Page 62

Rilee

Several Months Later

“Just to be clear,” I say, gripping the steering wheel as we pull into Hunter’s parents’ driveway, “we’re not lying this time. We’re just… not volunteering extra information.”

“Strategic omission,” Caleb agrees from the passenger seat, already grinning like this is going to be the best entertainment of his year.

“It’s Thanksgiving,” Hunter mutters from behind me. “Not an interrogation.”

Grayson, squeezed between Hunter and our pile of overnight bags, just raises an eyebrow. “You’ve met your grandmother, right?”

Hunter groans.

The Maddox family home is intimidatingly perfect—colonial style, manicured lawn, the kind of place where people use coasters without being asked. Nothing like my chaotic childhood.

Mrs. Maddox opens the door before we even reach it, her smile warm but her eyes already doing that mom-scan thing. “Hunter! And… all of you?”

“Hi, Mom,” Hunter says, giving her a quick hug. “Yeah, the guys didn’t have anywhere to go for Thanksgiving, so…”

“And Rilee!” She pulls me into a hug that smells like expensive perfume and stuffing. I’d met her only once before, but thankfully we’d hit it off. “How wonderful. Though I thought you and Caleb were—”

“Mom,” Hunter cuts in. “Can we get inside first?”

The house smells like turkey and pie and impending disaster. Hunter’s dad appears from the living room, shaking hands with the guys like they’re business associates rather than the three men currently sharing his son’s… whatever I am.

Then I see her.

Hunter’s grandmother. Tiny, silver-haired, wearing pearls with her apron. She takes one look at our group and her eyes narrow with laser focus.

“Well,” she says slowly. “This is interesting.”

Dinner prep is a careful dance of trying to help while avoiding too many questions. I’m in the kitchen with Mrs. Maddox and Grandma Maddox, peeling potatoes and sweating through my sweater.

“So,” Grandma says, not looking up from her pie crust, “which one is your boyfriend?”

I fumble the peeler. “Oh, um—”

“Because that Caleb is very handsome. Very friendly.” She glances at me. “But then Hunter keeps looking at you like you hung the moon. And the quiet one with the tattoos hasn’t taken his eyes off you since you walked in.”

Mrs. Maddox clears her throat. “Mother, maybe—”

“I’m just making conversation, Patricia.” Grandma’s eyes gleam. “It’s not every day my grandson brings home a girl and her… entourage.”

From the living room, I hear Caleb’s laugh at something Mr. Maddox said, followed by Hunter’s grumbled response. At least they’re getting along.

“They’re all just really good friends,” I manage, focusing intently on the potato in my hand. I don’t want to lie, but Hunter wasn’t ready to go there…yet.

“Mmm-hmm.” Grandma starts rolling out another pie crust. “In my day, we had a word for situations like this.”

I’m terrified to ask what word that is.

Mrs. Maddox saves me by changing the subject to my job, but I catch Grandma muttering something that sounds suspiciously like “smart girl” under her breath.

I make it through the next hour, sweating and trying to avoid the guy’s eyes…now thankfully it’s time to eat.

The dining room is formal in that way that makes you sit up straighter without meaning to. China plates, actual cloth napkins, and enough silverware to make me second-guess which fork goes with what.

I end up between Caleb and Hunter, with Grayson directly across from me. Strategic? Maybe. But also the worst possible arrangement for my blood pressure.

“Let’s say grace,” Mr. Maddox announces, and everyone joins hands.

Caleb’s fingers interlock with mine immediately, warm and familiar.

Hunter hesitates for half a second before taking my other hand, his grip careful, controlled.

Under the table, his thumb brushes once across my knuckles—and my eyes flit over to his.

The look he gives me is sweet, like he likes seeing me here, in his family’s space.

Except Grayson’s watching from across the table, and the tiny quirk of his mouth says he saw everything.

“Amen,” everyone choruses, and I drop both hands like they’re on fire.

“So,” Grandma says, the second the turkey starts getting passed, “how did you all meet?”

“In college,” Hunter says quickly.

“Hockey,” Caleb adds at the exact same time.

“Through Fletcher,” I say, trying to save it. “My brother. He played with them.”

“Ah yes, Fletcher,” Mrs. Maddox says, spooning green beans onto her plate. “How is he doing these days? Such a shame what happened.”

“Good. Really good. Clean for almost a year now.” I smile, genuine this time. “He’s coaching youth hockey in Detroit.”

“That’s wonderful,” she says warmly, then she turns to Caleb. “And you’re all living together now? In California?”

Caleb grins, completely unbothered. “Yep! Got a great place. Pool and everything.”

“A pool,” Grandma repeats slowly. “How… communal.”

Hunter makes a sound like he’s choking on his water.

“The housing market is rough,” Grayson says calmly, speaking up for the first time. “Made sense to split costs.”

