Page 73 of Wrecked on the Mountain

He nods once, apparently satisfied. "Good. This one should have had someone who can patch him up when he does something stupid years ago."

"Dad," Jamie groans.

"What? It's a practical consideration."

"I like him," I tell Jamie, which earns me an approving grunt from Gavin.

"Dinner!" Sandra announces, clapping her hands together. "Everyone to the table before the lamb gets cold!"

The dining room table is a work of art, a massive piece of reclaimed wood that could easily seat twelve. It's set withmismatched dishes that somehow look perfectly coordinated as candles flicker in mason jars in the center.

And before my eyes is a spread so impressive I'm practically drooling right now.

Jamie pulls out my chair, then settles beside me with his hand immediately finding my thigh under the table.

"So, Brooke," Chloe says as everyone begins passing dishes around. "What made you leave Chicago for our little mountain town?"

It's the question I've been dreading, because how do you explain that you were slowly dying inside without sounding dramatic?

"Career burnout," I say honestly, accepting a serving of the most perfect-looking mashed potatoes I've ever seen. "I had a rough few months and needed to remember why I became a doctor in the first place."

"Well, we're glad you landed here," Sandra says warmly. "Aren't we, Jamie?"

"Extremely glad," he agrees, squeezing my thigh.

"Just glad?" Zoe asks with a wicked grin. "Because from what we've heard, 'glad' might be understating things."

"Zoe," Jamie warns.

"What? I'm just saying, Knox mentioned you've been in a suspiciously good mood lately. And Chase said you called Brooke your—"

"Zoe."

"—girlfriend, which is interesting because you haven't had one of those since—"

"Zoe Striker, eat your dinner."

Sandra's command cuts through the sibling warfare, but not before I catch Zoe's smug grin. I like her.

"He did call me his girlfriend," I admit, which makes Chloe choke on her wine.

"Did he now?" Maya asks, dropping her fork, clearly delighted.

"Accidentally," Jamie mutters, but his ears are turning red again.

"I thought it was sweet," I continue, enjoying his mortification. "Very smooth. Really swept me off my feet."

"Oh, boy," Gavin says from the head of the table. "She's got your number, son."

The conversation flows easily from there. The food is incredible, every bite better than the last, and I find myself relaxing in a way I haven't in years.

This is what family dinners are supposed to feel like. Chaos and laughter and love served alongside perfectly seasoned lamb.

"So what's Chicago like?" one of the twins asks around a mouthful of potatoes.

"Loud," I reply. "And crowded. And everyone's always in a hurry to get somewhere else."

"Do you miss it?" the other twin asks.