Page 53 of Lighting the Lamp
“Why? I didn’t know she was in there! And I was invited!” he snaps, eyes wild. “I was on a muffin delivery mission. A rescue operation! Ramona sent me to save your emotionally repressed self. I did not sign up to see limbs, tangled blankets, and my uncle looking like a shirtless lumberjack in crisis.”
Cooper nearly chokes on his coffee. “To be fair, from what you described, it was a pretty impressive tangle of limbs. I know the only thing all of us are thinking is,finally.”
“For sure.” Cole nods solemnly, stealing a muffin from the bag. “We can give it a solid 8.5, but we are deducting points for forgetting to lock the door.”
His eyes flick over me as he chews, grin widening. “And honestly, you look like you slept in that shirt. Real frazzled, even for you.”
My stomach lurches, heat crawling up my neck. I tug at the hem again, forcing a smirk I don’t feel. If he knew what I was really hiding under the cotton, he wouldn’t be grinning; he’d be staring and asking a million questions I don’t have any answers to. And I can’t let that happen. “Maybe I wanted to be caught,” I deadpan, taking a long sip of coffee.
“You absolutely wanted to be caught.” Cole snickers. “You’re practically glowing. I thought Darius had walked into the finale. Shouldn’t we hear the orchestral swell? And get a glimpse of the slow-mo forehead kiss when she walks into the room?”
“Stop. Stop talking.” Darius lets out an exaggerated groan. “I need to bleach my eyeballs, have a full lobotomy, undergo therapy, and get a new family.”
“You say that like Beau and Alise haven’t been doing the world’s slowest burn since they were in middle school,” Cooper points out.
“Oh, we all saw it,” Cole adds, waving his muffin. “It was like watching a live-action fanfic unfold. We’ve got pining. Mutual denial. Hot, repressed glances across the locker room. You’re one ‘only one bed’ away from cliché bingo.”
“God,” Darius groans again, dragging a hand down his face. “Please. Stop talking. I’m too young to know this much about my uncle’s love life.”
“You guys suck,” I mutter, but there’s no heat behind it just as I hear the soft creak of the floor and footsteps headed this way.
All of us go quiet, like someone hit the mute button, staring toward the hallway leading to the back of my condo. It’s only a few moments before Alise rounds the corner into the kitchen. Her hair is pulled back at the crown of her head, styled into a round, voluminous bun. She’s dressed in the same dark jeans from last night and a soft blue sweater that definitely doesn’t belong to her, meaning someone raided my closet again.
She stops short when she sees us. Her eyes flick to me standing at the counter, and another three sets of eyes lock on to her like she walked onto a sitcom soundstage mid-chaos. She hesitates for a second and then makes the mistake of lifting her chin in defiance.
My pulse stutters when Alise’s gaze dips, but she doesn’t say a word. She just lifts her chin a fraction higher, like she’s silently promising she won’t give me away. Relief cuts through the panic, but it’s fragile, hanging by a thread I’m terrified will snap the second my brothers push too far.
“Morning, sunshine,” Cole says, grin stretching wide like he’s been waiting for this exact moment. “Sleep okay? Darius said you two looked cozy when he walked in.”
Darius coughs loudly before opening his mouth to apologize, but then wisely shuts it. There is nothing he can say at this moment that will make the situation any better than it is. What he should have done was keep his mouth shut about what he saw instead of blabbing about what happened to either of my brothers. I’m sure Ramona will summon Alise upstairs to her place any minute for her own inquisition session. What I wouldn’t give to be a fly on the wall.
“Hi, Cole,” Alise responds cooly, narrowing her eyes slightly at Darius.
“I like the sweater,” Cooper adds, smug and unhurried. “Very… post-coital chic.”
“I’m going to smother you both,” she says sweetly, glancing at the coffee pot like she’s calculating if it’s worth smacking one of them in the head with it.
“Can we not? I am but a child with muffin-based trauma.” Darius throws his hands in the air.
“Sorry, D. Didn’t know you were coming.” Alise’s mouth twitches.
“Ididn’t know I was coming,” he snaps. “I was told to drop off carbs. I didn’t expect a full-on soap opera. There were limbs, Alise. Limbs. And your leg was—I can’t even say it.”
Cole’s eyes light up as he wrings his hands together like some evil villain in a movie. “Wait, where were her legs? Was it the thigh-over-the-hip moment or?—”
Alise cuts him off with a glare that could power the whole damn grid. “I swear to God, Hendrix, I will snap your stick in half.”
“Ooh, feisty,” Cole says, holding up his hands in surrender. “Ten out of ten. Would watch the sequel.”
“I hate this family,” she mutters.
“You say that,” Cooper says, grinning, “but you chose this family.”
“I was helping him!” Alise shouts, exasperated, as she swings her tote over her shoulder and backs toward the door like she’s escaping a hostage situation.
“With what?” Cole calls after her. “Your mouth? Because, according to Darius, it looked like your mouth was doing a lot of work.”
“Oh, my God!” Darius shrieks. “That’s not what I said, Auntie Alise. I promise.”
