The cavalry? I jerk my head around mid-pour. “Who exactly would that be?”
“Pretty much everyone who was at the bar last night.”
“You’re joking.”
“I’m absolutely not. The Powells always get together on Sundays for dinner anyway, so when the texts and calls went out last night, everyone agreed to just meet here a day early.”
The news stuns me. No wonder Sutton didn’t seem surprised by Whitney’s arrival. The fact that my ordeal made it into the family group chat feels unfamiliar. “The texts and calls?”
“Are you sure you’re okay? Do you really think we heard what happened to you last night and didn’t immediately want to come check on you? The only thing that kept us away was Sutton threatening to shoot anyone who showed up on his doorstep while you were trying to get some rest.”
That explains why my texts to her from the emergency room were uncharacteristically short. Sutton was able to clean the blood of my cell and get it working again, but by her responses, I assumed she was half asleep.
The carafe of coffee hits the counter with an audiblethunk.“I think I’m going to hyperventilate.”
She gently pries my grip from the handle. “What’s the big deal?”
“These aren’t my people,” I murmur.
“What are you talking about? Of course, they are.”
“No, you don’t get it. These are your people. From the beautiful life you’ve made here. My people were my Chihuahua, Pepe, god rest his soul, an eighty-year-old named Archie, and a cactus from home that I’ve named Bert and grown weirdly attached to.”
“Only one of those things is a people.”
“I’ve been alone for a long time. It’s been years since you moved away and my brother went to jail. I don’t know how to just be”—I windmill my arms wildly—“taken in like a stray dog.”
Whitney smirks around the rim of her coffee mug. “Fortunately for you, that’s their specialty.”
She doesn’t get it. She’s so easy to love. I’m the outsider here. And when things go wrong, even more wrong than they already have, and it’s Sutton’s word against mine, I’m the one who’s going to lose every single time.
She pulls me into a side hug. “Just keep being yourself, Alice. These people already adore you.”
I want to believe her. Truly. But experience has told me time and again that people always leave me behind.
A knock on the front door announces more arrivals. People just keep coming in. I’ve spent enough time around the girls teaching them dance steps to know them by face, but last night at The Line & Lariat was my first time seeing all the guys together. Based on who arrives with who, I piece together the couples.
Bree walks in holding her daughter Charlotte’s hand, followed by a man with dark curly hair and glasses, who must be Corjan. He holds their young son, Weston, on his hip. Isla arrives next with her husband, Aiden. He’s the only guy in the group with reddish-blond hair. Baby John sleeps with his head buried in his dad’s neck. Juniper trails in the open door with her husband, Lee. He’s holding a glass container with what looks like chocolate chip cookies.
Everyone exchanges brief greetings with each other, and I’m passed around for hugs from the girls when the door opens again. Cortney comes in next, her long black hair tied into a high ponytail. Spencer, her partner, is Sutton’s brother. He carries a large cooler. Silas bounds in after them, slapping Spencer’s back and kissing Cortney on the temple. Spencer scowls, and the two men walk off in search of their oldest brother.
The girls settle in like they own the place. Coolers of meats, cheeses, and fruits are unpacked. Bottles of wine appear from somewhere. Bree and Juniper work on arranging a massive charcuterie spread on Sutton’s counter.
Whitney leads me to a kitchen chair, plunking me down with my coffee cup like an unruly toddler. She secures the seat to my left, Cortney settles in on my right, and Isla sits beside her.
I nudge Whitney with my knee beneath the table. “You really weren’t kidding.”
“No.” She fights a smile. The sight of it causes my lips to twitch too.
The usually quiet home is filled with an electric hum. Adults converse in all common areas of the main floor and kids squeal as they run back and forth from Nellie’s playroom to her basement bedroom. Outside of a public setting, I’ve never experienced so many people in one room.
“This is normal for you?” I ask the table.
“Every Sunday,” Isla answers.
“Nancy and Terrance started it,” Cortney adds.
“Who are Nancy and Terrance?”