“Very practical,” Mr. Maddox agrees, but he’s got that look dads get when they’re trying to solve a puzzle. Or a complicated mathematical equation.

Under the table, someone’s foot nudges mine. I glance up to find Grayson watching me, expression unreadable except for the heat in his eyes. I nudge back, then immediately regret it when Caleb’s hand lands on my knee.

Not possessive. Just… there. Warm through my jeans. Casual enough that no one would notice unless they were looking for it.

Which, of course, Grandma is.

“Rilee, dear,” she says sweetly, “would you pass the cranberry sauce?”

I reach for it, hyperaware of Caleb’s hand sliding away, of Hunter’s shoulder brushing mine as I lean forward, of Grayson’s gaze tracking every movement.

“You have lovely table manners,” Grandma observes. “Were you raised in a large family?”

“No. Just me and my brother,” I say carefully.

“Hmm. And yet you seem very comfortable managing multiple… personalities.”

Mrs. Maddox coughs. “Mother.”

“What? I’m complimenting the girl. She’s clearly very…” Grandma pauses, eyes twinkling, “capable.”

That’s one word for it.

Caleb snorts into his stuffing. Hunter’s jaw is so tight I’m worried he might crack a tooth. Grayson just takes a calm sip of wine like we’re discussing the weather.

“So what do you boys do for work?” Mr. Maddox asks, clearly trying to steer us toward safer ground.

They launch into explanations—Caleb’s considering coaching positions, Grayson’s got some finance leads, and Hunter’s bound for the NHL.

We chat about normal post-college stuff.

Except Caleb’s hand finds its way back to my knee halfway through his answer.

Except for how Hunter’s arm drapes across the back of my chair, not quite touching but close enough that I feel the heat.

Except for Grayson playing footsie under the table like we’re teenagers.

“Rilee’s the real success story,” Caleb says, beaming at me. “Killing it in labor and delivery. Delivered six babies just last week.”

“Seven,” I correct, face warming at the pride in his voice.

“That’s incredible,” Mrs. Maddox says sincerely. “Such important work.”

“She’s amazing,” Hunter adds quietly, and something in his tone makes everyone look at him. He clears his throat. “At her job, I mean.”

“At everything,” Grayson says simply.

The table goes quiet.

Grandma sets down her fork with a delicate clink. “Well. Isn’t this fascinating.”

“Pie?” Mrs. Maddox says desperately. “Who wants pie?”

“I’ll help with dishes,” I announce the second dinner ends, practically leaping from my chair.

“We’ll all help,” Grayson says smoothly, already stacking plates.

Mrs. Maddox tries to protest, but we’re already moving—a well-oiled machine of desperation to escape Grandma’s knowing looks.

In the kitchen, I’m at the sink, Caleb’s drying, Hunter’s putting away, and Grayson’s on leftover duty. We work in careful silence at first, the sound of running water covering the tension.

“That went well,” Caleb says cheerfully.

Hunter glares at him. “My grandmother thinks we’re in a cult.”

“She does not,” I protest, scrubbing a plate harder than necessary.

“She asked if we ‘share everything,’” Hunter reminds me.

“That could mean groceries,” I say weakly. “The utility bill.”

Caleb leans in close to grab another dish, his lips near my ear. “We do share everything though.”

“Caleb,” I warn, but I’m fighting a smile.

That’s when Hunter crowds in from my other side, reaching around me to put away a serving bowl. His chest presses against my back for just a second, and I feel his lips brush my hair.

“You’re doing great,” he murmurs, so quiet only I can hear.

My hands still in the soapy water.

Grayson appears at my side, setting down containers. “You’ve got suds on your cheek,” he says softly, then reaches up to wipe them away with his thumb.

The touch lingers.

We’re all too close. The kitchen’s too warm. And I’m about to combust.

“Guys,” I breathe, “we can’t—”

But Caleb’s already turning me from the sink, backing me against the counter. “Just one,” he says, eyes bright. “Been dying to kiss you all day.”

“The door—”

“I’m watching it,” Grayson says calmly.

Hunter makes an impatient sound. “Just be quick.”

And then Caleb’s kissing me, soft and sweet, tasting like pie and making me melt despite every logical reason not to. He pulls back just for Hunter to turn my chin, kissing me deeper, more desperate, like he’s been holding back all through dinner.

“My turn,” Grayson says quietly, and then his mouth is on mine, steady and sure and—

“Hey, do you kids need any—”

We spring apart like teenagers as Mr. Maddox appears in the doorway. I spin back to the sink, face flaming. The guys scatter to different corners of the kitchen.

“Just… finishing up!” I squeak.

Mr. Maddox pauses, looking between all of us with that same puzzled expression from dinner. “Right. Well. Your grandmother wants coffee if someone could start a pot.”