“Foster Bryant,” Momma K. warns, shaking her head. Yet, there’s no mistaking the slight twitch of the corners of her lips as she tries to stifle a smile.
“So, Noelle,” Laney begins and her tone combined with the sparkle in her eyes and the way she’s leaning on the table are strong indicators I’m not going to be a fan of whatever she’s about to say. “I’ve been thinking. I know a few cute guys who would be perfect for you. I could easily set you up with—”
“She’s not interested.”
Everyone’s head swivels to stare at Foster in surprise. Including mine. Because, I’m sorry, but—what the hell?
“Huh. Well, Noelle, that was certainly interesting,” Kane remarks with raised eyebrows and a look of concern—an utterly fake look of concern. “Your voice was really deep when you just spoke, darlin’.”
Before I can respond, Lawson peers over at me. “Are you feeling okay? Coming down with a case of laryngitis perhaps?”
“Wait,” Kane’s serious tone gets everyone’s attention. “Maybe she’s going through the necessary changes to become Noah Davis?”
“Oh, for fu—” Foster starts.
“Foster Bryant!” Momma K. gives her son a sharp look. He clamps his mouth shut, his eyes dangerously squinty in the direction of where Lawson and Kane are sitting.
First off, whoever decided it was okay for those two to sit beside one another was clearly smoking something. Those two are like the two students everyone had in their grade school class who had to be separated. You know, the ones who would always feed off each other? Lawson and Kane are like that. To the nth degree.
Kane smiles wide. “Fos, darlin’, if you’re not on board with Laney fixing up Noelle with some guy we don’t know, I’ve got a solution.”
I already know Kane’s solution is going to be something Foster won’t like. And I’m pretty sure everyone else at the table knows it, too.
Foster raises a brow. “And what solution would that be?”
Grin widening, Kane puffs out his chest. “Why, she can date me, of course.”
Someone instantly lets out a choked laugh, a few others snort in amusement while I remain quiet, merely an innocent bystander in all of this. Because no way am I getting pulled into this one. No way, Jose. Nope. Not even— A heavy arm drapes across the back of my shoulders and Kane leans in, his aquamarine eyes dancing with mischief. “What do you say, darlin’?” Speaking in a loud whisper, his southern drawl thickens. “Not only can I woo you with my southern cuisine, but I can sing. And we all know he,” tipping his head, he gestures across the table from us to where Foster’s sitting, “can’t carry a tune in a bucket if he had a lid on it.”
“Foster’s actually a decent cook.” The words are out before I think. If I were a cartoon character, my hands would be reaching out to grab the words, frantically stuffing them back into my mouth.
Silence. More silence than I’ve ever witnessed in Momma K.’s house at any given time. I feel the weight of everyone’s eyes. Lawson’s the first to speak.
What am I saying? Of course, Lawson speaks first. The part I’m not quite expecting is his attempt to mimic Kane’s southern Texas drawl.
“Why, I betcha that just dills your pickle, now doesn’t it?”
Covering my face with my hands, my groaning laugh is the entirety of my response. I hear the blatant pride in Kane’s voice when he speaks.
“Why, Laws. Color me impressed with your use of that saying.”
“Why thanks, darlin’,” Lawson shoots back in his horrible southern drawl imitation before returning to speaking normally. “I have to give Google credit for that one, though.”
“So, Noelle.” Laney’s voice makes me come out from behind my hands, turning my attention to her. “Tell us more about how my brother cooked for you.”
“And did he cook for you in the kitchen and then later maybe you both were ‘cooking’?” Laws offers, using finger quotes on the last word.
“Lawson Briggs,” Momma K. warns. “Not at my dinner table.”
He hangs his head dejectedly. “Yes, ma’am.”
Never a dull moment with this bunch. That much is certain.
“Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit,” grumbles Lawson good-naturedly.
Yep, never a dull moment. But I can honestly say that I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Foster
Dinner at my mother’s was a colossal clusterfuck of Hey, why don’t we screw with Foster over Noelle? Worst part is, I wouldn’t normally care that much about their shit-talking. When it pertains to Noelle, however, it veers off into dangerous territory for me. Now more than ever before because I’m having a harder time controlling my reactions, my emotions, my … well, everything when it comes to this woman.
Locking up the house and setting the alarm, we’ve already changed clothes and are sitting in my living room watching a movie. And due to the movie choice, I’d had to make her promise not to disclose this moment to anyone.