Page 62 of Runaway Road (Runaway 1)

I gave myself a mental eye roll. Once, as a teenager, I would have thought Brooks’s house was a palace. Being married to Thomas had skewed my perspective too far. He had more money than I’d be able to spend in two lifetimes.

Brooks came out the front door, carrying a small blue cooler in one hand and my sunglasses in the other. “Here, honey.”

“Thanks.” I smiled. I alw

ays did when he called me honey.

His endearment came so naturally. He said it with such ease, I’d wondered at first if maybe he called all women honey. But as time went on, I realized it was mine. It was another gift.

I hadn’t owned an endearment before. My parents hadn’t bothered because they weren’t endearing people. Thomas had called me Londyn and only Londyn. Even Karson had stuck to my name or Lonny, like Gemma still used.

Honey. I tucked the word into my pocket for later.

I glanced at Wyatt as I put my sunglasses on. He was trying to hide a smile.

“You can sit up front.” He opened my door for me, then helped me inside. Then he climbed in the truck, sitting behind me as Brooks got behind the wheel.

Brooks asked Wyatt questions about football as we drove across town, taking inventory of the plays Wyatt needed to memorize before the weekend was over. As we neared the edge of town, the homes became larger and more spread apart. I wasn’t sure how far we were going until Brooks eased off the gas to turn toward the lake. An iron gate greeted us at the end of a private drive.

He rolled down his window and punched a code into the keypad, then steered us on the tree-lined drive until a sprawling cream house came into view.

Ahh. Now I understood Wyatt’s comment about money. Brooks Cohen, or rather his parents, must have it in spades. This was the nicest home I’d seen in Summers, and though it was tasteful for this town and not arrogant in size or style, it stood apart. It was probably six thousand square feet with a looped driveway, much like the one I’d left behind in Boston. A barn with a gable roof sat in the distance. Two dogs lazed beside a koi pond. And like Brooks’s home, this home’s windows were the focal point. They gleamed, reflecting the shine bouncing off the lake.

“Your dad is a doctor, right?” I asked.

“He is. Still works at the hospital because he says he’s too young to retire. Mom stayed home and looked after me and my sister. You’ll meet her today.” He dropped his voice. “And a few others.”

Behind me, Wyatt let out a snort.

I looked between him and Brooks. Both were avoiding eye contact and holding back grins. “Okay, what am I missing?”

They bolted from the truck before answering.

I shot Brooks a glare as he rounded the hood to open my door. When my foot hit the concrete, I opened my mouth to demand details about this low-key thing—and a crowd of people rushed out of the house.

Wyatt got swallowed up first. Then the swarm descended on us.

“Hi, Londyn.” Brooks’s mom enveloped me in a hug. “We’re so glad you could come today.”

“Thanks for having me . . .” I looked at Brooks in panic. What was her name? He hadn’t told me their names.

“Ava,” he mouthed.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Ava.”

“My, you are pretty.” She winked at me, then pulled Brooks into a hug. “Hello, son.”

“Hi, Mom.” He tucked her into his side just as I was wrapped up again, this time by Brooks’s father.

“Carter Cohen. Great to meet you.” He slapped a hand to my back.

Whoa. He was as strong as Brooks. “You too.”

He released me, grinning from ear to ear as the rest of the people around us started tossing out names I had no hope of remembering. I got lost in the handshakes and hugs.

I met Brooks’s sister and her husband while their two small children chased around Wyatt’s legs. There was an aunt and a great aunt. There were five or six uncles, or was one of them a cousin?

It took me the entire day to get it all straight, but by the time dinner was over and I was sitting on the back deck, I’d finally put names and relations to each face. I’d even managed to figure out which twin uncle was Henry and which was Harry.