Page 18 of Unlucky in Love
Taylor.
She stood by the table with Emma, smoothing a tablecloth and balancing Emma’s baby on one hip like it was the most natural thing in the world. Her hair was pulled back in a loose knot, strands slipping around her face. The soft light from the chandelier brushed over her skin, and Ryan’s chest tightened.
She looked at home here. Effortless. Like she belonged in this house, in this family.
Except she didn’t see it. He could tell by the way she hovered at the edge, helping but not claiming space, always ready to fade into the background. She laughed at something Emma said, quick and bright, but Ryan caught the way her eyes darted toward the floor, as if making sure she wasn’t in the way.
Nostalgia tugged at him. She had always been around, woven into their childhood like an extra thread. The third musketeer to him and Emma. Except to him, she had never been just Emma’s friend. Not really.
“Ryan!” Emma spotted him and grinned. “Good, you brought the pie. Mom will be thrilled. She already made brownies, but you know she likes to feed us until we can’t move.”
Ryan leaned against the counter, slipping back into the role of big brother with practiced ease. “You’re lucky. If I had baked it, we’d all be at the emergency room.”
“Truth,” Emma said, smirking.
Their mom swept in just then, apron dusted with flour. “Stop pretending, Ryan. You can boil pasta and fry eggs. That’s practically gourmet in some places.”
Taylor laughed softly, adjusting the baby. The sound hit Ryan low in the chest, like an echo from another life.
Dinner gathered momentum quickly, voices overlapping, dishes passing from hand to hand. Ryan found himself seated across from Taylor at the long dining table, the clatter of silverware and the scent of roasted chicken filling the air.
“Ryan,” his mother said halfway through, her eyes sparkling. “Now that you’re back, maybe you can finally think about settling down. It would be nice to see you with someone at this table next year.”
Heat prickled the back of his neck. He opened his mouth to deflect, but before he could, Emma jumped in.
“And Taylor too,” Emma teased. “She’s been our honorary Carter forever, but she never brings a date either.”
The table chuckled. Taylor smiled, rolling her eyes as she speared a piece of broccoli. “What can I say? I prefer your family’s cooking to awkward small talk with strangers.”
Laughter rippled around the table, but Ryan saw the flicker in her eyes, the faint stiffening of her shoulders. She had laughed it off, but not comfortably.
Something protective stirred in him, sharp and unexpected. “Or maybe she just has better taste than the rest of us,” he said easily, setting his fork down. “Why waste time on bad dates when you can have chicken this good?”
That earned another round of laughter, and the spotlight shifted. But Taylor’s gaze flicked to him briefly, surprise softening her features before she looked down at her plate again.
Ryan took a sip of water to cover the tightness in his chest. He hadn’t planned on stepping in. But watching her shrink underthe attention had twisted something in him, and deflecting the teasing felt like the only thing to do.
Conversation flowed easily as everyone reached for seconds. Ryan leaned back, letting the rhythm of family chatter wash over him. He was halfway through another piece of chicken when Emma’s voice cut through the noise.
“So,” Emma said, eyes twinkling. “Tell me, Taylor, how’s your secret admirer treating you these days?”
Ryan nearly choked on his water.
Taylor froze, fork suspended midair. “Emma.”
Emma grinned. “What? You told me about the notes. Don’t act like this isn’t the most interesting thing happening in town right now.”
The table went quiet for a beat, then their mother gasped. “Secret admirer? Taylor, you didn’t say anything about that when you helped me with the brownies earlier.”
Taylor sighed, setting her fork down. “Because it’s not a big deal.”
“Not a big deal?” Emma scoffed. “Someone is leaving her handwritten clues, people. Actual clues. Like a Hallmark movie, but without the snow.”
Laughter rippled down the table. Their father chuckled, shaking his head. “I like this already. Did he leave flowers too, or is he easing into it?”
Taylor groaned, covering her face with one hand. “I should never have told you anything.”
“Too late,” Emma sing-songed. “This is family dinner. We share everything.”
