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“You sure that’s a good idea? Remember what happened last time?”
He let out a low, rumbling laugh. “Like I’d forget. One doesn’t meet that many nudists nowadays.”
I laughed with him. While cooking breakfast, Mom had been the first to spy their renter in the buff. She’d called for my father, and they’d both gone outside to explain that clothes were not optional when walking around the property. The man had argued that he felt stifled when unable to walk in his natural state. When they failed to reach a compromise, my parents refunded the guest, and he left. I’d assumed that would be the last of their B&B experiences, but apparently, Mom and Dad were braver than I realized.
“What if this new renter also enjoys the breeze on their bum?” I asked as we stepped inside the house.
“Don’t worry. I have it on good authority that he’ll remain fully clothed when outside.”
As we walked through the living room, we passed by the wall of family photos, and I paused to study my favorite picture of my brothers and me at the beach. Aiden would have been in second or third grade at the time, and he and I crouched beside a sweet, round-faced Ben, half-buried in the sand. Our skin was a golden brown from hours spent outside, and we had giant smiles on our faces. Although I couldn’t recall exactly when our parents took that photo, I could practically feel the toasty sun on my skin and smell the briny beach air.
I turned to face my father, my thoughts coming back to the issue at hand. “Did you do a better job of vetting this guy? He might not be a nudist, but what if he’s a murderer?” Indie had gone through a brief period where she devoured podcasts on serial killers. I never listened, but she always shared some of the more gruesome details with me later.
“Is that Everly I hear?” Ben called out from the kitchen. “Quick. Grab the bacon before she sees it. You know what happens whenever she gets near a pork product.”
Brothers!
Ben’s laughter greeted me as I stepped into the kitchen and glared hard at the two grown men seated at the table. My brothers and I were only a few years apart, and when we were kids, people often used to mistake us for triplets. But once the boys hit junior high, they’d shot up like sunflowers.
Guess I was the only one blessed with the short genes.
Ben was lanky, the tallest of us three, with Aiden trailing close behind.
Neither of them even bothered to hide the fact that they were shoveling strips of bacon onto their plates.
“Save some for me,” I said. “I need to eat. I’m a growing girl.”
“Could have fooled me, Pork Princess.” Aiden smirked. He finished the food on his plate, got up, and patted my head.
Fiddlesticks! Would I ever live that nickname down? I huffed and fixed my hair, which I’d styled into beachy waves today. In my senior year of high school, I’d entered a hotdog-eating contest and beat out a dozen competitors to earn a respectable second place. My brothers commemorated my win by giving me that unfortunate nickname, which they liked to pull out every once in a while.
“Don’t call me that. And why don’t you go fix your house?” I grumbled. “Joy has plumbing issues again.”
Aiden rinsed his plate and placed it in the dishwasher. “I swear that woman does not know how to use a plunger. There’s an art to it. You can’t just swoosh it around like a magic wand and expect stuff to disappear.”
Ben lowered his utensils, looking slightly green. “Do we have to talk about this at the breakfast table? Now I’ve lost my appetite.”
I slid into the seat beside him and snuck two slices of bacon off his plate. “Too bad my appetite’s fine.” You work with kids all day long, and you develop a certain tolerance for things.
“Your hair looks pretty today, honey.” Mom brought over an extra plate of pancakes and kissed me on the forehead. “Give the woman a break, Aiden. It’s a tough job parenting two boys. I remember when you three were kids.”
“Did we clog the toilet all the time too?” Ben asked.
Mom’s hazel eyes shone with amusement. “Oh, there were times when I thought we’d go broke from all the home repairs caused by three rambunctious children.”
Ben laughed. “Like that time Aiden tried to climb the wall and ended up punching a hole through the drywall?”
Aiden arched a brow. “What about the multiple times you left your bike behind Dad’s truck? Or when you raced Jimmy Aldridge along the ridge and crashed the car?”
Ben grimaced. “That wasn’t one of my best decisions. Sorry, Dad.”
Our father chuckled. “I didn’t see the humor in it back then, but time’s given me a different perspective.”
I took a bite of a pancake, enjoying the sweet syrupy taste in my mouth. “You two were horrible. I, on the other hand, was a perfect angel.”
“Two words,” Ben said, looking straight into my eyes. “Stair. Handrail.”
I pointed at my brother. “Who was the one who dared me to walk it like a balance beam?” Neither of us knew that it wasn’t installed properly. The entire bar ripped right out of the wall.
