Page 28 of Where I Should’ve Been

I roll my eyes and flop onto the opposite end of the couch, crossing my legs and arms because the cold still tingles.

“I mean, I’m not saying Eileen Martin’s bullshit newspaper articles are ever right,” he continues, “but—”

“Shut. Up.”

“Just saying,” he adds, and his smile turns into a full-blown grin. I want to smack it right off his face. He picks up his phone with exaggerated slowness, pretending to dial. “Autumn, sweetie, say hi to Eileen.”

“Hi ya, baby!” Autumn chirps without looking away from the TV, then pops another Cheerio into her mouth.

I narrow my eyes at my very annoying brother. “I will murder you.”

Bennett lifts the phone to his ear. “Yeah, Eileen, you won’t believe this…”

“Slow. Painful. Death,” I warn.

He laughs, the bastard, before setting his phone back down. “Ah, small-town life. Gotta love it.”

“I’m starting to miss those eight million people back home who didn’t give a single shit what I was doing.”

“Shit!” Autumn crows, still staring at the little cats that are dancing across the television screen.

“Nice one, Breeze,” Bennett says, coughing to cover a laugh.

I groan. “Oh, don’t act like you’re innocent. I’ve heard you drop plenty of f-bombs.”

“Maybe,” he says. “But when Norah wakes up, I’m definitely telling her Aunt Bee expanded Autumn’s vocabulary.”

“You’re such a s-h-i-t stirrer, you know that?”

“And you love me.” He grins. “Which is why you should tell me where you were last night…” He waggles his brows like an idiot. “Did you finally find someone to rev the old engine before it never turns over again?”

“A Hanson brother,” I retort with pure sarcasm—which is a fun twist on the truth.

His laugh is so loud, I can only hope it doesn’t wake up his wife.

“Okay, okay. But for real, Breeze,” Bennett pushes after comedy hour subsides. “Where were you?”

“I took a drive.”

He quirks a brow. “Your car was here.”

“I walked, rented a car, and took a drive.”

“There aren’t any rental companies for, like, a hundred miles.”

“I took an Uber.”

Bennett chuckles. “This story has more holes than a sponge, sis.”

“And you have more questions than flipping Jeopardy.”

When I see Autumn yawn, her little body softening against Bennett’s chest, I stand up and scoop her up into my arms. “Want to come cuddle with Aunt Bee?”

“I’s seepy.” She nods, and I cuddle her closer.

“I see how it is,” Bennett calls over my shoulder. “Using my adorable daughter to avoid my questions.”

“Avoid your interrogation,” I correct.