Page 271 of Lost Then Found
They love their grandma more than anyone. Not even a close race.
I follow them up the steps and into the kitchen, where the smell of fresh biscuits and something citrusy fills the air. Sage is leaning against the counter, orange slice in her mouth, flipping through a magazine.
“You’re late,” she says without looking up. “Mom’s been pacing again.”
Mom rolls her eyes and gently sets the twins down, who immediately start pulling magnets off the fridge like it’s a competitivesport.
“I wasn’t pacing,” Mom mutters, brushing flour off her apron. “I was baking.”
“Pacing while baking,” Sage quips, flipping a page. “It counts.”
I snag an orange slice from the bowl and toss it into my mouth. “Lainey refused to get in the car seat unless Hudson promised her a pony.”
Hudson plops into a chair, arms crossed like he’s eighty and exhausted. “I didn’t saywhenI’d get it for her, though.”
Sage flicks an orange slice at me. I catch it without looking, just to prove I still can.
“You’re raising a con artist,” she tells me.
“I’m raising a negotiator,” I shoot back, reaching for a biscuit. “There’s a difference.”
Mom slides a plate of lemon shortbread onto the table. “Eat first. Debate later.”
Jack toddles over with a magnet in each hand and crashes into my leg like a heat-seeking missile. Lainey’s already halfway into a lower cabinet, mumbling to herself like she’s got big plans in there.
The house buzzes with the low hum of conversation, kids, clinking dishes—nothing fancy. Just full. Alive.
A few minutes later, the screen door creaks open, and Wren steps inside, cheeks flushed like she’s been walking fast—or thinking hard. Probably both.
“Hey, guys,” she says, brushing windblown hair from her face. “I’m actually glad you’re all here.”
Sage and I look up at the same time, matching raised eyebrows.
That’s when he walks in behind her.
Sawyer Hart.
It’s hard to miss that giant motherfucker. He’s built like he could carry a cow on his back just for fun.
I’ve never asked what he does at the gym, but I’m starting to think I should. Whatever it is, it’s not normal. Man probably bench presses tractors and calls it a warm-up.
He looks like he’d rather be walking into a wildfire than be here. It’s thefirst time I’ve seen him since everything that went down with the Bluebell.
And now he’shere, in our kitchen. With Wren.
What the hell?
We all go quiet. Even the kids seem to feel it, like something just tilted in the room.
Wren glances at Sawyer—just for a second—then back to the rest of us. Her spine straightens. Her mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.
“We, uh…” She swallows. “Well. I just thought I should tell you all…we’re getting married.”
The silence that follows is deafening. No one moves. No one breathes. I stiffen.
What the actual fuck?
She shifts on her feet, tucks a piece of hair behind her ear, then holds out her left hand—just slightly, like she’s not sure if she wants us to look or not.
