Accidentally Family (Pecan Valley 1)

For some reason, Honor had the urge to snap at both of them. Did they not see how offensive that whole exchange was? Owen’s smile, the whole nudge thing, had her bristling. To be fair, everything about Owen seemed to set her on edge. Like the way he was looking at her—standing too close to her—being hot.

“Maybe we’ll get lucky and she’ll buy our breakup, too?” she snapped, shooting daggers at her brother and ignoring Owen.

“She’s still mad at me,” Nick explained.

“And I’ll stay mad until you stop acting like an ass. But since you seem to be on some sort of streak, guess you’re out of luck.” She turned away and stomped into the kitchen for a vase.

“Ooh…” Aunt Charity sat at the table, a box of Froot Loops in front of her. “Who are those from?”

“Owen.” She all but growled his name. Stupid boys.

“The boyfriend?” Charity asked, filling her bowl.

Lying wasn’t something that came easy to her, but saying nothing worked. She dug through the lower cabinet until she found a crystal vase.

“What’s up?” Charity pushed. “Nick’s the wound-up and irritable one. You’re the optimistic Zen kid.”

She pulled scissors from the drawer and snipped away the flower stems. “I’m Zen. I’m totally Zen.” With a sigh, she filled the vase with water and arranged the white lilies, roses, and baby’s breath. “They are pretty.”

“And expensive,” Charity sounded off. “What did he do?”

“Owen’s here.” Her mother pushed through the kitchen door. Her face had been washed clean, the pretty blue dress she’d been wearing for her date had been replaced with yoga pants and a sweatshirt, and her hair was smoothed back into a ponytail.

“You changed.” Charity frowned. “What happened?”

Her mom smiled. “Babies come when they feel like it.”

“That sucks.” Her aunt rinsed her bowl out and put the cereal away. “Did you see what Owen brought Honor? Maybe Graham should take lessons from the kid.”

“Have you seen the kid?” her mother asked. “There’s nothing kid-like about him.” She glanced at Honor then, clearly worried.

“Mom.” She sighed, further exasperated. “Please stop. I’m not going to…to sleep with him, okay? I get that he’s hot. It’s sort of hard to miss. But we’re not even that serious.”

Her mother and aunt stared pointedly at the flowers.

“Fancy flowers like that mean one of two things,” Aunt Charity said. “One: he’s really, really sorry. Or two: he’s really, really head over heels in love.” She winked. “Which is it?”

Honor might not like Owen Nelson—or at least that’s what she

kept telling herself—but he had nothing to apologize for. She shook her head, immediately dismissing the other option. He wasn’t the sort of guy who would love anyone more than he loved himself. At least, that’s how he’d always acted in school. He’d charmed his way out of everything—projects and classes and relationships. And, somehow, everyone had continued to love him. So this, all of this, was completely unexpected. Enough so that she couldn’t help but be suspicious. Why on earth had he brought her flowers? “I have no idea,” she answered.

But her mother and aunt weren’t looking at the flowers or her. Both of them were smiling at something over her shoulder. And Honor knew, she just knew, he was behind her. She was not going to turn around.

“Came for drinks,” Nick mumbled. “Should I just start knocking from now on? On, like, every door, so I don’t walk in on women-talk or something likely to scar me for life?”

Charity laughed. “Whatever. You must be the boyfriend with the great taste in flowers. I’m the fun-loving aunt with a mile-wide overprotective streak.” She smiled brightly, making Honor smile, too.

“Guilty.” Owen stepped forward to shake her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Nick pulled two cans of soda from the fridge. “We’re going now. Before things get awkward again.” He left, balancing sodas, chips, and a package of cookies.

Honor did her best not to look at Owen. Had he heard her? Could today get any worse?

“Glad you came over, Owen,” her mother said. “Popcorn?”

“Thanks for having me, Mrs. Buchanan. Sounds great.”

Honor held her breath and hoped he’d follow Nick out. Instead, he crossed the kitchen to stand a few inches from her. He waited, silently, until she looked up at him. “Without a doubt, option two.” He was staring at her like she was all that mattered, like her mother and aunt weren’t watching and listening to everything—like he meant all the weird and wonderful things that started coming out of his mouth, “Freshman year. Mr. Hamm’s class. You had this black shirt with blue birds stitched on it. Made your eyes so blue.” He shook his head. “First time you ever smiled at me, we were reading Othello out loud. You didn’t want to smile at me—but I earned it. That was it for me. Every smile, it’s the same thing all over again.”