Page 86 of Good Directions

22

ANTON

“You cannot seat Judge Robinson with Sutherlands.”

My mother’s seemingly gentle voice assaults me as I walk into the house, the underlying strain in it razor sharp. That tone should be more than enough of a warning. One that tells me to do an about-face and head for the hills. The fact that it is quickly followed by my little sister’s equally stubborn voice doesn’t make this any more comforting.

“Except I was trying to keep him and his daughter together. And you don’t put Stacey Conrad at a table without Moira Schneider, and if those two are together, I can’t separate their third musketeer, KatieRae, who is now married to Parker Michaels, captain of the Atlanta Rising Football Club.”

Closing the door behind me as quietly as I can, I sneak through the house toward the kitchen, hoping to make my way through undetected. Or at least into the kitchen enough to get a drink without being sucked into the “discussion.”

“I understand that…”

“And how exactly do I not put the team captain with the coach and team owner?” Willa continues, not letting our mother say her piece. If there was ever a battle of wills between two strong women, this is it. My money is on Miss Belle though. I think. “So Gunnar Gracin and Felicity Sutherland are there too. And where Felicity goes, so does her brother, adding in Dalton and his wife, Zara.”

“And now you have too many people at that table.”

If Miss Belle could physically drop the mic right now, I’m fairly certain she would. Instead, she’ll simply drop the proverbial one, tilting her head just enough while giving Willa a pointed look.

“Fuck me,” Willa mutters, crashing back into the stool behind her.

“Pretty sure that’s Nash’s job,” I comment, unable to help myself as I open the fridge, grabbing a Coke.

“Anton!”

“And he’s damn good at it,” Willa whispers under her breath, but not quietly enough that our mother doesn’t catch it.

“Willa Mae Hayes!” Miss Belle reaches across the counter, swatting at her daughter, careful not to disrupt the large poster board diagram and sticky notes precariously arranged on the quartz top.

“I’m sorry, Mama,” I say, cracking open the can. “Were you unaware that the two of them got up to that? Figured that was common knowledge, especially considering it took thinking she was knocked up for this one to admit she had feelings for him.”

Willa glowers at me, extending me the middle finger. She can’t argue with me, since that’s exactly how it went down between her and Nash, despite their fairy-tale-ride-off-into-the-sunset ending.

“Anton, do not think for one second that I am unaware of what my children are, or are not, doing,” Miss Belle sasses, turning her pointed look at me as she says are not, leaving little to the imagination with her implications.

Well, Mama, maybe there are a few things you don’t know…

“Buuuurn…” Willa murmurs.

“Also, you kids should really stop thinking you’re the only ones who get up to anything.”

She winks, her own version of the infamous Hayes smirk appearing, spreading across her cheeks like wildfire. Turning away from both of us, she saunters over to the pantry, leaving Willa and me looking at each other in horror.

“I think I just threw up a little in my mouth,” I say.

It’s no secret that our parents are still very much in love, even forty-plus years of marriage and seven kids later. They’ve never hidden their PDA, flirting, or adoration of each other from us, always wanting to be a model of a loving, healthy relationship. In every way, Auggie and Belle Hayes are couples goals, not only for the seven of us, but for a lot of Hickory Hills. Still, for as much as we tease them about their “sex boat” or “grown-up naps,” zero part of me actually wants to think about my parents that way.

“Hey,” a familiar voice greets.

I look up, my eyes landing on the one person I absolutely do want to think about that way. Covered in red Georgia dirt, Sawyer swipes at the rogue piece of hair falling out of her messy bun piled on top of her head, smearing the streaks on her forehead.

“Hi.”

It takes everything in me to utter that single-syllable word, the breath literally stolen straight from my lungs, as my eyes scan her up and down. Ripped jeans, a Hayes T-shirt she must have commandeered from the lab, and sun-kissed skin from what is clearly an afternoon in the fields without protection, she’s a mess if there ever was one. I can tell from looking at her that every inch of her is sticky, sweaty, and dirty.

She’s never looked more beautiful.

I cross the kitchen in a few strides, closing the gap in no time flat. Wrapping an arm around her, I haul her into me, capturing her lips in mine. The sweet taste of her takes over, filling my brain and taking over my senses, but still not satisfying the need inside me. The one that is making all the decisions right now. Like not letting up on this kiss or giving her time to react before I deepen it.