“This is Nacho, right?” Connie asks. She takes a place on the couch next to Imogene, leaving the last spot for Chris.
The sweet baby’s tail wags in confirmation, making Connie giggle.
Chris huffs. “Is she Dr. Hotness’s dog?” But the gruffness of his voice is diminished by the smile threatening to take over his face as Nacho delivers a wet kiss right to his waiting cheek.
What can I say? That girl’s quite the charmer.
Ignoring the edge in my brother’s voice, I nod. “Yep.”
“Where is he?” Prescott glances at the only other interior door, leading to the bedroom. “You’re wearing his clothes, and I’m surprised he’s not attached to your hip.”
“Believe it or not, we can still function as individuals,” I laugh. “But he’s out with friends right now, and will be seeing his sister later tonight. Since she doesn’t know about, well, everything, he’s taking this opportunity to tell her.” My cheeks flush at the taboo mention of our strange predicament. “So Nacho and I are having a girl’s night in.” With the casserole securely covered and the hot water almost boiling, I lean onto the counter facing my unexpected visitors.
While none of them look particularly comfortable in my home, no one looks oddly out of place, either. It’s a little unnerving to have this situation feel so commonplace. I’ll be the first to admit that I have no idea what the Rutherford siblings get up to in their evenings, but it sure isn’t sitting around in their youngest sister’s apartment watching the latest episode of their new favorite hyperfixation.
I briefly wonder if I should snap a quick picture for Ian and Aaron—they sure aren’t going to believe this without some proof.
Sensing everyone in the room is now in love with her, Nacho makes her way back to the kitchen and collapses in a furry pile at my feet.
“So,” I clap my hands together out of the pure need to do absolutely anything other than just stand here like a moron in my own home, “what brings you all here on this lovely Sunday afternoon?” I think my smile comes across a bit more manic than I intend, but my nerves are only leaving me so much to work with here.
Connie shifts to face our brothers. Her delicate eyebrows raise, and her shoulder-length waves swish through the air with each sharp turn of her head as she looks at each of them.
“What?” Chris grimaces.
“I think one of you should start.”
“Why?”
“Christopher Irving Rutherford.”
“Constance Irene Rutherford.”
“Fine,” Prescott interrupts, “I’ll start. You two, shut up.” My oldest brother sits up straight in his chair. Squaring his shoulders and taking a deep breath, he looks at me and begins speaking. “Calloway, we had no idea about how you’ve felt all these years. I mean, we knew what we were saying, but we never realized how much it affected you. And we’re sorry. Right, Chris?” Prescott kicks our brother’s foot.
Chris grunts in disapproval. Still glaring and making his displeasure known, he nods at me.
“Say it,” Connie commands.
Her twin cuts his annoyed eyes her way and sighs. “We’re sorry, Calloway.”
“Thank you,” I mutter, brows furrowing further in confusion.
Chris sighs in exasperation. “Relax, there’s no ulterior motive. We’re not recording this to blackmail you or anything weird. Like to, I dunno, gaslight you later on.” He doesn’t stop the grin from spreading on his face.
“If you don’t mind my asking,” Imogene says, sitting up, “when exactly did you and Oliver actually start dating, since you weren’t at Thanksgiving? Even though you could’ve fooled us.”
“They did fool us,” Prescott interjects.
Imogene nods while I fight the urge to crawl under the counter. “Right. Were you dating when we were all up at the school for your program?”
Biting my lip, heat flushes my cheeks. “Actually, not until Christmas Eve.”
Connie grins from the couch like a proud mother.
Prescott rears his head back. “Wow. Well, I feel like an idiot.”
I wave him off. “Eh, I hear that’s good for you once and a while.”
