She laughed good-naturedly. "Her last name isn't Stewart," she replied, "Although, I can understand how you might draw that connection."

"Yeah," I nodded, grabbing an onion that was next to the freshly-washed vegetables next to the cutting board, "Those blueberry scones she makes for the 'Lord of the Manor' are fucking awesome."

Darcy started laughing; wiping a tear from her eye that I was fairly sure was a result of the onion I was currently peeling, and not my reference to my oldest brother Easton.

"I swear Paige," she said, "You freakin' crack me up at times. I can't understand why you and Lindsey seem to rub each other the wrong way. My God, Easton is uber uptight and you seem to hold your own with him."

I was silent for a moment, contemplating what she'd obviously noticed. "It's because Easton has no expectations of me," I replied casually, peeling the next layer of skin from the onion.

"I don't understand," she said, wrinkling her forehead in confusion. "I mean I know the whole deal about him not being a blood relative and all of that, but you still consider him your brother, right?"

“Actually,” I looked over at her and found that I now had her full-blown attention. “To be honest, blood or no, Easton really wasn’t around all that much. And considering the age difference between Trace and me is eleven years, well there you have it. I just don’t share that many memories with Easton, but I mean…it’s more than that, Darcy.”

"Go on," she said, scraping her diced tomatoes into a bowl of drained pasta.

"Well, they both seem like brothers to me as far as that goes, but Trace treats me exactly the same way that my father does—did," I corrected. "I just never seem to make the mark with either of them. Easton? Well he just says what's on his mind, good or bad, regardless of who's in the audience. I mean, I don't think he's harder—or softer—on me than anyone else."

"I get that," Darcy, replied, tossing the pasta salad. "I'm glad you realize that Easton isn't a warm and fuzzy person by nature, and not to take it personally."

“And I hear that,” I replied, smiling. I gestured toward the onions, “Sliced or diced?”

"Hmm? Oh, diced please," she responded with a nod.

I started chopping away at the onions. "Darcy, I need to let you know something and now is probably as good of a time as any…it's kind of, well—uncomfortable."

"Go ahead," she said, watching me.

"Well, the thing is, I'm seeing someone and you actually know this person. I would've said something sooner except that I felt it was just, you know, a purely casual thing?"

She nodded, adding several dollops of mayo to her pasta salad.

"Well, the thing is, I'm thinking now that maybe it's getting to be more than just a casual thing with the two of us, and I don't want you to be uncomfortable with—"

"Say no more," she interrupted, a big grin going. "Lindsey is my best friend, but I'm here to tell you that I'm not nearly as provincial as she is. I appreciate that you haven't brought guys over—I know she and Trace had issues with it, but what the hell? This place is like a freaking zip code of its own. Easton and I have no issue with you having a steady boyfriend in your life, and having him sleep over here occasionally. So it's cool, okay?"

I looked over to where she was smiling as she tossed the rest of the seasoning into her pasta salad.

Well, that was a piece of cake.

"Wow, thanks," I replied. "But you need to know that the guy I'm talking about is…Darin Murphy."

I turned back to chopping my onions, wincing as I heard the glass bowl that was full of Darcy's pasta salad, hit the kitchen floor and shatter loudly.

Okay, so the Memorial Day barbeque had been just a tad…uncomfy. Once Darcy had regained her ability to speak, she told me in no uncertain terms that it was in Darin Murphy's best interest to never step foot anywhere near their 'zip code.'

She explained that, while she no longer had feelings for him, Easton was a whole different story. She even confided to me that she suspected Easton of having had something to do with Darin getting that sudden assignment in Alaska.

“I mean, I hope he treats you better than he treated me, Paige,” she told me, “But please, be really prepared if he doesn’t.” Darcy gave me a weary look.

I tossed that around in my head for a good second. "So, I guess what you're telling me is that, if I continue to see him, it needs to be kept a secret?" I asked.

She shook her head and reached over to give me the good ol’ friendly arm pat. “Not at all,” she said. “Just from Easton, that’s all. And if you don’t bring him to any family get-togethers, that’d probably be a great idea too.”

The good news about the barbeque was that I was introduced to Darcy's old roommate and still close friend, Eli Chambers and his live-in partner, Cain Maddox.

God!

Those had to be two of the sexiest, drop-fucking-dead gorgeous men that I'd ever laid my chocolate-brown eyes on!

And the funny thing was, they were like night and day, literally. I mean Eli was day: boyish charm, streaky blondish/sandy locks, fair skin, blue eyes, outgoing and funnier than shit. Cain was night: quietly serious—almost brooding, raven black hair, serious brown eyes, olive complexion and somewhat reserved—until you got to know him, which for some reason, I made it a point to do.

Maybe it was because I knew that both of the dudes were gay and I didn't need to put on the whole "sex-kitten, do-me-or-die" routine. I could just be me, however bland and exhausting that was.

Yeah—exhausting.

That had been my mother's favorite adjective for me during my teen years. I guess she thought she was done having kids after having my brother Trace.

Then eleven years later?

Congratulations—it's a girl!

Don’t get me wrong, I was never mistreated or neglected; it was more along the lines of my simply feeling invisible to them. My best guess was that's why I tended to sometimes do things for the pure shock value. I mean attention, whether positive or negative, is still attention, right?

"So how do you like D.C., Paige?" Cain asked, taking a bite out of one of the deviled eggs I’d made, and quickly dropping the remainder of it back onto his plate.

I started to reply, but he held up his hand, stifling a cough, and reached for his glass of lemonade, gulping it down. "Jesus Christ," he muttered, wiping his mouth, "How can someone fuck up deviled eggs?"

I felt myself flush, realizing my earlier suspicion had been correct.

"Sorry," I murmured sheepishly. "Actually, I think I might've sprinkled those with chili pepper instead of paprika."

"No shit," he grumbled, now starting to chuckle.

"I probably should take them back into the house and toss them," I said, starting to get up.

"Stay," he instructed mischievously, "I don't want to miss Eli's reaction when he bites into his." He nodded towards the other side of the patio, where Eli was standing next to Darcy, listening to her prattle on about something while taking the first bite of his deviled egg.

"Holy Shit!" he rasped, spitting it back out onto his plate. Everyone turned to look over at Eli, who was now taking gulps of his iced tea, and swishing it around in his mouth.

“Fuck, Darce,” he pretty much snarled, wiping away at his mouth, “I get that everything domestic isn’t your strong suit, but seriously?”