy smile.

It’s a you’re in trouble smile.

And I daresay he’s right.

On many, many counts.