Make Me Yours: The Bellamy Creek Series

by Harlow, Melanie

  “Of course,” Mrs. Dempsey said, taking her seat at the opposite end. “Thank you so much for coming. There’s nothing like a traditional holiday meal with family and friends so dear they feel like family.”

  “Well said.” Griffin reached for the turkey. “Let’s eat.”

  “Wait a minute. Shouldn’t we all say what we’re thankful for?” Mariah suggested.

  “Sure, honey.” Darlene beamed at her. “That’s a wonderful idea. Let’s hold hands.”

  Across from me, I heard Griffin grumble, but he put down the serving fork and joined hands with Blair to his right and my mom to his left. I reached for my mother’s hand on one side and Cheyenne’s on the other, a jolt of electricity flowing up my arm when I felt her palm against mine. It was her right hand. Was that the one she used to—

  “You start, dear,” said Darlene to Mariah.

  “Okay,” my daughter said. “I am grateful that I get to be a junior bridesmaid in Uncle Griffin and Aunt Blair’s wedding.”

  “We’re grateful for that too,” said Blair, smiling across the table.

  “Your turn, Miss Cheyenne,” Mariah said.

  “I’m grateful for . . . good friends.” Cheyenne glanced at me, and I wondered if she was thinking about what good friends we’d become last night.

  It was my turn next. I cleared my throat and frantically tried to think of something other than Cheyenne’s hand between her legs.

  “I’m grateful for my job,” I blurted, even though I knew it was lame. But what could I say? The things I truly felt appreciative of right now—Cheyenne’s accidental sext, the rush of her breath in my ear as I imagined her body beneath mine, the fact that somehow this morning I’d woken up a little less lonely than I had the day before—were not things I could announce over roasted Brussels sprouts and sweet potato mash. My job would have to do.

  “And we’re grateful you keep us all safe,” said Darlene warmly.

  My mother spoke up next. “Well, I already said how thankful I am to be here, but I’ll say it again—it’s just so heartwarming to know that our families have been here for each other, through good times and bad, for so many years now.”

  “I’ll second that,” Darlene crowed. “It has been a long time, hasn’t it?”

  “Twenty-seven years,” my mom said. “We moved right before Cole started kindergarten.”

  “That’s right.” Darlene shook her head, her eyes misting over. “I’ll never forget that first day. Griffin and Cole were so cute with their crisp new jeans and little superhero lunch boxes. Inseparable from the start. And you’re so right—we’ve all seen each other through many wonderful occasions and some sad ones. But we’re still here together, and that’s what counts. That’s loyalty.”

  “Are we ever going to eat?” Griffin said, eyeing the turkey again.

  Darlene clucked her tongue. “Patience, please. It’s your turn.”

  “I’m grateful only one more person has to speak after me,” Griffin announced, “because I’m hungry and the food looks amazing.”

  “Booooo,” Blair scolded, elbowing him in the ribs. “I’ll speak for both of us and say that we could not be more thankful for everyone around this table, and we’re so happy you’ll all be there in two weeks when we tie the knot.”

  “Cheers to that!” my mother said, letting go of my hand to pick up her wine glass. “There’s nothing like a wedding to remind us all of the importance of love, commitment, and family!”

  “You’re absolutely right, Barb.” Darlene lifted her wine glass too. “To love, commitment, and starting a family!”

  “That’s not exactly what she said, Ma,” Cheyenne muttered under her breath, but I was probably the only one who could hear over the chorus of cheers and clinking glasses.

  After everyone took a drink and began reaching for serving dishes, she and I exchanged a look and another inside joke of a smile.

  Mothers, she mouthed.

  Motherfucker, I mouthed back.

  She laughed, tipping her head back like she’d done last night, and I wished more than anything that I could take her hand again. Kiss the back of it. Hold it on my lap under the table.

  But I couldn’t.

  Just friends, I told myself again. You are just friends because you like being single.

  But I was beginning to like her more.

