Nan’s glassy brown eyes dance over Raine’s face, and her expression must give Nan the answer she is looking for because she looks over at me and gives me a thumbs up. Raine studies her for a moment, confusion etched in the way she looks back atme then she reaches out and takes something that Nan hands to her.
“A camera?” Raine says. Her voice is soft, and the look that washes over her makes me wonder if she’s about to cry.
“Yes. This is something I’ve had for years, but it’s been sitting inside this box, unused. It needs someone to take care of it and use it again. You're the perfect person for it with how much you’ve been loving that Polaroid camera of yours.”
“Oh, Nan, I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything. The way you love my grandson is enough for me.” Raine’s eyes widen, and she swings her head to face me, giving me a bright smile.
“That’s kind of you, Anna. Thank you for giving this to Raine,” Earl says, studying the camera, as if her comment about Raine loving me was nothing new to him.
After he gives Nan a hug, Earl turns and gives me a wink before following Pops into the kitchen, leaving the three of us standing in the living room until Nan finally laughs and shrugs her shoulders. “We all called it.”
“Called what?” Raine asks.
Nan chuckles and says, “You two finally getting out of that pesky friend zone. Took ya long enough.”
Chapter Twenty
Now
Ryland
Ishould’ve known that word would travel around town. This cookout was supposed to be just my crew—Mom, Zane, and Annabelle—as well as August, her husband, Thomas, and son, Jessie. Obviously, Luke, Olivia, and Raine were invited. Zane invited his best friend and our co-worker, Ashton. But those are the only people who were expected to be here.
I’m cooking a big enough brisket to feed the eleven of us as well as have some extra in case anyone wants to have seconds. However, there are seven other people who have shown up within the last thirty minutes. Every person did at least bring a side dish or dessert with them, which has me a little less aggravated.
I open the smoker and check on the brisket, my mouth watering as the smoky scent puffs around my face. A speaker is sitting on one of the picnic tables nearby, blasting a mix of 80’s rock and 90’s country music, courtesy of my Spotify playlist. I walk over to the white foldout table that Mom set up for the side dishes and check out the options.
I see that Zane made his “famous” potato salad, which isjust regular potato salad that he swears he makes special. Mom baked two loaves of fresh bread. Felix Grady brought one of those boxes full of an assortment of chips and also a few boxes of Capri Suns, as much as we expect of him.
I see that Bill and Hope Hampton, August’s parents, brought some of their homemade goat cheese and crackers to go with it and their award-winning goat milk fudge. But the holy grail of sides is the basket of fried morels, also known as dry land fish, that Ashton brought. I’ve already snuck a few because they’re bound to disappear quickly
I look out over what we’ve claimed asthe picnic area, which is just a cleared spot of land between the cabins and lake. Three wooden picnic tables sit in the middle. Several blankets and camping chairs fill the spaces in between them.
Luke has set up his volleyball net, and a few people have gathered in teams to play. Annabelle and Jessie are playing on the trampoline. Even though I planned for this to be a small family gathering, a smile tugs against my lips at the sight of everyone mingling together.
My grandparents would have loved this. They always enjoyed hosting events, having people over, and valued the closeness this town brought to everyone’s lives.
“Well, so much for a small gathering,” Mom says as she places her arm around my hips and pulls me in for a side hug. “But you know how your grandparents loved cookouts like this.”
“I was just thinking that,” I admit, looking down at her with a grin.
She reaches up, pats my cheek, leaning her head on my shoulder. I welcome her comfort. The warmth of her body pressed into mine, her signature scent of lemons, and the tickle of her long golden-brown and silver waves against my neck.
In the past, my mother and I had some pretty bad fights. But once we moved to Covewood, those arguments slowed down and then came to a stop altogether once Annabelle wasborn. Becoming a father really showed me how much my mother sacrificed for Zane and me. She still makes sacrifices in order to be there for the three of us. I’m forever grateful for her. I wrap my arms around her and give the top of her head a quick kiss. “I love you, Mom.”
“I love you too,” she says back.
She releases me as she catches Annabelle trying to sneak a cookie. I can see Jessie’s black-and-white tennis shoes from under the tablecloth. His and Annabelle’s giggles stop the moment Zane tiptoes behind them and shouts, “Got ya!”
The kids squeal in unison, clinging to the cookies in their hands, and they take off running toward the trampoline.
“That’s stealing! Did you kids forget that we have a policeman here?” Zane says after the kids zip shut the trampoline’s safety net.
“Yeah, but he’s my uncle, and that means I get a ‘get out of jail’ card,” Annabelle proclaims and sticks her tongue out at Zane, earning a booming laugh from me.
“I’m pretty sure that isn’t how it works.” Zane crosses his arms over his chest and raises a brow in question.
