Page 22 of Wild Thorns

"Anyone? Or just people who've already agreed with you?"

He pressed a hand to his chest, mock-wounded. "You doubt my track record? I'll have you know I once convinced Callum to compete in a pie-eating contest. Callum. The man who considers dessert a moral failing."

"Did he win?"

"Demolished the competition. Looked furious about it the entire time." Jasper's grin turned fond, something softer moving behind his eyes. "That's the thing about my brother. He doesn't do anything halfway, even the things he's doing against his will."

I tried to picture Callum, dark, serious, monosyllabic Callum, covered in pie filling. The image was so incongruous with the man I'd been studying all week that I laughed out loud.

The sound surprised me. Surprised Jasper too, from the way his expression shifted. He looked at me the way someone looks at an unexpected sunset—like he wanted to memorize it before it faded.

"You should do that more," he said, his voice dropping to something almost reverent.

"Do what?"

"Laugh." He seemed to catch himself, and the grin was back, bright and deflecting, armor sliding into place. "Anyway. Festival. Three o'clock. Comfortable shoes. I won't take no for an answer."

I smiled despite my better judgment. "Fine. But I reserve the right to leave whenever I want."

"Deal." He straightened, that grin widening. "I'll pick you up at three. Wear comfortable shoes. There's a lot of standing. And dancing, if I have anything to say about it."

He was halfway down the stairs when he called back: "Oh, Callum and Eli will be there too. Just FYI. Not a big deal."

"You could have led with that!"

"Where's the fun in that?"

He was gone before I could argue, moving down the stairs with that fluid grace that I'd stopped trying to explain as merely athletic. He moved like something wild wearing a human suit, comfortable in his body in a way that went beyond confidence.

I stood in my doorway, holding coffee I hadn't asked for, thinking about three brothers at a small-town festival and the way this felt more like a coordinated campaign than a casual invitation.

I took the coffee inside and sat with it on my couch, staring at nothing in particular.

A date. Was it a date? Jasper had danced around the word like it was something dangerous, but he'd also shown up at my door with coffee and asked me to spend several hours with him at what was essentially the town's most prominent event. That felt date-adjacent, at a minimum.

But then he'd mentioned his brothers would be there. Which made it... not a date? Or a very strange date? Or some kind of family outing I'd been absorbed into without my consent?

I thought about calling Tara, but I already knew what she'd say. Three hot brothers want to take you to a festival? This is not a problem. This is a fantasy.

She wouldn't be wrong. But she also didn't understand the particular terror of wanting something after you'd spent years being punished for wanting things.

Marcus had hated when I wanted things. Hated when I had opinions or preferences or desires that didn't align perfectly with his. Every time I'd expressed enthusiasm for something, a restaurant, a movie, a weekend trip, he'd found a way to diminish it. To make me feel stupid for caring. To twist my excitement into something shameful, something that proved I was frivolous, shallow, not serious enough.

Until eventually I'd stopped caring about anything at all, because it was easier than the constant small rejections.

And now here was Jasper, practically begging me to come to a festival, looking at me like my laugh was something precious. Here was a whole town that seemed determined to include me in things, to make me feel like I belonged.

It felt good. Too good. But underneath the good feeling was the old fear, whispering that this couldn't be real. That something this nice must have a cost. That I was missing the catch because I wanted so badly for there not to be one.

I drank the coffee Jasper had brought me. It was exactly how I liked it. Black, one sugar. A hint of cinnamon.

I tried not to read too much into that.

Later that afternoon, Eli walked me home from The Daily Grind.

We'd happened to be leaving at the same time, though "happened" was starting to feel like a generous word for the way these brothers appeared exactly when I was thinking about them.

"Different route today," he said, falling into step beside me.