Page 25 of The Sunday Brothers Novellas

I had to admit that stew smelled amazing.

The warm, hearty aroma filled the small cabin and made the entire place seem even cozier than it already was.

Inside the fridge, I didn’t find sandwich fixings, but I did find hummus, veggies, and fruit.

I pulled a bunch of stuff out and made up a platter to share, hoping he wouldn’t mind me making myself at home in his tiny kitchen.

Luck was not on my side because I was just coming in from fetching the hoodie I’d left outside when I remembered he hadn’t taken any clothes into the bathroom for himself.

By the time I stepped into the cabin, he was pulling on a sweater over the clean T-shirt, hiding all the delicious skin I might have gotten a peek of if I’d simply left the hoodie to die in the frigid driveway.

“I made us something to eat,” I said, gesturing to the table where I’d set the platter. “Hope that’s okay.”

He slid his dark-framed glasses on his face and ran fingers through his wet hair to straighten it back from the mess the sweater had made. “Of course. Help yourself to anything while you’re here.”

His voice sounded strangely rough and unsure, as if our comfortable companionship from earlier had been zapped out of existence. I debated making a joke about helping myself to anything … but I figured that would only make things more awkward.

I busied myself fetching us a couple of glasses of cold water before joining him at the table.

He popped back up to grab some pita chips from a cabinet to add to our stash, and then we dove in.

My mouth was desperate to make all kinds of snarky comments to break the ice—things like the fact his students called that sweater his “touch me” sweater since the cashmere looked downright pettable, or the utter predictability of him not having something as pedestrian as deli turkey in his kitchen, or my realization that him cheating really invalidated our agreement to let him critique my last essay for Professor Burton—but I kept my mouth busy with food and waited for him to break the ice this time.

A few silent minutes later, he did.

“So you grew up in a small town like this, right?” he asked. “Little Pippin Hollow? Did you ever have dreams to move to the big city the way I dreamed of leaving it?”

I nodded. “Oh yeah. Still do. I was interviewing for a bunch of corporate jobs in New York and Boston last spring before… you know,” I said, giving him a significant look.

I hurried on, “It’s not that I don’t love small-town life.

I’m go nna miss it, to be honest. But small towns really aren’t practical if your goal is to make money. ”

“And that’s your goal?” he asked, like the idea surprised him.

“Basically.” I chomped a carrot stick. “See, my oldest brother, Knox, moved down to Boston and made a killing at his finance job for, like, ten years before moving back to Little Pippin Hollow. He helped put my brother and me through school, even though I was kind of a pain in the ass to him when we were kids?—”

“You, Sunday?” Theo clutched a hand to his chest in faux shock. “Never say so.”

I snickered. “It’s all part of my charm.

Anyway, it’s not that our family was poor, really—not like some of the kids at the Hub who have to deal with food insecurity and not knowing if the electricity will stay on.

But there were six of us Sunday kids, so there wasn’t a lot of extra.

Definitely no college funds and not a lot of money for daydreaming about the future, if you know what I mean.

If my brother hadn’t been super generous…

well, it would have taken a lot more than two years of me commuting to Hannabury part-time for me to save up the money to become a full-time student, you know? And that really inspired me?—”

He whistled low. “You worked two years to save money before you enrolled full-time?”

“Sure.” I shrugged. “I worked nights and took a class or two every semester. I’m not scared of hard work, especially if it’s for a purpose.

And that’s my point. I figure, once I’ve worked at a corporate job for a while and I’ve saved up a bunch, I’ll be able to do good things like Knox did.

Endow a scholarship for the kids at the Hub.

Maybe more than one. And I’ll give the Hub enough money to actually hire a full staff, too.

Because those kids… they’re so fucking bright.

They need someone to make sure they’re dreaming big, and they need to know someone’s ready to invest in their futures when the time comes, the way Knox did for me.

I swear, one of them is gonna cure cancer—probably Raquon, who’s a little science geek with the sweetest heart.

And one of them is gonna write the great American novel—I’m guessing Laci, who’s thirteen and started a Bookstagram where she reviews YA stuff.

