Page 17 of Pack Me Up
Colton makes a show of offense. “I did not punch you. I gently redirected your face.”
“Into the wall,” Cody says.
Colton grins at me. “He’s only mad because I’m the older twin.”
“By two minutes,” Cody snaps, but he’s already smiling.
The ease of their dynamic is infectious. I find myself smiling, too.
“So, how long have you been doing security?” I ask.
Colton drums his fingers on his thigh. “Since we were old enough.”
“Saint was always built for bossing people around,” Cody adds. “He got suspended twice for fighting, once for organizing a walkout, and once for trying to unionize the school cafeteria.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Unionize the cafeteria?”
Colton shrugs. “He’s a softie, deep down.”
“Don’t tell him we said that,” Cody says, mock-whispering. “And turn left up here.”
I nod, like I’m being entrusted with a state secret. “Your secret is safe with me.”
They’re both quiet for a moment, and the mood shifts. I can feel the weight of something unspoken, coiled under the banter. The city blurs by in strips of light and shadow, and I know, without asking, that they’re cataloging every car, every pedestrian, every flicker of movement.
“It’s up here on the right,” Colton tells me, and I follow his directions.
We pull into the lot of Lily’s Bistro. The SUV noses in behind us, and I see Saint and the others get out, all at once in a coordinated move.
I kill the engine. For a second, no one moves.
“Want a pep talk?” Colton asks.
I shake my head, but I’m not sure if I mean it.
He opens his door, but before he gets out, he glances over. “We’ll look out for you, Brittney. Even against our brothers.”
“Especially then,” Cody says, already outside and holding my door open from the other side. “Come on. Let’s eat.”
I follow them in, the warmth of the restaurant spilling over us like a blanket. The lights are low, the tables half-empty. Saint is already inside, talking to the hostess, who looks terrified and thrilled at the same time.
Fox is at his side with his bright red hair, as his eyes scan the room with clinical detachment. Hunter slouches against the stand, staring at me as we walk in to join them.
The hostess leads the way, and the twins guide me to the table, seating me in the dead center, with Saint on my right and Fox on my left. The arrangement is not random.
Menus arrive, but Saint waves them off. “Family style,” he says before turning to me and asking, “unless you have allergies?”
I nod, feeling self-conscious. “Actually, I have a couple. I’m allergic to mushrooms, gluten, and shellfish.”
Saint nods, turning to the waiter. “Ensure everything is free of gluten, mushrooms, and shellfish.”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that for everyone,” I protest, knowing how inconvenient that can be and how much it can change the taste.
Saint actually cracks a smile. “None of us would risk anything happening to you. None of us will eat it now.”
Considering my own family never accommodated me, this touches a cord that makes me feel cared for instantly.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
