“Took a lot of therapy,” I say, laughing.
“Therapy for the win,” Shane says. I flash him a quick look, thinking he’s messing with me, but he gives me a nod and a warm smile, and I realize: He means it.
For all his irreverence, there’s a core of kindness in him. Maybe in all the Hotts.
“I don’t know a ton about quilting,” Sonya says. “Do you make, like, the big ones? Like to go on beds? Or small ones that are artsier? Or…?”
“My grandmother’s style was very traditional. Lots of perfectly formed squares with exactly quarter-inch seams, but the older I got, the more I experimented. She didn’t approve, of course. She called them messy quilts. But by then I realized she wasn’t the last word on quilting—or on life in general—and I started sneaking into other quilting classes and soaking up everything I could learn. And as soon as I could get the loans to do it, I started my own shop.”
“That’s amazing,” Natalie says. “I love how you made something beautiful out of a hard childhood.”
And damn, now I like her, too. I like them all, and that’s—awesome, and it also sucks, because I’mnotgetting a family dinner invitation for life, just for tonight, and when Rhys goes back to New York there won’t be any reason for me to hang out with this crew.
And if Weggers decidesnotto cut the Hotts slack on the will, my wedding will be the reason why Hanna lost everything, and no one will wantthatreminder at family gatherings.
It makes me sad.
“No!” Eloise says suddenly, and we all turn to look at the toddler, who is standing over Frank, the other dog. “No!”
“Oh, shit,” I say. “That’s my sneaker.”
Frank has pilfered my shoe from where I left it by the door. Now he’s got it wedged between his paws and is snuffling into it curiously.
“Frank!” Sonya scolds, reaching for the shoe, but Frank growls and doubles down over his prize.
“I havenoidea what’s gotten into him,” Sonya says. “He never does this!”
Mari’s words echo in my head.There was this family lore that if Gabe’s dog, Buck, chewed up a girlfriend’s possessions, she was The One. I thought it was total bullshit…until Buck ate one of my shoes.
No. I don’t believe in fate, signs, or—anymore—happily-ever-afters. And I definitely don’t believe in prophesies delivered by dogs.
But when I look up, I discover Hanna and Easton staring at me. And they both look like they’re trying really, really hard not to laugh.
36
Rhys
I’ve never been in Tucker’s apartment. The building is pretty run-down, and I’m sure all of my brothers at one point or another have tried to give him money and he’s turned it away. As far as I know, Tucker has actually done pretty well for himself. Until recently, he was a joint partner in running a small private-security firm. Around the time my grandfather died, he let his partners buy him out.
That definitely netted him a good chunk of cash, but here he is, living in a one-bedroom rental in a building that needs work.
It makes me wonder if he’s punishing himself for something.
I pound on his door. No answer.
If I hadn’t seen his truck parked outside, I’d probably give up. But I know he’s in here. And I know something’s eating at him.
I’ve been a shitty brother to let him keep it locked up so far.
I pound again.
“Tuck. I know you’re in there.”
Silence from within.
“I’m not leaving. You can open up and talk to me, or I’m going to camp out here until you have to come out to get food.”
More silence.
