Sweet (Landry Family 6)

I stand in the kitchen and listen to them go back and forth in the living room. It makes me smile to hear Nate defending the female gender.

Dinner was nice and fairly comfortable after last night’s kitchen scandal. I just kept my cool and tried not to talk too much for fear of appearing nervous. I also tried not to stay too quiet so Nate wouldn’t think I was down in the dumps over his declaration that his little show was a one-and-done.

Me: Give me a random car fact.

It takes my brother a minute to answer me.

Banks: What the fuck?

Me: Just give me a car fact. Quick.

Banks: What are you doing?

Me: Trying to impress a seven-year-old.

Banks: Do I need to call Mom?

I roll my eyes.

Me: Do I need to call your best friend and ask him to give me a car fact? Because he’s the only other person I know that actually knows shit about cars, and I know he’d answer me. *winking emoji*

Banks: I wouldn’t do that unless you want to see me break his face.

Me: Then help me.

Banks: Fine. There are more than 30,000 parts in a car. Is that cool enough to impress a toddler?

Me: He’s seven. And, come to think of it, you’re more of a toddler than he is.

Banks: Yet you’re texting me for help. *thinking emoji*

Me: You’re useful for once. Congratulations.

Banks: You’re welcome.

I shove my phone in my pocket and make my way into the living room. Nate lounges in a chair by the window with Ryder’s iPad in his hand. Ryder sits on the floor playing with cars like my brothers used to play with. I settle beside him and wait for an opportunity to bust out my fun car fact.

“Give me the red one,” I say, pointing at a red sports car by a random army man.

Ryder hands it to me. “Do you like to play cars?”

“I mean, I don’t love it, but I’ve played my share of cars. One of my brothers loves them.”

“I love them too. I want to be a mechanic someday.”

Nate looks at him over his device and shakes his head.

“Well,” I say, sitting a little taller. “You’ll have a lot to learn. There are over 30,000 parts in an average car, you know.”

His eyes get big. “There are?”

“Yup.”

“Wow. I didn’t know that.”

I look up at Nate to see him snickering. I laugh.

“Maybe I’ll do a different job,” Ryder says.

“Weren’t you going to be a boxer or something last week?” Nate asks him.

“I forgot about that. But maybe I should be a firefighter. There aren’t 30,000 parts to that, are there?”

I shrug. “I don’t know, but you can’t let that scare you out of being a mechanic. There will be lots of things to learn no matter what you do.”

He runs his car up my shin bone. “What are you going to do when you’re big?”

“Me?” I laugh. “I’m already big. But I’m in college to be a social worker.”

“What’s that?”

“Well, they help little kids and families with different things,” I say.

He looks up at me and grins. “You’ll be good at that.”

His compliment warms my heart.

“Thank you, buddy,” I say.

Nate leans forward and hands Ryder his device.

“You better get your shower, kiddo,” Nate says. “Use soap and wash your nasty feet.”

Ryder hops up, turns around in a sort of spiral, then runs to his room while making car sounds.

I lean back with my hands behind me on the rug and look at Nate. I’m not sure if he’s going to walk out of the room now that we’re alone or if he’s going to act like nothing happened … or if he’s going to address it.

“You’ve been awfully quiet tonight,” he says.

“I have?”

He shrugs.

Very perceptive of you, Nate. “Kinsley gave me a lot to think about today.”

He rests his elbows on his knees and laces his fingers together. “What about?”

“Honestly? Self-sabotaging.” I get up from the floor and sit on the couch. The power was too lopsided with me on the ground. “She made some good points that I’ve been mulling over.”

“She thinks you self-sabotage? In what way?”

I don’t know if I want to talk about this with you.

I watch him for a long time. The shower turns on, and Ryder begins to sing a song about getting lucky. That’s a topic for a different day.

“Kinsley thinks that I purposely pick guys who are bad for me.”

“I think she’s right.”

I flinch. “What? You do?”

He makes a face. “You can’t tell me that you really thought Atticus Jones was a good match for you. Hell, Paige. He has a rap sheet as long as my arm.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Then do better research. I thought that’s what women do. They went online and found out everything they wanted to know about a guy.”

“That’s a misogynistic statement, sir.” True, but still.