Page 69 of Sterling Stone

“He loves his sausage,” Clay playfully adds.

“Think he’s more of a breast man now,” Sebastian mutters, noting the boneless chicken on the menu.

Stone’s responding smile is sheepish.

“Stoic Stone,” someone says, and I see it, but I don’t. He’s been rather open with me, sharing pieces of his past, showing me who he is in the present.

Let me show you who I am.

I’m seeing it.

Family. Devoted. Protective.

Something inside me cracks a little bit. What would it be like to be part of that guarded bubble he’s wrapped around the people he cares about most?

“Come sit with the girls.” Genie loops her arm in mine, tugging me toward the other women seated in a circle with a lawn swing, Adirondack chairs, and blankets spread over the grass.

It’s been a long time since I’ve been part of a group of women. My job can be singular in some ways, while the teaching positions I’ve acquired in the past year have opened my eyes a bit. My need to share my art, share a piece of myself, with others.

Genie is amazing, and we chat about her latest calendar plans. We’ve talked intermittently when she and Judd visit Trudy, and her enthusiasm for art matches mine, even if our mediums are different.

“It’s awesome having another artist in the family,” Genie blurts.

“In the family,” I parrot quietly, choking on the words. I’m not part of the⁠—

“Hey, what do you think Halle and I are?” Cadence interjects, watching her toddler, Beck, who keeps handing her a ball and then taking it back from her.

“Oh, I’m definitely an amateur,” Halle admits. Knox’s redheaded wife smiles warmly at me. “I just like the creative outlet Art’s offers.”

“Art’s?” I question, sensing she didn’t misspeak.

“Art is a local veteran who owns Art’s Studio. He likes to take trash to treasure there, but he also offers other opportunities in his place. Paint. Pottery. Sculpting. It’s a cool place. You should check it out.”

“I will,” I say, excitement growing in me. I had no idea the studio existed.

Cadence clears her throat. “Music is art as well. Just saying.” The brunette has a snooty air in her tone, but her smile says she’s all tease. She is Cadence, after all, world renowned country music sweetheart, and I almost want to pinch myself being in her presence.

Then I remind myself she’s just a woman. A girl married to a man who used to play professional baseball.

Wild.

“Just saying,” Enya, Cadence’s sister, jokes from her position in the yard swing, using her tiptoes to move the seat back and forth while she holds her daughter Annabelle in her lap.

The women continue to share stories. Anywhere from toddler tantrums to teasing about their men.

“Those are my brothers,” Vale sighs about the minor complaints.

“Well, I could share how Ford does this thing and—” Cadence begins, but Vale holds up a hand.

“And that’s where the sharing stops, because those are my brothers.” Vale laughs, cutting off Cadence and what I imagine might be a little too much detail about what her husband does in the bedroom or otherwise.

I chuckle as well, finding I’m at ease with these ladies, even if I’m the quiet one among them. I don’t have a toddler, and I don’t have a man, but I don’t feel excluded.

I feel present and accepted, and it’s altogether strange while comforting.

I’ve been sitting on a blanket near Vale, and she leans forward on her Adirondack chair, whispering toward me.

“He must really like you.”