Page 149 of Lighting the Lamp
“Better add in that time he forgot his pills,” Kyle barks out, never missing a chance to twist the knife. “What kind of tragic hero misses meds and breaks countertops on the same day?”
Beau groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Jesus, I miss one refill reminder and I’ll never live it down.”
“Guess that means I get to take his side of the bed,” Kyle chimes in, smug as ever, like he’s auditioning for Most Annoying Brother of the Year.
“Kyle!” I bark, and he just grins wider, like my fury is his favorite sport.
I take a steadying breath, shove back the chaos in my chest, and hear my voice come out calm and firm. “Fine. Not in our house. If Kyle needs a place to stay, he can have Beau’s condo.”
His grin explodes like Christmas morning. “Pool, gym, free parking? Done.”
“You’re all conspiring against me.” Beau groans, dragging a hand down his face.
“Correction,” I say sweetly, leaning into his side, “we’re deciding together. That was the deal.”
His eyes cut to mine, regret swimming there, but relief, too. His shoulders ease as if he’s been holding up the roof and finally set it down.
“Together,” he echoes softly, and his fingers find mine, squeezing tight.
The word settles into me like a vow, reinforced by every laugh, jab, and ridiculous claim to furniture in this house. No one thinks we’re moving too fast. They’re treating it like it was always meant to be, as inevitable as Beau and me ending up here, his chaos baby brother and all.
It’s gentle at first, but I curl my hand into his shirt, tugging him nearer, and his sigh breaks against my mouth. Thekiss deepens until the world narrows to nothing but his palm cradling my jaw and the promise thrumming there.
“Oh, my God. I’m literally scarred for life.” A groan breaks through our lust-filled haze.
We break apart just as Darius, all long limbs and teenage dramatics, squeezes his eyes shut and slaps a hand over his face. “Why do I even come around you people? Every time, every dang time…” He stumbles toward the doorway like he needs bleach for his brain.
Kyle, unbothered as ever, leans back against the counter. “Because deep down, you love us. And also because I’m obviously the best roommate option. Just saying.”
Cole pelts him with a crumpled piece of packing paper. “You’re not even living here!”
“Correction,” Kyle shoots back, smug as hell, “I’ll be living in the condo after graduation now. Major upgrade. Thanks, sis.”
“Smart women call it teamwork,” Ramona sing-songs, already unloading groceries into the pantry.
I exhale softly, because she’s right. With Michele and Ramona beside me, it doesn’t feel like me against the Hendrix brothers anymore. It feels like I’m exactly where I belong, in the thick of it, with family on every side.
“Okay, boys, enough joking. Let’s get this place unpacked before midnight.” Ramona claps her hands, getting everyone’s attention. “Cooper and Cole, to the living room with the couch and any boxes. Kyle, on pizza duty with Darius, and Michele, we’re going to head to the bedroom.”
No one argues; they just move toward their corresponding rooms, leaving Beau and me alone in the kitchen.And it hits me, sharp and certain: I wouldn’t trade a single second of this for the world. Not the teasing, the noise, not even the embarrassment that still makes my cheeks heat from breaking the countertop forour entire family to see. Because this mess, this family, and this man belong to me.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Beau’s arms slide around my waist, his chest solid against my back, his voice pitched low enough to curl my toes.
“I don’t think anyone in this house wants to know what I’m thinking.”
“The kitchen’s almost finished,” he murmurs, lips grazing along the edge of my jaw. The warmth of his smile is wicked and knowing all at once. “Think we should… keep breaking the place in?”
“Beau.” My breath stutters, knees going weak under the heat of him pressed close.
“The bedroom is probably unpacked enough.” His mouth ghosts lower, grazing the spot beneath my ear. “Or the hallway. Or…”
“Sir,” I manage, pulse sprinting, the word trembling out of me.
“Ma’am,” he counters smoothly, and then his mouth is on mine.
The kiss is slow, but it is still devastating. Every slide of his lips staking a claim, every tug of his hands anchoring me against him, every sigh I give up swallowed like he owns it. He tastes like heat and promise, and the weight of everything he doesn’t say hums through the kiss until I’m dizzy.
After I finally tear away, my forehead remains pressed to his, breathless and wanting. “Floor?”
