“I don’t want to go out,” I protest, clinging to my blanket with both fists.
“Yes, you do. We’re going to The Horse and Rider for Bloody Marys.”
My nose wrinkle intensifies. “What? What time is it?”
“Eleven thirty.”
“Eleven what?” I’m so shocked that I loosen my grip on the covers, giving Mick the chance to rip them off with a flourish, exposing me to the winter chill.
I haven’t slept this late in years, not even in the darkest days after losing Grace.
I was up until midnight crunching numbers with Maddie, and then spent another two hours answering business emails that have piled up while I’ve been deep in the throes of “do it yourself renovation” with my siblings, but still…I can’t believe it’s nearly noon.
“It’ll be twelve by the time we get there,” Mick says, crossing to the window and throwing open the thick curtains, revealing a gorgeous winter day with sunshine and blue sky the color of a robin’s egg. “And that’s a perfectly respectable time for Bloody Marys.”
“Let’s aim for twelve-thirty,” Maddie calls out as she hustles by outside in the hall. “I need a shower. I still have plaster in my hair from yesterday.”
Yesterday—after part of a wall crumbled on her head, spilling melted chocolate all over her new jeans in the process—she declared we all needed a day off. Monday was selected because, as Maddie said, “God knows Monday needs to have something going for it.”
Aria, whose sinfully hot husband, Nash, recently switched to having Sundays and Mondays off, leapt at the chance to spend the day in Atlanta, going to the Aquarium with her family. We three Whitehouse siblings, on the other hand, had vowed to spend our day on the couch watching television.
“What happened to the all-day TV bingefest?” I ask, reluctantly sitting up and running a hand through my tangled hair.
“Cancelled,” Mike says. “Maddie was going to make us watch dumb stuff.”
“I was not!” Maddie calls from the bathroom. “Public access has some good shows these days.”
I pull a sour face and Mick nods in agreement.
“She cancelled all of Mom and Dad’s streaming services to save money,” Mick says. “And she used the last of the coffee.”
“I did not!” Maddie shouts over the sound of the shower starting up. “Stop lying, Mick. At least until I get out of the shower and can defend myself.”
“She totally used the last of the coffee,” Mick whispers. “And there’s no way we’ll make it through six hours of public access without falling asleep. So we’re going to do Blood Marys first, swing by the store for bad snacks, and then come home and binge the Indiana Jones series. I found the DVDs in a box of my old stuff upstairs in the attic.”
“Yes!” I nod my approval. “Now that’s the kind of thing I like to hear. Good problem solving, kid.”
“Give it to me.” Mick holds up a hand for me to high-five, which I do with a laugh.
“I’m going to throw on clothes.” He backs toward the door. “Meet you downstairs in fifteen?”
“Aye aye,” I say, saluting him as he disappears into the hall.
Thank goodness for family.
And thank goodness Mick didn’t barge into my room two days ago, when I was still open minded enough to whip out my vibrator.
Swinging my legs off the mattress, I make a mental note to add a lock Mick can’t pick to the door and head to the closet to pick out a Bloody Mary outfit, hoping a day off will help get my head on straight.
Or at the very least make sure I’m drunk enough to take a peaceful, Jake-dream-free nap on the couch this afternoon.
Or maybe—once the three of us are sufficiently lubricated—I’ll work up the courage to talk to Mick and Maddie about my feelings.
So far, I’ve been too chicken to broach the subject.
After breaking up with his long-time girlfriend, Bridget, Mick’s avoided love talk like the plague. And since her divorce, Maddie’s been doubting all her instincts—especially her romantic ones.
But she really shouldn’t.
Serge, her ex, is a great guy. He loved—and still loves—Maddie with all his heart, just not in the romantic way he’d thought he did while he was still sorting himself out. In many ways, Maddie made a great choice the first time around, and I know my sister will find another amazing man someday.
But in the meantime, maybe her instincts can help me figure out if there’s any hope at all for a fresh start with Jake.
“There’s always hope,” I say aloud, glancing over at my wall of inspiration.
I hung the giant corkboard when I was sixteen after taking my fifth junior chef cooking title at an international competition in London. Back then, the board represented my future and I’d filled it with quotes from all the people who inspired me. I was determined to be the next Julia Child by the time I was twenty and had faith in the wisdom of those who had come before me to show me the way.