“Yes!” Drew pumps his fist. “I’m in a bulking phase and can finally eat some.”
“I know. That’s why I brought them,” Willow says, winking.
Reed’s lips flatten with disgust. “You track Drew’s bulking and cutting cycles?”
My youngest brother started working out when he was a preteen and he’s never stopped. He’s got us all beat in fitness. I consider myself to be in good shape, and I work out most days,but Drew takes it to another level. Dude is jacked, but I’m still an inch taller than him.
“Actually, it’s easy to track them,” Willow defends. “When he’s cutting, he eats grotesque amounts of protein.”
“Yeah, he eats so much chicken he should cluck,” Nina says.
Travis laughs and presses a kiss to her temple.
“He’s always been a little chicken shit to me,” Reed adds, and we all laugh, Drew included. He’s the best natured of the Thorne brothers.
“Anyone started their Christmas shopping yet?” Nina asks.
“Get the hell out of here.” Reed beams a marshmallow at her. Travis swipes it out of the air before contact is made.
Nina flutters her eyelashes at Travis. “My big, strong hero.”
“Knock that shit off, or I’ll throw the rest at you,” Reed threatens with a smirk.
Willow whacks his knee. “Don’t even think about it. That’s the only bag I brought. Hand them over.”
Reed grabs a marshmallow before he reluctantly gives up possession, mumbling, “Killjoy.”
I glance around the fire pit, taking in the happy faces of my siblings and our friends. Our Saturday night hangouts have become a regular thing, and I look forward to them every week. But tonight, there’s one thing missing, and I’m surprised by how much it’s affecting my mood.
“Where’s Ginger?” I ask, trying to sound casual as I push a marshmallow down on the stick.
Reed doesn’t answer. Instead, he nudges my foot. It’s sharp enough to be intentional, but not enough to be noticed by others. I glance at him, but his focus is on roasting a marshmallow like he’s a Boy Scout.
“She had laundry,” Willow says, not even looking up as she breaks a graham cracker in half. “She said she needed to get caught up.”
Laundry?
I nod like it makes sense. Technically, it should, but it feels wrong. Ginger’s the kind of person who would bring a basket of clothes with her if it meant not missing a hangout. She’d fold and take part in conversations at the same time.So why isn’t she here?
Maybe she needed a night to herself to relax. Everyone needs that sometimes. But I find myself watching the house, hoping she’ll walk out with an oversized hoodie that hangs to mid-thigh, and a soft smile on her lips.
It doesn’t happen. She’s not here to snatch the stick from my hands and show me how to properly roast the marshmallow. I already know the s’mores aren’t going to taste quite right without her expertise, but I toast the marshmallow to a light golden-brown like she taught me, not catching it on fire and no black edges.
Across the fire pit, Drew is mid-story about Curtis, one of his gym bros. I nod, acting engaged, and laugh when everyone else does, but I’m not fully locked in. Fortunately, no one notices.
Willow hands me two graham cracker halves, and I say, “Thanks.” I layer the chocolate, slide the marshmallow off my stick, and press it all together. I take a bite, and it’s good. But I called it—it’s not the same.
I wonder what Ginger’s doing right now. Is she blasting music and dancing while folding socks? Or is she sitting quietly on the couch, watching a movie with Pops? Does she wish she came tonight? I shouldn’t care this much about her missing one hangout. I shouldn’t miss her presence so much. But I do.
I glance back at the house one more time. Still no sign of an oversized hoodie or a soft smile. Taking another bite of the s’more, I chew slowly.
Yeah, it’s definitely not the same.
CHAPTER 7
GINGER
Iset the open box of muffins and pastries in the middle of Nina’s table and sit down. “I hope we didn’t cut your morning with Travis short.”
