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“With…some benefits,” Mira admitted grudgingly. It seemed like too much, like a step reserved for people in a relationship, but the idea of Cole in her apartment, with her family, sitting at their table, laughing over pizza and cards, celebrating with them, maybe too much would be okay for one night. It would be a PG night anyway, since her geriatric hormones had decided to pussy-block her. “Fine, I’ll invite him. But you two have to behave. No talking shit under your breath or making inappropriate jokes, okay?”
“Who, us?” Her mom stepped to Ian’s side until they looked like the family portrait of innocence.
“We would never,” Ian said, his mouth open in feigned outrage. “How dare you, Mother?”
Letting thisMotherslide, Mira walked to the door, flipped the sign to CLOSED, then paused at her reflection in the window, barely recognizing the woman smiling back at her.
CHAPTERTWENTY-EIGHT
COLE
The log Colesat on was hard and bumpy, and a knot dug ruthlessly into his ass, but it was downright pleasant compared to the way all ten men stared at him, scratching their heads or clearing their throats, waiting for him to act like he knew what he was doing.
“So…” He glanced around the clearing where they sat, relieved the weather was nice enough to have this meeting outside since having all the men in his cabin—which he was pretty sure still smelled like sex and whipped cream—would have been a bridge too far. “Welcome to Cole’s first Little Timber group session.”
In the ensuing silence, a magpie squawked.
“Is there anything anyone wants to talk about today?” Madigan had told him the group sessions were typically unstructured, and that he always tried to encourage the men to choose the topics, guide the conversations. Cole figured he could handle that. What he couldn’t handle, however, was ten pairs of eyes locked on his, waiting, like they expected him to know what to say next. “Anyone?” he asked while Murphy whined up at him. “Bueller?”
Looking horrified, Thom turned to him and asked, “Was that aFerris Buellerjoke? In this year of our lord?”
“It was,” Cole said, trying not to laugh at the equally alarmed expressions the other men gave him. “And there’s a lot more where that came from if I’m the only one who talks during this group. So help me, guys. Help me, help you.”
“NotJerry Maguire!” Sam cried. “If you tell us we complete you, I’m out!”
“I did warn you,” Cole said with a grin.
When Stanley said, “I think I’ve got something,” the laughter around the circle faded, the men lapsing into what seemed to Cole to be a practiced kind of silence. “I’ve, um, been having a lot of cravings lately.” He folded his hands in his lap. “I was watching TV yesterday, and this Cuervo commercial came on and, I don’t know. It messed me up.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” Cole asked.
Slipping a hand into Murphy’s scruff after the dog trotted over to flop down by his side, Stanley said, “That’s what I drank. Tequila. Most of the time, I feel okay. But sometimes, either after seeing a commercial like that, or sitting outside on a nice evening, or even when I smell the same wood polish the bartender at my usual place used, I miss it so much I’m not sure I’ll keep being able to resist it once I’m done here.”
“What do you miss about it?” Tex asked, adjusting his hat.
“Everything, I guess.”
“Can you come up with something specific?” Sam held up a finger. “Just one thing?”
“I can try.” Stanley’s lips flattened under his round nose and deeply set hazel eyes. “I guess I miss the way the tequila looked, smooth and slightly thick, like the bartender was pouring liquid gold into my glass. I miss the smoky smell, how it stung my nose. I miss the way it burned my throat when I knocked it back.”
A thoughtful “hmm” came from one of the guys. Cole wasn’t sure which one.
“I miss the way I felt so much…lessafter I had a few drinks,” Stanley continued. “Like all the stress and worry faded away, and I could finally relax. I don’t know how to relax now. Shoot, I even miss the feel of the barstool I used to sit on.” He twisted his shoulders side to side. “It had a real easy swivel.”
“Um-hmm,” Tex murmured, nodding sagely.
“Yep,” Sam concurred, as if they’d both reached some secret conclusion.
“What?” Stanley asked. “Why are you nodding at me like that?”
Sitting to Cole’s right, plucking at a piece of bark on the log beneath him, Kev said, “It’s called euphoric recall.”
“What’s euphoric recall?” Stanley asked before Cole had a chance.
“It’s when you only remember the good parts about something,” Tex explained.
“You, like, romanticize them,” Sam added.