And definitely one of ’em’s gonna come up with a taco recipe that will revolutionize the taco industry because Edgar’s only nine, but he has a really well-developed taco palate.

It’ll be a fucking crime if these kids don’t get to pursue their passions. ”

Theo looked at me strangely. “And meanwhile, you’re gonna be working a ‘corporate job’ somewhere. Not even a specific corporate job? Just… whatever they’ll pay you the most for? What about your passion?”

“I don’t really have one. Not yet, anyway.

It’s like we were talking about with you taking the Hannabury job.

” I nibbled a pita chip thoughtfully. “Serendipity, right? But it didn’t just happen out of nowhere.

It happened because you already had an impressive resume and track record at Brown before you took the step of applying for the job up here.

It all kinda came together because you were in the right place at the right time with the right skills.

I’m hoping the same will happen for me. I’ll start making money to do the things I want to do, and then… you know, the passion will come.”

He shook his head, looking a little like he had in class last semester. Like I was somehow missing the obvious. “Porter. You don’t think you’ve found your passion yet?”

“Nope.” I shrugged again. “Well, I mean, I love Sunday Orchard. I do. And if they needed me, I’d move back and help out in a heartbeat.

But Knox is back in the Hollow now. He and his boyfriend are working alongside my second-oldest brother, Webb, and his husband, and…

they all really enjoy it. Way more than I would.

Which is handy because if I moved back there, I’d end up being ‘Porter, the fourth Sunday sibling’ again.

As much as I love my family, I’ve gotta say, I li ke being known for who I am now, as an adult, rather than for the shit I pulled as a kid.

I watch my brother Hawk struggle with the same thing.

He loves the Hollow too much to leave, but it’s been hard for him to break away from people’s expectations.

Like, I baked a cake for my Scout troop leader’s birthday once, and everyone loved it, but that doesn’t mean I want to be known as the Scout Cake Kid forever,” I said with a chuckle. “You know?”

Theo shook his head, but he was smiling, too.

“I grew up in Manhattan. We didn’t do Scout cakes.

But I know what you mean. People became known for what their parents did—for better or worse.

Or for what neighborhood they lived in. Or for being the kid whose uncle was in that music video that one time.

That kind of thing. It was very… superficial.

” He dragged a pita chip through the hummus.

“Gotta say, I can’t really see you in that life, Porter. ”

“Yeah?” The way he described it, I wasn’t sure either, to be honest. “Well, if I find I hate it, I’ll pivot. I’m not too worried. I’m really good with people.”

“So why not stay in Hannabury and make a difference here?”

“Uh…” I blinked. “Did you not hear the part about the small town, no jobs thing? I’m working at the Hub right now, and they don’t have enough money to pay me for all the hours I work, let alone to hire the program director they really need.

If I stayed on after graduation, I wouldn’t be able to pay my own rent without taking help from my family. ”

Theo nodded seriously and stared out the window at the snow that had started coming down again. “What if we could come up with a way for you to get the money?”

“Oh, sure.” I snorted. “Prostitution, perhaps? Or, I know! I’ll start a soliloquy-delivery service. Kinda like a singing telegram but fancier . For that hard-to-please professor in your life?—”

“Creative non-fiction, Porter.” Theo rolled his eyes. “You know, the shit I tried to teach you? Well-crafted creative non-fiction can literally save lives. I can prove it to you.” He leaned back in his chair.

I felt like I’d walked directly into his trap.

“Back to this again?” I sighed. “I have no idea how you critiquing my writing will help, but I suppose you technically won the challenge earlier, so fine.” I pushed back from the table and spread my arms wide.

“I’m yours to command for the next two hours, Professor. ”

My words fell into the space between us like a molten-hot hand grenade with the pin already pulled. Sexual innuendo seemed to pour freely from my mouth, whether it was intended or not.

Theo inhaled a deep breath as if gearing up for the most impressive I-told-you-so lecture ever, full of “profound” advice about narrative and essay structure.

“What are some ways you could get money to fund a director position at the Hub?” he asked.

I frowned. His practical approach took the wind out of my sails and left me scrambling for a response. “Uh. Ask wealthy donors for contributions? Apply for grants? I don’t know. Things like that?”