Page 196 of Well That Happened

“Just to be clear,” I say, gripping the steering wheel as we pull into Hunter’s parents’ driveway, “we’re not lying this time. We’re just… not volunteering extra information.”

“Strategic omission,” Caleb agrees from the passenger seat, already grinning like this is going to be the best entertainment of his year.

“It’s Thanksgiving,” Hunter mutters from behind me. “Not an interrogation.”

Grayson, squeezed between Hunter and our pile of overnight bags, just raises an eyebrow. “You’ve met your grandmother, right?”

Hunter groans.

The Maddox family home is intimidatingly perfect—colonial style, manicured lawn, the kind of place where people use coasters without being asked. Nothing like my chaotic childhood.

Mrs. Maddox opens the door before we even reach it, her smile warm but her eyes already doing that mom-scan thing. “Hunter! And… all of you?”

“Hi, Mom,” Hunter says, giving her a quick hug. “Yeah, the guys didn’t have anywhere to go for Thanksgiving, so…”

“And Rilee!” She pulls me into a hug that smells like expensive perfume and stuffing. I’d met her only once before, but thankfully we’d hit it off. “How wonderful. Though I thought you and Caleb were—”

“Mom,” Hunter cuts in. “Can we get inside first?”

The house smells like turkey and pie and impending disaster. Hunter’s dad appears from the living room, shaking hands with the guys like they’re business associates rather than the three men currently sharing his son’s… whatever I am.

Then I see her.

Hunter’s grandmother. Tiny, silver-haired, wearing pearls with her apron. She takes one look at our group and her eyes narrow with laser focus.

“Well,” she says slowly. “This is interesting.”

Dinner prep is a careful dance of trying to help while avoiding too many questions. I’m in the kitchen with Mrs. Maddox and Grandma Maddox, peeling potatoes and sweating through my sweater.

“So,” Grandma says, not looking up from her pie crust, “which one is your boyfriend?”

I fumble the peeler. “Oh, um—”

“Because that Caleb is very handsome. Very friendly.” She glances at me. “But then Hunter keeps looking at you like you hung the moon. And the quiet one with the tattoos hasn’t taken his eyes off you since you walked in.”

Mrs. Maddox clears her throat. “Mother, maybe—”

“I’m just making conversation, Patricia.” Grandma’s eyes gleam. “It’s not every day my grandson brings home a girl and her… entourage.”

From the living room, I hear Caleb’s laugh at something Mr. Maddox said, followed by Hunter’s grumbled response. At least they’re getting along.

“They’re all just really good friends,” I manage, focusing intently on the potato in my hand. I don’t want to lie, but Hunter wasn’t ready to go there…yet.

“Mmm-hmm.” Grandma starts rolling out another pie crust. “In my day, we had a word for situations like this.”

I’m terrified to ask what word that is.

Mrs. Maddox saves me by changing the subject to my job, but I catch Grandma muttering something that sounds suspiciously like “smart girl” under her breath.

I make it through the next hour, sweating and trying to avoid the guy’s eyes…now thankfully it’s time to eat.

The dining room is formal in that way that makes you sit up straighter without meaning to. China plates, actual cloth napkins, and enough silverware to make me second-guess which fork goes with what.

I end up between Caleb and Hunter, with Grayson directly across from me. Strategic? Maybe. But also the worst possible arrangement for my blood pressure.

“Let’s say grace,” Mr. Maddox announces, and everyone joins hands.

Caleb’s fingers interlock with mine immediately, warm and familiar. Hunter hesitates for half a second before taking my other hand, his grip careful, controlled. Under the table, his thumb brushes once across my knuckles—and my eyes flit over to his. The look he gives me is sweet, like he likes seeing me here, in his family’s space.

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