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Ford pulls into the Killer Brew parking lot and cuts Momma T’s engine. When I told Art last week that Ford and I were heading home to carve a pumpkin together, he took it from me and refused to give it back, announcing he was having a friendly carving that we had to come to.
The way he emphasized the wordcarvingand refused, point-blank, throughout multiple conversations to call it “pumpkin” carving has me walking into the brewery tonight, slightly on edge.
Until Ford takes my hand.
It gets me every time. That settled happiness that I never thought I’d have again.
“How much are we wagering that Art jumps out at us, wielding a knife like inPsycho?” Ford murmurs as we cut through the bar to the stairs.
“I think the odds are higher that he’ll have a pumpkin on his head.”
“And mess up his hair? Never.”
We climb the stairs to the mezzanine level, where Art’s holding the carving. Anything social that we do is always here, even when it’s only a few of us, and if I hadn’t stayed with Art for a few weeks while I was getting back on my feet, I wouldn’t even know where he lived.
Art brings his hands together in one loud clap as soon as he sees us. “About time. You’re late.”
“We wanted everyone else to get here first so if we walked in to find a bunch of carved-up corpses, we at least had time to run.”
He sniggers. “You know I’d have the decency to clean up after myself.”
I glance around at the people gathered. There are two DMC guys here—ex-husbands—who I don’t know well, but they’re both friends with Keller, who’s also in the circle. Payne and his boyfriend, Beau, are sipping their drinks on the couch, and there’s another handful of guys hanging around who I assume Art knows but I’ve never met before.
“This everyone?” Ford asks.
“Yep.” Art nods to where the cute barman is serving two guys from the small bar up here. “Once they’re back.”
Suspicion prickles along my neck at the familiar light brown mop, and when Molly turns, my suspicions are confirmed.
This fun night just went down the drain. What the fuck is he doing here?
Ford goes tense beside me, and I know he’s spotted Molly too.
I’m about to ask Art how the hell they were invited when Molly and the other guy approach, and he sets a drink down in front of Keller.
“Here, Dad. I would have gotten you one too, Daddy Ford, but I didn’t know you were here already.” Molly bats his eyelashes, but I’m still too in shock thathe’sKeller’s son to process the flirting.
“He’s your kid?” I ask, rudely pointing, but wow. They look nothing alike.
Keller’s a Jason Momoa look-alike. Longish hair, dark beard, calm presence. Molly is a slight, doe-eyed twink, who looks like he’s plotting how to off me.
“Yep,” Keller says.
My quick math puts Molly older than I thought he was since Keller is forty-two and had Molly at sixteen.
“And you’ve met Will.” Keller gestures at the tan guy with the backward cap and sweet smile.
I force a smile in return, my hand tightening around Ford’s as we take the only spare couch.
Which happens to be next to theirs. Molly sits on the side closest to Ford, leaving Will to squeeze in between him and Keller.
“Carving time!” Art calls, pulling out two thin knives and stabbing the air like he’s letting off pistols.
“Someone take those off him,” Payne mutters.
“I’m interested to see where this goes,” Beau replies.
Hey, at least if there’s a medical emergency, this whole night comes to an end. I clear the thought away and remind myself to be nice.
