Page 178 of Twins for Three Bad Boys

“I think five stars,” Evan announces.

“Out of how many?” I ask.

“All of them.”

“High praise,” Rex murmurs.

Sandra herds Evan toward the door before I can betray myself further. “Come on, sweetheart. Let these poor people go have some fun.”

Evan waves. “Bye!”

When the door closes behind them, a strange quiet settles over the house.

I become acutely aware that I’m alone with all three men. Dressed up, expected to go on a date. A date date. The kind that involves public visibility and emotional implications, and probably eye contact.

Rex breaks the tension first. “Well, you ready, darlin’?”

“Yes,” I lie.

His smile widens. “Good. Let’s go.”

Wayne grabs my coat before I can reach for it myself. He holds it open behind me without a word, and when I slip my arms into the sleeves, his fingers skim briefly over the back of my shoulders.

It’s a tiny touch, yet devastating.

By the time we pile into Wayne’s truck, I’m already too aware of everything.

The warmth of Fletcher’s thigh beside mine in the back seat.

Rex turned halfway around from the passenger seat to make conversation.

Wayne’s hand loose on the wheel, big and capable and somehow making driving look personal.

We head out of town just as dusk starts settling in properly, the sky washing itself into pink and lavender over the tree line.

“So, we’re actually going to a drive-in?” I ask. “I didn’t know anywhere had those anymore.”

Rex grins. “Welcome to Redwood Run.”

I look out the window at the road curling through the trees, at the lights beginning to shine in distant houses, at the silhouettes of barns and fences darkening against the evening sky.

A town I’d never heard of.

A place I only came to because I’d run out of choices.

And now it feels like the center of everything.

We pull into the field twenty minutes later behind a line of trucks, old SUVs, and one aggressively cheerful yellow Volkswagen van with fairy lights strung around the roof.

The place is magic.

A giant white screen has been rigged up against the side of an old barn, hay bales set in rows toward the front for kids, trucks parked farther back with blankets in their beds, strings of lights stretching between poles, and a concession stand set up beneath a canopy, where a guy appears to be doing six jobs at once and thriving on it.

The whole field hums with life.

“Oh, this is nice,” I say softly before I can stop myself.

Fletcher glances down at me. “Glad you like it.”