  * * *

  After coffee and dessert, Griffin and I moved into the den with after-dinner drinks to watch football, while Mariah, Blair, and Cheyenne stayed at the table and chattered nonstop about the wedding. My mother and Darlene began clearing the dishes, talking about who’d said what at the sewing circle last week, how my older brother Greg and his family were doing since he’d been transferred to Tokyo for a year, and whether the forecast for a lot more snow this week might deter some wedding guests from driving up to Cloverleigh Farms.

  From my seat on the couch, I had a perfect view of Cheyenne’s back, and every now and again, she glanced at me over her shoulder.

  “I heard you’re looking at buying a house,” Griffin said during a commercial break.

  “From Moretti?”

  He nodded. “He came in for an oil change yesterday.”

  “Yeah. I think it’s time Mariah and I got our own place.”

  “I agree. Good for you, man. I don’t know how you’ve been living back at home for so long. I’m here for an hour and I get hives.”

  Tearing my eyes off Cheyenne, I took a sip of my bourbon, but when I heard her laugh, I looked again. She was giggling at something Mariah had said, but she must have felt my eyes on her because she glanced back and gave me that flirty little smile, the one that made me feel like she could read my mind.

  “Christ, Cole.” Griffin laughed as he swirled whiskey around in his glass. “Why don’t you ask her out already?”

  My pulse tripped. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, it’s pretty obvious there’s something going on between you and Cheyenne.”

  “There’s nothing going on.” My lip twitched, as it always did when I told a lie, and I tried to cover it with my glass.

  “I’m totally fine with it, whatever you want to do.”

  “I don’t want to do anything,” I said, more irritably than necessary, because I was caught in my own deceit. I wasn’t used to hiding things from Griffin, and it felt weird.

  “Okay.” Griffin held up his palm. “I’m just making sure you know it’s cool with me, in case you were worried about how I felt.”

  “I wasn’t.” Another lie.

  Griffin had known me a long time, which meant he probably knew I was full of shit, but it also meant that he knew not to push it. “No worries either way,” he said, turning back to the game.

  But the exchange had left a bitter taste in my mouth, and I felt uncomfortable the rest of the night. This is exactly why you should not mess around with your best friend’s sister, I reminded myself. Even with permission, it made things awkward.

  Later, we stood waiting in the living room while Darlene went upstairs to get the coats. When she returned, everyone reached for theirs, myself included. But rather than put it on, I stood motionless, mesmerized as Cheyenne stretched with her arms over her head, which caused the hem of her dress to rise. At least another two inches of her thighs appeared. I might have drooled.

  Then she sighed, dropping her arms. “You sure you guys can’t stay longer? If you leave, that means it’s time for me to do the dishes.”

  “Now?” Mariah asked as she buttoned up her coat. “Can’t you just do them in the morning?”

  Cheyenne ruffled her hair. “Nope. Gotta get them done tonight.”

  “Don’t you have a dishwasher?”

  “We do, but the good dishes—the wedding china, we call it—all have to be done by hand to be sure they don’t break. They’re too old and delicate for the dishwasher.”

  Darlene spoke up. “My mother passed them down to me, and I want to make sure they’re in good condition so I can leave them to Chey
enne when she gets married.” Then she crossed herself and closed her eyes, her lips moving in a quick, silent prayer.

  Cheyenne ignored her mother and addressed Mariah again. “My brother and I always had to wash and dry the wedding china on holidays before we went to bed. It took forever.”

  “I’d stay and help you, sis, but I have to get Blair home. Sorry.” Griffin gave her a grin that said he wasn’t the least bit sorry, and Cheyenne stuck her tongue out at him.

  “Cole, why don’t you stay and give Cheyenne a hand?” My mother suggested, wrapping her scarf around her neck.

  “That’s a great idea,” Darlene said brightly. Then she sort of bent over and rubbed one hip, her expression agonized. “I’d help her myself but I’ve been on my feet a lot today and the doctor said that isn’t good for my joints.”

  “You should just get to bed, Darlene,” my mother said, shepherding Mariah toward the front door. “Cole will be more than happy to stay and help Cheyenne.”

  “Oh, that’s okay.” Cheyenne smiled at me and shook her head. “I can handle them.”

