Page 95 of Neap & Spring

Callum’s hand presses slightly against my back again, right between my shoulder blades.

I take a deep breath. Then another. And give him a tight smile to say I’m okay.

“And this is my older brother, Wesley,” Callum says, gesturing to the man leaning against the counter.

I try to match the name to Callum’s descriptions from Paris. He is the one who took over the family fishing business when his dad started to slow down. Wesley is sun-worn and observant, with the kind of stillness that comes from spending a lot of time alone on open water. Callum talked about him constantly, with a mix of exasperation and deep respect.

Wesley gives me a measured nod. “Hey, Vivienne. Glad you could make it.”

The nod says he knows more than I would like him to. Which is fair.

More than fair, actually.

“And these two disasters are Beckett and Hayes,” Callum says, gesturing to the twins.

The twins are on the couch. I can tell they’re twins immediately. They have the same bone structure and the same dark hair, though everything else about them seems designed to contrast. The one on the left is in a button-down, sitting forward with his elbows on his knees, an assessing look in his eyes that doesn’t quite feel hostile, but more observant than anything. Hayes, I think. The other one is sprawled out on the couch, hair still damp, with a shark-tooth necklace hanging from his neck. This one has Callum’s jaw and Callum’s easy grin. He must be Beckett.

“The famous Vivienne,” Beckett says. “Cal won’t shut up about you. Again.”

“Ignore him,” Callum snaps immediately. “He’s an idiot.”

“The consultant who’s saving the restaurant,” Hayes adds, standing to shake my hand. “We appreciate it. Someone needs to keep this one in line.” He jerks his thumb at Callum.

Callum rolls his eyes but doesn’t respond.

All three brothers laugh at that.

And then I notice the fifth unfamiliar face in the room.

She’s sitting on the couch, tucked into the corner with a book in her lap, and she looks about my age, mid-to-late twenties, with straight blonde hair pulled into a low ponytail and gold wire-framed glasses perched on her nose. She’s wearing jeans and an oversized cardigan, and when she catches me looking, she winks at me like we already have an inside joke I don’t know about yet.

“Oh, and that’s Iris,” Beckett laughs as he gets up from the couch and slowly moves toward the kitchen to help Patrick. “My best friend. She’s basically family at this point.”

Iris gives me a small wave. “Hi. Sorry, I know I’m crashing family dinner. Beckett won’t let me leave.”

“Because you never leave your apartment,” Beckett exclaims over his shoulder. “And you need to eat actual food.”

“I eat food.”

“Ramen doesn’t count.”

“It’s literally food.”

They bicker with the ease of people who’ve been doing just that for years, and I feel a small spike of relief. At least I’m not the only non-Reid in the room.

Iris catches my eye and smiles, and there’s understanding in it. Like she knows exactly how overwhelming this family can be.

“You can sit by me if you want,” she offers, patting the couch cushion next to her. “Fair warning: they’re very loud.”

“I heard that!” Beckett calls from the kitchen.

“You were supposed to!” Iris calls back.

I find myself smiling despite my nerves.

Callum squeezes my shoulder once before heading into the kitchen to help Wesley with whatever’s on the stove, and I sink down onto the couch next to Iris.

“First family dinner?” she hums, leaning in my direction.