Page 34 of Better Not Pout
Rosalie
Showtime, Baby
Two days later,I’m thinking to myself as I stare out the window of Wells’ ridiculously large truck: there aredefinitelytrue crime podcasts that begin with what I’m doing right now.
Driving up into the mountains with a man I hardly know to spend a weekend cut off from civilization, alone in a cabin with him.
When Wells said that his family spends a weekend at the cabin together, I pictured a big cabin with a ton of bedrooms for everyone so that they were all literally and figuratively stuck under the same roof, just like his mother asked for.
But now that we’re here, I see that it isn’t even close to what I was thinking.
I mean, thereisa cabin. But there are quite afewof them spread out along the property, with a big, central cabin in the middle of the ones surrounding it.
“Did you forget to mention that this is a…compound?” I exclaim, looking up at him as I shut the truck door behind me. I guess his family owns quite a bit of Cedar Ridge from the looks of it.
He chuckles as he comes to a stop beside me. “Yeah, I guess you could call it that.” He points toward the middle cabin. It’s a large A-frame with fresh snow blanketing the top of its steepled roof that seems to have a blazing fire crackling inside, given the smoke it’s sending through the chimney. “That’s my parents’. They stay there for a few months out of the year, outside of Christmas.” He turns and gestures to the smaller, more modest cabins along the edge of the property. “These belong to my siblings and I. They’re all in relationships, and most have kids of their own, so my parents wanted everyone to have their own space. They’re not anything fancy, but they’re warm and cozy, as my mom likes to say.”
“They’re adorable,” I breathe, taking in the sight. It’s picturesque, the beautiful mountain landscape, Christmas wreaths made of fir garland and twinkling lights on the front door of every cabin, stacks of chopped firewood on the front porch near the door.
“I’ll show you it all after we meet everyone and get settled in. But for now, it’s showtime. Fair warning: they’re… a lot. You sure you’re ready for this?”
I’m not entirely sure, but I do feel much better about meeting the rest of his family now that I had a soft launch with his brother and Ally. “Yep. Let’s do this.”
As it turns out, I am not at all ready for the chaos that we walk into once inside his parents’ cabin. The dogs run ahead of us, and I swear my heart skips in my chest, seeing them in their little doggie snow boots. I saw them at the Mistletoe Mercantile, and I had to get them.
Literally could not walk away.
Wells takes my hand in his and laces our fingers tightly together as the front door shuts behind us.
Immediately, every eye in the room finds us, and my eyes widen.
This is… alotof people. Way more than what I was expecting.
“Um, how many siblings did you say you had again?” I whisper hiss and squeeze his hand tighter when I hear him chuckle quietly.
“Five.”
“Five?” I blanch, craning my head to look at his tall, massive frame. “You havefivesiblings, and you didn’t think to tell me that? God, that’s…” I trail off, doing the mental math. “Ten people, not including your parents or all of the kids.”
“Yup. We’ve got a big family.”
Big? No, big is three siblings, and parents, and a few grandchildren.
But this? This is huge.
Wells McCoy has amassivefamily. And yet another thing to check off the dream man list. One more blaring coincidence that is starting to no longer feel like a coincidence at all.
My brain tries to wrap around the fact that he’s the literal wish list of that man that I wrote about to Santa… But how? Is something like this even possible? How in the hell could I wish for something, and then suddenly, that exact thing appears in my life?
“You good?” Wells’ voice breaks through my thoughts, and when I glance up, his eyes are on me, the space between his brow furrowed with worry.
Nodding, I give him a small smile. “Yes. Sorry, I was just, uh… thinking.”
“Wells!” a small woman calls from across the living room, and his eyes find her in the crowd of his family, a wide smile transforming his handsome face. She appears before us with atall, burly man right behind on her heels, and I realize that these must be his parents. The resemblance is uncanny. His mom’s eyes are the same light, warm shade of brown as his, the corners aged with laugh lines. Her hair is cut in a short bob around her shoulders, and she’s wearing a cream-colored sweater with a pair of casual jeans. His father has the same strong, square jaw and wide shoulders. He’s wearing a funny sweater with a reindeer on the front, and his smile is warm and kind.
It reminds me of Wells’.
“My sweet boy, you made it!” his mother exclaims, placing her palms along his cheeks and peering into his eyes like she’s afraid he’s going to disappear right in front of her. Then, she throws her arms around his neck and hugs him tightly to her.
