Page 130 of Crushing Clover

Lucky took me up on my offer.

“How adorable,” Saint said, his tone cutting. “She wants to share her chickie nuggies.”

Ignoring Saint’s snobbishness, Rush speared one with his fork and took a bite. He frowned, nodding. “They’re good. Tasty, but not trying to show off by getting fancy with the seasoning.”

“Maybe we should have a few options like this on our menu,” Lucky hazarded.

I gestured at my plate. “Some people don’t enjoy complicated spices or goat cheese, and you don’t have much on the menu for them.”

“Complicated spices. You think fucking ketchup is complicated.” Grudgingly, Saint took the other half of the one Lucky was eating right off his fork and put it in his own mouth.

“Maybe you have a point,” Saint said thoughtfully. “They’re fine, I guess.”

“I’m not the only one in my family who doesn’t have a refined palate. My sister is the same way.”

“You have a sister?” Rush asked.

“Yes. I have an older sister named Violet.”

“And your parents?”

Hadn’t Lucky told them this? I glanced at him, but he shrugged. “Your history isn’t mine to tell.”

“The short version is that my sister and I got separated when we were really young and went into foster care. We were taken away from our dad because he’d leave us alone when he went to work. Mom took off not long after I was born.”

“Welcome to the fucked-up family club,” Rush said, as Saint stole another of my chicken strips because he thought I wasn’t paying attention. “Lucky’s the only one who was raised by his parents.”

“I met his mom. She seems nice.”

Saint snorted. “If you don’t mind family dinners and matching Christmas pajamas.”

“If you don’t like having Christmas with my family, you can always stay home,” Lucky said slyly.

“It’s not like we have anything else to do on December twenty-fifth,” he said magnanimously.

“Quit trying to act so blasé,” Rush said, jabbing him in the leg with his fork.

“Ow!”

“I barely touched you.”

“It’s going to leave a bruise.”

“Admit it—you love Lucky’s parents, and you’re a slut for Christmas. Your Grinch act isn’t fooling anyone except possibly Clover.”

“Christmas with Lucky’s family is slightly less horrible than Christmas tends to be,” he conceded.

“With an attitude like that, I’m going to raid your Christmas stocking.”

“You keep your filthy paws off my chocolate orange.”

As they bickered, the server came back, and Lucky asked for the check.

They were still in high spirits as we strolled out into the evening. The sidewalks were still warm through the soles of my sandals, and my dress swished around my thighs. I smiled to myself as the guys passionately debated seasonings for the hypothetical chicken fingers they might add to the menu over Saint’s dead body. There was a lightness in me that felt dangerous. Happiness wasn’t a feeling to be trusted. Maybe I’d let myself enjoy it for an hour or two.

It was hard to imagine the three of them wearing matching pajamas at Lucky’s parents’ house at Christmas. Unfortunately, I doubted I’d be around to see it. Who knew where I’d be by then? Christmas and birthdays had never meant much to me,but occasionally I found myself wishing I was important enough for someone to make a bit of a fuss.

“Why is the bootlicker so quiet?” Saint demanded.

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