Page 40 of Craving Consequences

“It caught so fast!” Lauren wheezes, swiping under her eyes. “It’s not Everly’s fault the forest is so woodsy.”

“It’s a forest!” Lachlan and Van exclaim in unison.

“I think the forest people should take better precautions.” Lauren meets my eye and winks. “I’m still convinced the fire started itself.”

“Yeah, after the marshmallow fireball hit a tree and fell into dry leaves,” Lachlan agrees with slow nods.

I groan and drop my face into my hands. “I am never living this down, am I?”

“No,” Lachlan offers supportively.

“Plus side, you found your calling setting things on fire,” Van adds.

“I’ll be with you the whole time,” Lauren offers gently. “Just don’t set me on fire.”

I throw a fry at her. “Just for that, I’m going to have your claim to rebuild the salon rejected.”

Lauren scrunches up her face. “That’s a gross abuse of power.” Her expression morphs into a saucy grin. “Sexy. What dirty things can I do to change your mind?”

Even while we burst out laughing, the two men exclaim their protest.

Dinner passes with every dip of the sun slipping into the horizon. We clean off the table — Van, Lachlan and I. Lauren heads for the pool as I join the men in the kitchen. I scrape the eaten food from the plates into the trash and pack up leftovers. Van scrubs the countertops while Lachlan tackles the dishes.

We have done this together so often, no one speaks. The process is smooth. A perfect choreographed dance that each of us have perfected.

All the while, an easy calm soaks the muggy space. Lachlan flips on the small, battery-operated radio over the sink on and lets the sultry croon of jazz fill the silence.

I finish piling the plates for him to scrub and head to grab the broom from the pantry.

Outside the patio door, Lauren’s splashes echo in the soft dusk, tangling with the chirp of crickets. The whisper of leaves. The subtle rustle of the two men moving around me.

Floor swept, I move to take a dishrag and stand on Lachlan’s other side. Van’s fingers ghost over the small of m y back as he leans his hard body into my side and reaches for the salt shaker. It’s only a second of scorched skin before he’s gone and I can draw in a breath.

I reach for a plate and start drying. Lachlan’s arm brushes mine. Our shoulders bump. My fingers graze his as I take the fistful of cutlery from him.

I dry them and turn to take them to the drawer only to walk straight into Van’s chest. His arms. The steel bands close around me, a protective enclosure that folds me in place along every ridged line of his body.

The spoons and forks tumble out of my fingers. A waterfall of silver cascading to the linoleum with a clattering clang that explodes over the hum of music, but all I hear is the clamoring of my heart trying to escape my chest.

“Easy,” Van murmurs softly into my ear, sending a whole new set of shivers racing down my spine.

“I’m sorry,” I breathe, and I think I feel his deep inhale, but I can’t be sure of anything when he’s holding me so close, or when Lachlan has abandoned his task and is bending at my feet to gather the fallen utensils.

Distantly, I am fully aware that this does not look good from an outsider’s perspective, but how can I move when Van has me restrained and Lachlan is right behind me.

The front door slams.

As if a bomb had detonated, Van releases me and takes several steps back just as Bron charges into the room, bursting for a fight.

I know that look, that hard set of his mouth, the darkness in his eyes. A kitten could scamper by and he’d find a reason to kick it. The fact that he’s here makes me think something in his plans went awry and he is not happy about it. Now, we have to suffer through it.

“You came—” I begin, trying to keep my voice light.

“What the fuck is this?” he snaps back before I can finish.

For a second, I can’t even recall what I’d been doing until I hear the scrap of metal and glance down as Lachlan scoops up the remaining few.

“I dropped some cutlery,” I state.

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