Say You're Mine - Layla Hagen Page 0,50

door, I grabbed the suitcases.

“You go first. It’s the room on the left,” I told Isabelle.

She practically jumped up the stairs. Her good mood was catchy.

She looked around with curiosity, chuckling at the pictures lining the staircase walls. My parents had chronicled my childhood in these pictures. There was a photo for everything, from learning to ride a bike to graduating high school. The last picture was from my last trip home. My hair was long, nearly touching my jaw, the look I’d sported when I was last here. I’d stayed away for too long.

“Oh, this is cozy,” Isabelle said, stepping inside the guest room. I’d barely put down the suitcases when I heard someone come up the steps.

“I forgot you don’t know where the towels are,” Mom said, sounding breathless. She peeked inside the room. “And there’s no shower gel in the bathroom, but I’ll bring you one from ours.”

“Thanks, Mom,” I said. Once she was out of earshot, I turned to Isabelle. “I’ve never seen her so jumpy.”

“Well... she wasn’t expecting you, and she was still too surprised downstairs to think about logistics. Sounds to me like she’s slipping into Mom mode. My mother does the same when I’m home.”

We didn’t unpack and immediately went back down. My parents were waiting for us at the bottom of the stairs.

“Mom, Dad, I forbid you to share any weird stories,” I said, figuring I’d get that out in the open right away.

Dad patted my shoulder. “Son, you might be famous and grown-up, but if I want to share stories with this young lady, that’s my God-given right.”

Isabelle grinned. “That’s right. I’m with you on that, Mr. Clarke. It’s a sibling and parent prerogative.”

“Whose side are you on?” I asked.

“What does it look like?” Isabelle replied, batting her eyelashes. “Besides, you got enough insider info from my mom. It’s my turn now.”

I liked watching Isabelle interact with my parents. She was a natural at this and seemed content being here. Not that I expected anything different after seeing her with her family; Isabelle loved people in general and was a caring human being.

Mom clapped her hands once. “Come on, let’s finish lunch.”

She led us in the back to the summer kitchen. My parents had it built back when I was in middle school and practically spent all the warm months out here. It was all under a white gazebo. The appliances and grill were in one corner, the table with six chairs on the other side, next to a working station and cabinets.

Mom immediately split tasks. Dad was starting the fire, she was seasoning the meat, I was in charge of the salad, and Isabelle was setting the table. This had always been a golden rule in their household: “no one is allowed to slack.”

“So, Esther, I need some embarrassing stories,” Isabelle announced. “Preferably from high school.”

“Oh, I don’t know too many of those. But his cousins can fill you in. They’re good girls, and they were joined at the hip as kids. They’re coming for lunch.” She glanced at me over her shoulder. “They can’t wait to see you.”

“When did you tell them I was here?”

“As soon as you arrived. Everyone’s been missing you. They’d give me too much trouble if I didn’t tell them.”

“That’s true,” I conceded, turning to Isabelle. “You’ll like Jana and Donna.”

“Can’t wait to meet them. Now I understand why we have so much food.”

I chuckled. “No, my parents always cook at least twice as much as necessary.”

“Hey, you never know who’ll drop by for a quick bite. Wouldn’t do to be unprepared,” Mom shot back.

“We’re big on hospitality here,” Dad added.

***

Jana and Donna arrived about twenty minutes later. They were my cousins on Mom’s side and looked very similar to her: dark brown hair and vibrant blue eyes. Donna was taller than Jana, which had annoyed Jana since we were kids because she was older. People often mistook us as siblings when we were kids, and we didn’t always correct them.

Donna immediately hugged me, nearly strangling me. “Oh, we’ve missed you.”

“You couldn’t have missed me that much. You were in New York in March.”

Pulling back, she punched my forearm. “Hey, you could at least pretend you missed us.”

“Yeah. You just arrived. You can’t be mean to us already,” Jana added.

I held up my hands in defense. “I’m pointing out the truth. And I want to introduce you to someone.”

They turned toward Isabelle at the same time.

“Isabelle Gallagher,” Jana exclaimed. “Therapist, tour guide, and enthusiastic foodie.”

Isabelle