Blake while she settled in.
“Blake threw up.”
“You should have called.” Dad smoothed his grandson’s hair.
“He grinned at me as soon as it was over. I guess something didn’t settle well.” She looked across the table at Trish and Andrew. “Sorry I’m not dressed for the occasion. I only brought two. One for tomorrow. The other is ruined.”
Trish reached for her hand. Marlow stared in disbelief before reluctantly taking it.
“We’re glad you made it. Is Blake okay?”
“Seems to be.”
“I saved you and my boy a seat.” Dad indicated to the space next to him, and Marlow settled him in.
Her eyes darted to me before she quickly looked away. I wasn’t ready for this shit, either. When I looked at my sister, I saw a traitor. Someone I thought I could depend on when in actuality, she blamed me for the loss of our mother. Had she felt that way for years? Had she always had a resentment toward me and masked it? She’d spent more time with our mother than any of us. Did Marlow now see the truth?
I didn’t fault her for her feelings, wasn’t even sure I wouldn’t have felt the same in her position. But it still hurt, no matter how I didn’t want it to.
Blake pointed his chubby finger at me. “How!”
“How, buddy.” I reached out my hand, and he clutched my pinky.
“You want Uncle Holt?” Dad nuzzled his hair, and he nodded.
I perched him on my lap. Blake’s tiny fists grabbed my tie. “How!” He beamed at me.
“You’re feeling pretty good now, aren’t you?”
Ella screeched, and Blake echoed her. The back and forth between them went on for a minute, while we all watched. They communicated in some language only they understood.
Trish kissed Andrew on the cheek. “I think we should have a house full of girls.”
Andrew’s eyes widened. “It’ll send me to an early grave.”
“At least get married before you die,” Patrick said, lifting his whiskey glass. “To Trish and Andrew. May you have a thousand lifetimes of love and happiness.”
“Here, here,” Dad said, raising his glass.
Patrick lifted his tumbler again. “And to one last night out before you’re stuck with each other.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Baker
“Are you spending the night with me?”
Trish swayed a little on her barstool. “Nope. I already went the traditional route once. It didn’t work out well.”
I gaped at her, and she burst out laughing.
“Oh-kay.”
Trish never let what happened to her get her down. I admired the way she handled herself, but she rarely spoke so flippantly about it.
She pointed at me. “The look on your face . . . I finally surprised you.”
“You surprise me a lot.” I hugged her. “I’m happy for you.”
She sniffled in my ear. “Big things are going to happen for you.”
I shrugged as one of the men I recognized at the bar with Holt last night approached.
“I’m Clark. Well, I’m Judd, but everybody calls me Clark, so . . .”
“Baker. And this is Trish.”
“Pleasure.” He lifted his beer toward us. “I didn’t mean to interrupt, but we didn’t get a chance to meet up last night. We’ve missed that asshole and sort of hogged him.” He flicked his chin toward Holt.
“Do you work at the park too?” Trish asked.
“Yeah. Holt and I started around the same time. He’s back just in time for me to take my vacation,” he said with a grin.
“What do you mean?” I asked before I could stop myself.
“He’s back on Monday. I’m going to the hot tub.”
“He’s staying?” The words fumbled from my mouth.
Clark’s brow dipped into a V. “Yeah. That boy isn’t city material anymore. He belongs out here.” He slung an arm around Holt as he walked past. “Don’t you?”
“Don’t I what?”
“Belong out here. We knocked the city right out of you.”
Holt glanced at me and swallowed hard before playfully punching Clark in the stomach. “You’ve never knocked anything out of me.” He motioned toward the crowd. “Come on. Let’s go get my brother a shot before he tries to duck out with his beautiful bride-to-be.”
“Hungover or not, he’s getting married tomorrow,” Trish warned.
“I’m not going to be hungover,” Andrew said, sliding an arm around her waist.
“Just the man we’re looking for.” Holt signaled for the bartender.
“Excuse me.” I wedged past and bolted for the bathroom.
I cursed under my breath when I found Marlow in front of the mirror, reapplying . . . my lip gloss?
“I like this stuff.” She shrugged and ringed her lips with her pinky. “What’s with you? You look like someone hurt your feelings.”
“Let’s not pretend,