Page 114 of Cross Checked
Bliss
By the time we stepped into my dad’s backyard, the whole Bennett ecosystem was already operating at full volume.
Smoke rolled off the grill in thick, dramatic clouds while Dad stood in front of it with a beer in one hand and tongs in the other like a man commanding troops instead of overcooking meat. Classic rock blasted from the speakers under the patio awning, the pool shimmered bright blue under the afternoon sun, and the yard smelled like charcoal, sunscreen, cut grass, and whatever seasoning my father had decided would spiritually rescue dry ribs this week.
Kids shrieked near the gate. Someone’s lawn chair collapsed beneath a grown man who absolutely deserved it. Knox and Lyon were already yelling about whether street hockey before dinner was “bonding” or “premeditated injury,” and Emmitt stood at the cooler pretending he hadn’t already stolen two beers out of it.
It should have felt like any other Sunday.
It didn’t though because Cade walked in beside me with the potatoes in one hand while I carried the coffee I had stolen from him three times on the drive over, and he had the relaxed, lethal confidence of a man who had kissed me stupid in my kitchen, dragged me to my bedroom, and then carried on with his day like ruining me before a family barbecue was simply efficient time management.
I hated him a little, but not enough.
Never enough.
The second we came through the gate, Knox looked up from where he was arguing with Kellen over hockey sticks andgrinned like he’d been waiting all week to be insufferable. “Well, well, well. Look who brought the captain back.”
Kellen leaned around him, eyes going immediately to Cade’s hand on the foil pan. “He brought potatoes again. That’s commitment.”
“It’s strategy,” Cade said smoothly, setting the pan on the outdoor table. “Your family respects starch.”
Dad pointed his tongs at him from the grill. “Smart man.”
I shot Cade a look. “Do not let them encourage you.”
Cade’s mouth curved as he glanced down at me. “Too late, Pip.”
That nickname hit differently now. It had always done something stupid to me, but after last night, after this morning, after his mouth and hands and that smug little “benefit number one” look on his face, it landed like a hand sliding beneath my skin. Warm. Possessive. Familiar in a way I did not know how to survive.
Ryker noticed. Of course he noticed. My oldest brother had fireman instincts, dad instincts, and an extremely irritating ability to sense when I was attempting to act normal and failing.
His eyes moved from Cade to me, then back to Cade. “You two look suspicious.”
“I always look suspicious,” I said immediately.
“No,” Emmitt called from the cooler. “You look guilty.”
“I am guilty. Of showing up with potatoes.”
“Potatoes don’t make your cheeks pink,” Kellen said.
“Sun does.”
“You’ve been here thirty seconds.”
“UV rays are aggressive.”
Cade made a low sound beside me that was not quite a laugh, and I elbowed him lightly without looking up. “Do not.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You breathed smugly.”
Dad’s brows lifted from the grill. “Did she just accuse you of breathing wrong?”
“Yes, sir.”
Dad nodded with deep fatherly wisdom. “Ah hell, she’s been blaming us for atmospheric issues since she was six.”
