That he could handle my brothers, my cousin, my family.
Last night he was certainly able to handle me but I'm not just a solo kind of girl. I’m a package deal and my family tree is sprawled out across these mountains and valleys. Cash is a part of it just as much as Mac and Graham.
“I'm gonna go change,” I tell them. “Anchor, you think you can handle my brothers and my cousin while I'm gone?”
The guys all laugh.
“We're going to show him the property,” Graham says. “If he's new here, I guess he doesn't know much about Stout Lake.”
Not sure what that means but guessing it entails whiskey and fishing, I head up to the loft where the girls usually sleep. Even though there's a few bedrooms downstairs, the girls have taken the attic loft as our bedroom since forever.
There are several twin beds up here and Pendleton blankets cover each mattress.
Considering I'm here for my own weekend, I suppose I could have gone downstairs to one of the rooms with a queen-size bed, but yesterday I dragged my suitcase up here just like I did when I was a kid.
Of course, I didn't sleep here last night.
I slept with Anchor.
The thought still sends chills over me. Last night was everything. More than everything.
It was a dream come true.
We tiptoed around the words love and forever and life after this week. And if you would have asked me a few days ago if I could have been swept off my feet like this, I don't think I would have believed it was possible.
I exhale, opening my suitcase and picking out clothes for today: another sundress and a pair of sandals. I dress quickly, having already showered before Anchor came over with croissants and mimosas.
When I get downstairs, I see that I was right. The guys have pulled out fishing poles and spiked their coffee with whiskey.
Smirking, I realize that my birthday has been crashed by my brothers, but maybe that's okay.
This is my life. If I want to truly get away from the Rough family, I'm going to have to go to an exotic location like Iceland or Hawaii like my brothers did on their honeymoons.
I swallow. Honeymoon.
“What are you thinking?” Anchor asks, catching my eyes as we all head outside.
“Nothing,” I say, my cheeks burning. I was thinking about something so exotic I can't put words to it.
Now I understand why my brothers wanted to go somewhere far away for their honeymoons. They wanted to relax with their wives without the interruption of their family. It makes perfect sense why Abby and Bartlett whisked themselves away to the beaches of Maui and why Rye and Prairie went somewhere as decadent as Iceland. They needed space.
Maybe I don't need a week on Stout Lake. What I need is a wedding followed by a honeymoon. I laugh at that, pouring myself another birthday mimosa. “Hey Anchor,” I say, “let's go out in the boat.” I point to a small rowboat tied to the dock. “What do you think?”
My brothers are revving the motor on the boat next to it, and they ask Anchor if he wants to jump in.
“I'll catch up later,” he tells them.
Cash, Mac, and Graham head off in the bass boat with their fishing poles, and Anchor and I begin rowing out to the center of the lake.
We lean back in the rowboat, looking up at the sky.
He tucks his arm around me. “What are you thinking now? Really thinking?” he asks me.
“I'm thinking that somehow we managed to get through the most awkward morning with my brothers without any pitfalls. And if we could get through that minefield, maybe we could get through anything.”
Anchor pulls me in for a kiss. “Well, that's sweet,” he says. “Here I was thinking about fucking you silly tonight.”
“Tonight?” I protest, pressing a hand to his chest. “That's not fair. You're gonna make me wait that long on my birthday?”
He laughs. “Damn, you’re something else, Lemon.”
“Yeah, I suppose I am.” I kiss him deeply. I kiss him hard. I kiss him knowing that I have no intention of stopping.
When we get back to the house, it's late afternoon. My brothers have returned from fishing, though they didn’t catch anything. I think they were too busy shooting the shit. At least they brought stuff to grill hamburgers, and Anchor preps a salad. Cash and I play cards as they get dinner going. My feet are propped up on a chair, taking in the late afternoon sun. We have music on and there's laughter everywhere. The day feels perfect.
Until Graham’s phone starts ringing. He takes the call, his face falling as he steps off the porch, pacing the lawn. He ends the call, walking back to me.
“Lemon,” Graham’s eyes are on me, steady, but full of emotion. “It’s Grandma Rosie.”