"I'm a veterinarian. Small animal practice in Ballard."
"That's amazing. Do you love it?"
"Most days." She laughs. "Though I could do without the occasional bite."
Ryan's watching us from across the kitchen, his expression unreadable. When I glance at him, he looks away.
This is the seventh or eighth woman Ryan's brought around since I met him. The only one I really remember was Kiera because she came to our wedding. None of them ever seem to last more than a few weeks. Asher calls them his "fuck and forgets," which always makes me wince.
None of them are ever blonde, I realize suddenly. Always brunettes or redheads. Never blonde. Huh. I guess the attraction I thought I felt when we met really was all in my head.
Jamie arrives a few minutes later with a salad and a bottle of wine. She pulls me into a hug and whispers, "You look exhausted."
Her, I hold onto even longer. I feel adrift. I keep this kind of big emotion from my mom, but my sister is my rock.
"I am."
"We need to talk later. Just you and me."
I nod, grateful. Asher is out on the back deck, grilling burgers. Devon is sitting at the patio table, scrolling through her phone. She's wearing shorts and a tank top, her hair loose around her shoulders.
Ryan, Anna, and Jamie follow me outside. Asher looks up and nods at Ryan. "Hey, man."
"Hey. How're you holding up?"
"Doing good."
There's an awkward pause. Then Ryan gestures to Anna. "This is Anna. Anna, this is Asher."
Anna smiles warmly. "Thanks so much for having me."
Asher gives her a polite smile, says hey, and then turns back to the grill. Ryan sets a six-pack of beer on the table and cracks one open.
"Need any help with the grill?" Ryan asks.
"I've got it."
Jamie sits down next to Devon. "How are you doing?"
Devon looks up, her expression carefully neutral. "I'm okay. Thank you for asking."
"If you ever need to talk, I'm here. Julie's so happy you're safe and here with them."
Devon's eyes flick to me for just a fraction of a second. There's something in that look—something cold, dismissive—before she turns back to Jamie, her expression smoothing out. "Okay. Thanks."
I watch the exchange, feeling the weight of that look. That split-second glance at me, that barely concealed curl of her lip, lingers in a way I can't quite explain. It felt like she was looking down on me. But that doesn't make any sense at all.
We eat on the deck, the conversation light and careful. Ryan asks Asher about work. Jamie asks Devon about school. Anna tells a funny story about a Pomeranian who ate an entire stick of butter. I refill wine glasses and try to pretend everything is normal.
But it's not normal. I can feel it in the way Asher keeps glancing at Devon, checking to make sure she's okay. In the way Devon leans slightly toward him when she talks, her body language open and trusting. But when I make a comment about the salad Jamie brought, Devon's eyes roll so briefly I almost miss it. Almost.
And then there's the way she shifts her body when I sit back down, angling away from me, toward Asher. It's subtle. Asher doesn't notice. But I do. What the fuck?
Ryan is quiet, watching. When I reach over to touch Asher's arm—just a casual gesture, nothing significant—Ryan's attention shifts. I catch it out of the corner of my eye and notice that he looks uncomfortable before he looks away.
After dinner, Jamie pulls me into the kitchen under the pretense of getting dessert. "Okay," she says, closing the door behind us. "What the hell is going on?"
"What do you mean?"
