Page 138 of Small Town, Big Storm

“Dad said we could barbecue.”

I grin.

“Rain’s good with a grill,” Storm says, “and Holly and I are going to make potato salad.”

“Potatoes!”Holly declares, throwing her hands up and nearly clipping Storm in the face with her hammer.

“Easy kiddo,” he says, blocking the potential blow.

“I just really like potatoes,” she says.

“Same kid.”Rain ruffles her hair as he goes by.“Same.”

Laughter bubbles up in my chest, but I don’t let it out.Mostly because then I’m put to work, though mine is more of the passing nails and advising whether the sheet of drywall Rain and Storm are holding up is straight.As for Holly’s?Well, she’s six.

Her job is to create chaos and hammer the occasional nail and…to go next door to invite Clover (and Riley) to our barbecue.

Rain scowls but none of us miss that he has enough steaks for everyone.

Including Riley.

And even enough for Shep, who shows up after having made a run back to Harrisburg.

“How’s your room?”Riley asks as we all settle onto a blanket, plates on our laps and enough potato salad between us to feed an army—and that’s not including the double chocolate chip brownies and cinnamon rolls I grabbed from Molly’s or the fruit that Clover brought over.

Clover, who looks at her cousin like she’s Caesar who’s just been stabbed by Brutus.

(A.k.a.the betrayal is fierce with this one.)

“What?”Riley says with a shrug.“Man’s a paying customer and I had an open room.”

“And a penchant for trouble,” Rain mutters, earning him his own glare, albeit from Riley this time.

“The room’s perfect,” Shep says, ignoring the glaring and the tension.“Same as this steak.Swear to God, Stormy, if you weren’t such a good hockey player, I’d say you missed your calling.”

Storm rolls his eyes but just focuses on cutting my steak for me.

I’m with Shep.The man’s a genius in the kitchen.

Case in point?My steak’s a perfect medium rare, and his potato salad is delicious too.

“So, when’s my next shift, boss?”Shep asks me.

Then proceeds to ignore me trying to let him off the hook as he volunteers for Tuesday and Thursday (the nights that Clover usually comes by).

I sigh, shake my head, and…give in as he continues to drive the conversation.

It’s not annoying, somehow.

He manages to include everyone, even Holly, and soon enough we’re all laughing under the shade of the trees, having eaten far too much good food.

Storm and I end up sitting on the old tire swing, hoping that the rope—and tree branch—hold, watching Shep command the adults and Holly in a game of Red Light, Green Light.

“This is nice,” I say as we gently sway.

“Yeah,” he agrees, his gaze on the chaos.“It’s what I always wanted,” he adds quietly.

“A rambunctious six-year-old and annoying teammates invading your space?”