Crank (The Gibson Boys 1)

She pauses in the middle of the room, giving me a quick once-over with the finesse of a professional. “I didn’t mean to walk in on the middle of anything,” she alludes, smiling at me. “Should I come back another time?”

“Stop it,” Walker hisses before I can respond. He crosses the room and plants a kiss on her cheek. “Did you bring me lunch? I heard you made fried chicken yesterday.”

“And you would’ve known that yesterday had you had your fanny in a pew at Holy Hills like you should’ve,” she sighs. “I wasn’t going to bring you any, then I prayed about it and thought maybe you had a good excuse.” She looks at me out of the corner of her eye, a grin tipping up the edge of her lips. “She’s awfully pretty, Walker, but she’s no excuse to miss out on Jesus.”

“Nana!”

Before I know what’s happening, my laughter fills the room. “You tell him, Mrs. Gibson,” I say, then cover my mouth with one hand.

“First, call me Nana,” she corrects. “Second, don’t cover your mouth. Women around here have to speak up or we’re never heard. Remember that.”

“I will,” I say, relieved.

“And you are?”

“I’m Sienna,” I say, offering a hand her way. She gives it a firm, yet gentle shake. “It’s nice to meet you. But, for the record, I’m not his excuse for missing church.” Peering over my shoulder, I give Walker a little smile. “How could you disappoint this woman and miss church?”

Licking his lips, he’d say something altogether different if Nana weren’t standing here. That I know for sure. But she is, so he cocks a brow. “You better stay out of this, Slugger.”

“Now, I didn’t mean anything by what I said,” Nana says, either not paying attention or choosing to ignore the look her grandson and I are exchanging. “It’s just that I don’t ask nothing of this boy, or any of ’em, for that matter, except they get their behinds to church on Sunday and come over for dinner most of them. That’s it. I’m not gonna be alive much longer and I—”

“Oh, you are too,” Walker sighs, cutting her off. “And I’m sorry about yesterday. I wasn’t feeling good.”

“You seem to be feeling better now,” she points out.

“Yeah, well . . .” He looks at me through the longest lashes I’ve ever seen on a man. “I’ll be there this week. Promise.”

“You better.” She hands him the picnic basket. “If I’d known you had company, I would’ve brought you extra. Speaking of which, is this your girlfriend?”

“Nana . . .”

“Oh, no,” I say hurriedly, not wanting her to get the wrong impression. “I’m just here to settle up some business.”

“He’ll be fair and he does good work,” she says, smiling proudly at Walker. “He’s a good, good boy.”

Walker’s cheeks turn a soft shade of pink as he switches the basket in his hands. “Let’s get back to the chicken. There’s more you didn’t bring? What are you saving it for?”

“For my grandsons who show up to church,” she winks, heading to the door. “Sienna, make sure he shares with you. I’m not known around these parts for my fried chicken for nothing.”

“Will do. Nice to meet you, Nana.”

“Same here, honey.”

“See ya, Nana,” Walker calls after her.

He sets the basket on the counter. There’s a sudden awkwardness, a void that needs filled and I don’t know with what or how. I can’t decipher the look on his face or the way my stomach is all twisted in knots. Despite not really wanting to leave, it’s the only choice. It’s the responsible choice. It’s the one I don’t want to make but do anyway.

“Let me pay you what I have and I’ll bring the rest by later,” I say.

His brows shoot to the ceiling as he fiddles with the edge of the basket. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Of course I’m going to worry about it.”

“The damage is done.”

“And I want to fix it,” I insist.

“Are you still arguing over Daisy?” Peck, the light-haired guy from the other night, comes from the garage bay, a huge grin on his face. “Just take her money and give it to me.”

“Fuck off,” Walker laughs.

“Ah, Nana brought you lunch after all,” Peck notes, knocking on the top of the basket. “It’s sickening how favored you are.”

The two of them spar back and forth, neither of them serious but both of them trying to win the argument. Walker fills him in on the Dave and MaryAnn drama and Peck continues to just give him shit about it. It’s hysterical and reminds me a lot of my brothers back home. I didn’t realize how much I missed this feeling of camaraderie, this sensation of family.

“I have an idea,” Peck says, bringing me back to the present. “We have a lot of shit that needs done around here. Since y’all can’t agree on money, why don’t you just stick around and help out some?”