Page 128 of Butter My Biscuit

Her eyelashes flutter closed as I hold her and inhale the smell of her perfume.

The only thing that pulls me away is the knock on the door.

“Sorry to interrupt, but I’m gonna stroke out if you two don’t say something. I’m a fuckin’ mess out here!”

I burst into laughter, and so does Grace. I wipe away the ghost of tears that trail down her cheeks.

We open the door and let Kinsley in, and she looks down at the tests and then makes a face.

“Are you upset?” Grace asks her.

“I was hoping … never mind. Congrats. How ’bout we not see each other like this again?” Kinsley says, throwing the tests in the trash, and forcing a smile. “Your secret is safe with me. I pinkie swear I won’t tell a soul.” She zips her mouth, makes a locking motion, and tosses the pretend key over her shoulder. “Tonight didn’t happen, okay?”

“Okay,” Grace says. “Thank you—again.” When they pull away, Grace turns to me. “I’ll meet you in the truck?”

“Sure,” I say, and she gives me a minute with Kinsley.

“I’m sorry.” My sister places her hand on my shoulder.

I’m sure she’s the only person in the room who sees the disappointment on my face. Not that IwantedGrace to be pregnant. It was never an option until it was. Another thing for me to grieve.

“I have a wedding to plan,” I tell her with a smile on my face. “See ya later?”

“Under different circumstances?” She walks me to the door.

“Abso-fuckin’-lutely.”

She pulls me into a tight hug, then I leave.

When I get in the truck, Grace is already inside and buckled.

“Well, that was fun.” I reverse, then pull out of Kinsley’s driveway. Rocks kick up in my wake as we make our way off the ranch and head back to town.

Both of us are silent; the sound of the tires on the country road fill the empty space. Neither of us says a word, too lost in our heads as we return to the coffee shop.

“Can we take a rain check?” she asks when I park next to her car.

“That’s probably for the best,” I say, and she grabs the handle. “Are you gonna be okay?”

She turns and looks at me, and I reach out, twirling a piece of her short, dark hair, feeling the softness of her lock wrapped around my finger.

“Yeah,” she says. “Now, I am. And you’re still getting married. In two weeks. With no baggage.”

“Right.” The awkwardness draws on.

“We’ll have it all planned by then,” she promises. “Send me pics of your tux fitting.”

“I will. Night.”

“Good night.”

I watch her walk away, needing a drink after that, but head home instead.

When I pass my parents’ place, I see the lights are still on in the house. I park, kill the engine, then walk up the steps. The door is unlocked because no one locks anything around here. They’re lying together on the couch, watching TV. There’s an empty bowl of popcorn and a bottle of wine.

“I didn’t just walk in on somethin’, did I?”

Dad laughs. “Nah. Just catchin’ up onYellowstone. Have a seat.”

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