Page 141 of Meant for Mayhem

I looked over her shoulder, spying Mason and Tate standing under a sprig of mistletoe hanging from the porch beam. Mason’s head was tilted down, one hand braced on the railing, the other gesturing in a way that looked far more serious than Beckett’s younger brother typically was. Tate stood there, arms crossed tight over her chest, but didn’t back away. Whatever they were saying, it wasn’t small talk.

Shannon leaned farther around the truck, gearing up for another round of eavesdropping, when a voice came from behind us.

“What are we staring at?”

We both jumped. Beckett stood there in a flannel and jeans with a case of soda in his hands, a half-smile already forming.

Shannon tugged him down, then pointed at the porch, whispering, “Did he propose again? That seems weird, right?”

Beckett followed our line of sight, then squinted at his brother. “Hmm. How about I go ask?”

He walked straight up the front steps before Shannon could stop him. “Under the mistletoe? How romantic.”

Tate leaped back from Mason so fast, I was sure Shannon was onto something. That was pure guilty instinct, and Mason’s jaw flexed once before he schooled his face into his usual playful smile.

“Oh,” Shannon whispered, following Beckett to the porch. “Something’s definitely going on.”

Tate spotted us then and came down the steps.

“Shannon, hey!” She wrapped Shannon in a stiff hug that did nothing to dispel my wife’s suspicions. “I’m so glad you guys came.”

Over Tate’s shoulder I caught Shannon’s face—eyes wide, brows up, the full what is happening right now look aimed straight at me. I ducked my chin, hiding my laugh.

Once Tate let her go, Shannon said, “Everything okay?”

“Fine.” Tate’s smile was too bright. “Just catching up.”

Mason dragged a hand through his hair, looking exasperated. “Go inside. There’s more food than anyone here knows what to do with.”

Beckett squeezed his brother’s shoulder. “You good, man?”

Mason opened the front door for us. “Yeah, buddy. All good.”

Chaos hit us like a warm wave the moment we walked inside. A black-and-white potbelly pig shot past our legs, little hooves skittering on the hardwood while Junie and two boys I was pretty sure belonged to Stevie chased right behind her. Bringing up the rear was Rowdy, Ty’s three-legged black lab mix, herding the whole circus with the weary patience of a professional.

I shifted Leena higher on my hip, looking back out at the porch. “That was definitely weird.”

Shannon was already scanning the room, eyes sharp when she patted me on the chest. “Glad you’re invested too. I’ll report back with the tea later.”

Leena wiggled out of my hold, then took Shannon’s outstretched hand, following her into the kitchen where Lori and the rest of Shannon’s friends sat.

I went into the living room, joining Beckett, Ty, and Stevie’s husband, Luke instead.

I took one of the empty chairs across from the couch. “This place is great.1”

Ty’s farmhouse was pure mountain rustic—open living room and kitchen under exposed beams, Christmas lights strung along the rafters, a tree in the corner so loaded with handmade ornaments it looked like it might tip over.

“Thanks,” Ty said, adjusting the toddler on his lap that looked a few months younger than Leena, currently gnawing on a drooly fist.

“A lot different than this time last year, yeah?” Beckett raised his Topo Chico in a salute.

“Louder, that’s for sure.”

I grinned, taking one of the drinks Luke handed my way.

Shannon’s friends all got up from the table when she and Leena walked over, a round of hugs my wife willingly accepted telling me how much she’d missed them.

“Oh,” Daisy cooed, tugging on the hem of Shannon’s cardigan. “The Grinch. Your heart grew three sizes, huh?”