Page 34 of Things We Hide from the Light
My heated gaze met Nash’s chilly one through the windshield. He didn’t look too happy about the idea of getting out of the car.Good.
“I think I’ll go inside. See if there’s anything I can help with,” I decided.
Knox traded me the tongs for a third beer. “Check the chicken on the grill if Lou hasn’t already started hovering,” he said, then headed in the direction of his brother.
Check on the chicken?My knowledge of cooking poultry was limited to what showed up on my plate in restaurants. I let myself in and followed the noise.
The house was a beauty, rugged and rustic, but with homey touches that made a person want to sit down, put their feet up, and enjoy the chaos.
Family photos that went back a handful of generations decorated the walls and colorful throw rugs softened the scarred hardwood floors.
I found the majority of the noise and people in the kitchen. Knox and Nash’s grandmother, Liza J—the home’s previous occupant before moving into the cottage down the lane—was supervising Naomi’s mother, Amanda, as she constructed a charcuterie board.
Lou, Naomi’s father, was—thankfully—already on the deck peering under the hood of the grill and prodding at the chicken with his own set of tongs.
Naomi and her best friend, the gorgeous and fashionable Stefan Liao, were arguing while he opened wine and she stirred something that smelled pretty great on the stove.
“Tell him, Lina,” Naomi said as if I’d been there the entire time.
“Tell who what?” I asked, finding a spot in the fridge for the remainder of the six-pack and the two-liter of Waylay’s tooth-rotting soda.
“Tell Stef that he should ask out Jeremiah,” she said.
Jeremiah was Knox’s partner in Whiskey Clipper, the town barbershop/salon beneath my apartment. As with all the single men in this town, he was also really,reallygood-looking.
“Witty’s doing that smug, almost-married lady thing where she tries to pair off all her friends so they can be smug, almost-married jackasses too,” Stef complained. He was wearing cashmere and corduroy and looked like he’d stepped off the pages of a men’s fashion magazine.
“Do youwantto be a smug, almost-married jackass?” I asked him.
“I don’t even officially live in this town,” he said, waving his arms expressively without spilling a drop of the Shiraz. “How should I know if I want to be a jackass?”
“Great. That’s three more bucks for the swear jar,” Waylay lamented loudly from the dining room.
“Put it on my tab,” Stef yelled back.
The swear jar was a gallon-sized pickle jar that lived on the kitchen counter. It was always overflowing with dollar bills thanks to Knox’s colorful vocabulary. The money went toward buying fresh produce. The only way Naomi could get Waylay on board with curbing the four-letter words was to keep the family up to their eyeballs in salads.
“Please,” Naomi scoffed. “You spend more time in Knockemout than you do at your place in New Yorkorwith your parents. I know you’re not here just because you love the canine chaos.”
On cue, all four dogs raced into the kitchen and then charged through the dining room doorway just as Waylay appeared in it. She jumped out of their way, which succeeded in exciting them further.
“Out!” Amanda bellowed, opening the deck door and shooing the blur of fur outside.
Waylay slunk into the kitchen and sneaked a piece of pepperoni off the charcuterie board. “Table’s set,” she said.
Naomi narrowed her eyes, plucked a piece of broccoli off the veggie tray, and stuffed it into her niece’s mouth.
Waylay put up a valiant fight, but her determined aunt won with a suffocating hug.
“Why are you so obsessed with green stuff, Aunt Naomi?” Waylay groaned.
“I’m obsessed with your health and wellness,” Naomi said, ruffling her hair.
Waylay rolled her eyes. “You’re so weird.”
“I’m weird with love for you.”
“Let’s get back to roasting Uncle Stef for being too chicken to ask out Jeremiah,” Waylay suggested.