  But Darlene beamed at me, reaching over and snatching my coat out of my hands. “That’s so nice of you, Cole. I’ll just hang this in the front closet.” Before she left the room, she and my mother exchanged a look that had me wondering if the whole helping-with-the-dishes thing had been a setup.

  Either way, ten minutes later Cheyenne and I were pushing up our sleeves in the kitchen, the house dark and silent except for the running faucet and the hum of the dishwasher.

  “I’ll wash, you dry?” she asked, adding dish soap to the side of the sink she’d plugged and lined with a towel.

  “Sure.”

  She took a plate from the stack to her left and placed it in the warm soapy water. “Oh! I almost forgot.” Slipping her rings and bracelets off, she set them on the windowsill above the sink. “So I don’t scratch anything,” she explained.

  “Oh.” I glanced down at my wedding ring.

  “It’s okay,” she said quickly. “You don’t have to take it off.”

  “It’s fine,” I said, working it off my finger and placing it on the sill next to her jewelry. For some reason, I felt compelled to explain why I still wore it all the time. “Mariah once told me she likes when I wear it, so . . .”

  “I think it’s nice,” she said. “I like a guy who wears his ring. It says something about him, you know?”

  I nodded, my attraction to her growing even stronger. “Still, we’d better be careful with these dishes.”

  “Damn right, we’d better,” she deadpanned. “This is my fucking wedding china, Cole. If we even look at it wrong, I might end up a spinster.” She laughed as she gently scrubbed the plate with a cloth. “My God. Is she not totally ridiculous?”

  “She’s pretty bad,” I agreed, taking the plate from her and carefully drying it with the soft clean towel she’d given me. “But mine wasn’t much better tonight. Did you have the feeling something was up between them as we were saying goodnight?”

  “Yes,” she said. “And it’s probably my fault because I made the mistake of telling my mom you bought me dinner last night. In her mind, I believe we are now betrothed.”

  I laughed. “That’s all it takes, huh?”

  “Apparently. Tomorrow I’ll be pregnant because we washed dishes together after dark.”

  “Wow. Guess I should have worn the rubber gloves.”

  She snort-laughed. “Right.”

  “Good thing they don’t know about the phone call last night.”

  Her body tensed, and then she giggled shyly. “Um, yes. A very good thing.”

  We worked in silence for a minute, during which I was entirely too aware of how close she stood.

  “I thought it might be weird today,” she said, her voice a little quieter. A confession. “Seeing you.”

  “I worried about that too.”

  “But . . . it wasn’t.” She handed me another plate. “I mean, maybe it was a little weird sitting next to you at the table with our families right there, because I kept thinking about it, even though I was trying not to—”

  “Same,” I confessed.

  She stopped what she was doing and looked over at me. “Really? You were thinking about it too?”

  “Every fucking minute.” The tension between us pulled taut, and I knew I had to say something to diffuse it or I’d end up kissing her. I cleared my throat. “But you were right.”

  “About what?”

  I focused on drying the plate in my hand, even though it was already dry. “About staying friends.”

  “Oh. Of course,” she said, starting to wash the same dish again. “Absolutely. Friends.”

  “Which is why we can’t—shouldn’t—mess around.”

  “No. Definitely not.” She handed me the plate without looking at me. “It would only confuse things.”

  “Right,” I said, and I should have been glad that she agreed so easily, but somehow I wasn’t. Had I been expecting, or hoping, that she would argue?

  “I mean, we’re going to be seeing a lot of each other, with the wedding and the holidays and all,” she went on. “The last thing we need is to create an awkward situation. And our mothers are already driving us crazy. Why throw fuel on that fire, right?”

  But the only fire I could feel was the one burning inside me. I set the plate down without drying it. “Cheyenne.”

  “And like we said last night, what happened was just a momentary lapse in sanity,” she said, as if she hadn’t heard me. “Letting off steam. A one-time thing.” She reached for another plate, but I grabbed her wrist.

  “Cheyenne.”

  Her eyes met mine. Her lower lip trembled. “It won’t happen again.”

