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I was starving for this—the unfettered joy, the stories interwoven with laughter. Growing up shuffled between foster homes had left me with a skewed sense of family. I couldn't remember the last time I felt wanted, truly cared for, without an invisible clock ticking down the minutes until my presence became inconvenient.
The Furbanes didn't know me, but they didn't care. They welcomed me with open arms, no resumes required, no references called. It was overwhelming how they folded me into their family without a second thought, but here, amid the boisterous Furbanes, I had a sense of belonging.
Emmett pulled out a chair for me, then settled into the seat beside me. His thigh pressed against mine, warming me through my jeans and sending goosebumps over my skin. As his family bustled around the table, passing dishes and chattering away, he took my hand beneath the table and gently squeezed it.
Our connection crackled between us, and I caught him watching me with a heated gaze that melted my insides. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. The soft smile playing about his lips made my heart flutter.
I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt such an instant connection with someone. There was something magnetic about Emmett–the passion simmering below his carefree surface called to me.
His thumb stroked over my knuckles, sending delicious shivers up my arm. I leaned into him, our shoulders brushing, as I soaked up the lively ambiance of the Furbane family dinner.
“This beer is wonderful,” I commented, indicating my almost-empty glass. A blissful calm had settled over me after my first one, leaving me more relaxed than I could remember.
“Special family blend,” Maggie said with a wink, refilling my glass.
Karl tapped his nose. “The secret’s in the honey. I have a beehive out back and breed the rare Aurora Bee.”
“I’ve never heard of the Aurora Bee?”
“They’re beautiful. They have shimmering, iridescent wings and glow as they flit among the blossoms, collecting nectar,” Karl said animatedly. “Legend claims that they were blessed by ancient celestial beings.”
“Celestial beings, you say.” I nodded and smiled, wondering exactly what was in the Furbane's “special family blend” and if I would be wise to drink anymore. “So the Furbanes own The Honey Den, brew a special beer, have an unofficial MC club, look after the land, and help with the occasional forest fire,” I said, ticking off each item on my fingers.
Karl laughed. “Sounds a lot when you put it like that. But each of the boys handles different jobs.”
I smiled at Karl’s reference to his sons as “boys.” All five were tall, muscular, and built, but I guessed they would always be “boys” to their parents.
“Emmett and Leif are our park rangers and computer whizzes,” Karl continued. “Brock looks after the MC, Zeke runs The Honey Den and oversees the brewing process, and Axel–”
“Talks to the animals and communes with the spirits,” Zeke finished, sighing dramatically and batting his eyes as Axel.
Axel burst into false laughter. “Bro, has anyone ever told you you’re about as funny as an egg in an electric fan?”
“Nothing wrong with talking to animals and communing with spirits.” Aunt Thea cut into the conversation. “People could learn an awful lot if they simply tuned in to their inner magic.”
Her gaze moved to me meaningfully, and a shiver spiraled down my back. “Do you believe in magic?” I asked curiously.
“Oh, yes,” she replied as if it was a perfectly reasonable question. “Magic, witches, and supernatural phenomena are all deeply ingrained in the folklore and traditions of Silverpaw Hollow. One of my ancestors was believed to be a powerful white witch. For some, believing in magic is a natural part of their world.”
I was a practical creature who believed in scientific evidence and substantive proof, yet Aunt Thea’s words struck a chord in me. It was odd. And a bit freaky.
“Enough of the woo-woo stuff,” Maggie said, shaking her head. “I’m sure our guest doesn’t want to hear about all that. Amber, love, you must try the blueberry crumble. It was Grandma Furbanes' secret recipe,” she coaxed, her eyes twinkling with the same hazel mischief as Emmett’s.
“Secret? Hardly. The whole town knows it by heart,” Emmett retorted, but there was pride in his voice, thick as the honey they passed around.
“All right, but if I turn into a blueberry like that girl from Willy Wonka, I'm blaming you guys,” I quipped, spooning a generous helping onto my plate.
Conversation hummed around the table as Emmett's family of bear-hug givers and rib-crushers retold colorful stories of the brothers’ youth that made my chest ache—a good kind of ache, the sort you get from too much smiling.
I laughed along with the boisterous banter as we ate. Emmett's hand never left mine beneath the table. His touch grounded me, made me feel like I was a part of this raucous, welcoming family. Yet a nagging voice in the back of my mind whispered that I didn't belong, that I was an imposter in their midst.
As dinner wound down, Emmett leaned in close, his warm breath tickling my ear. “Having fun?”
“More than I thought possible,” I admitted, my voice soft but sincere.
“Good,” he said, grinning.
As the evening wore on, the warmth of the household seeped into my bones. Maggie caught my eye, her smile warm as she gave me a nod, almost like she was giving me her stamp of approval.