  But it was too late—in an instant my mouth was on hers. If there were words of protest on her lips, I didn’t want to hear them. If making out with her in the kitchen was the worst idea I’d ever had, I didn’t want to know it. If I was going to be sorry on the other side of this kiss, I didn’t fucking care. I wanted this. I needed this.

  I needed her.

  I let go of her wrist and took her head in my hands as my tongue searched for hers. Her wet hands found their way up my chest, and she clutched my shirt, her fists curling inside the material. I moved my fingers into her hair and kneaded them against her scalp, loosening the bun so that pins clattered to the kitchen’s wood floor.

  I changed the angle of my head, deepening the kiss, a sound of frustration tearing from somewhere in my chest. I ran my palms down her shoulder blades and lower back, pulling her in tighter against me. She looped her arms around my neck until her chest was crushed to mine, and I couldn’t resist sliding my hands lower, grabbing her ass.

  Now our lower bodies were pressed together as well, my erection trapped between us, pushing against her pelvic bone. Without thinking, I turned her back to the counter and rocked my hips, grinding against her. My mouth moved down her throat, eliciting a tiny moan from her that ratcheted my blood pressure up even higher. She reached for my belt. I yanked up her dress. She jumped up onto the counter.

  At the sound of the splintering crash, we both gasped.

  “Oh, fuck.” I stared at the shattered plate on the floor and then looked at Cheyenne. “Oh fuck, I’m so sorry.”

  “Shit!” she shrieked, sliding off the counter and dropping to her knees next to the shards. “Shit, shit, shit.”

  I went down next to her, but all we could do was gaze mournfully at the broken wedding china. “It was my fault,” I said. “I’ll take the blame.”

  “It wasn’t your fault, Cole.”

  “I started it,” I argued.

  “I wanted it.”

  “I pushed you against the counter.”

  “I jumped onto the counter.”

  I shook my head at the mess. “Your mom is going to kill you.”

  “She’ll get over it.” But her bottom lip was caught between her teeth as she gathered up the bigger pieces. “It’s just a plate.” />
  “I don’t think it was just a plate to her.”

  “Well, it was supposed to be my plate eventually,” she said, dumping the pieces into the trash beneath the sink. “Although she’ll probably be so mad at me, she’ll decide Blair and Griffin should have the set.”

  As if on cue, Darlene Dempsey appeared in the kitchen doorway in her robe, cold cream all over her face. I’d have laughed if the situation hadn’t been so serious. She glanced at the remains of the plate on the floor and put a hand over her heart. “Don’t tell me.”

  “I’m sorry, Mom. It just slipped out of my hands,” said Cheyenne. “I’ll replace it.”

  “You can’t replace it. They don’t even make this pattern anymore.” She shook her head. “How could you be so careless, Cheyenne?”

  “I’m sorry,” Cheyenne repeated. “It just . . . slipped.”

  “It was my fault, Mrs. Dempsey,” I said. “I knocked it off the counter.”

  Darlene folded her arms over her chest and regarded us both with narrowed eyes, as if we’d just gotten caught sneaking in after curfew. She tapped her slippered foot. “Well, which is it? Who broke the plate?”

  “I did,” we both answered at once. Then we glared at each other and whispered, “I did.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Darlene took a deep breath, gathering herself up. “Well, accidents happen. But when you have something precious in your hands, you need to hold on tight. Understand?”

  “Yes,” Cheyenne said quietly, while I nodded.

  Darlene put a hand to her ear. “I didn’t hear you.”

  “Yes,” we both answered loudly.

  After a heavy sigh, she looked back and forth between us. “Can I trust you two to finish the rest without breaking anything else?”

  “Yes,” we answered together again.

  “Good.” Darlene swept dramatically out of the kitchen doorway and left us alone again.

  The moment she was gone, Cheyenne and I looked at each other and started to laugh, trying hard to stay quiet so her mom wouldn’t hear us.

  “Got a broom?” I asked, feeling much lighter.

  Cheyenne nodded, wiping tears. “In the pantry.”