Becoming His

“I think I’m going to go take a nap. We had a late accident that required me to go in and I want to make sure I have all my energy for tomorrow.”

Max looks at her, concern etched across his defined jaw scrunching the skin between his eyebrows. “Are you okay? Do you want me to go with you?”

“Just one of the many side effects to getting old,” she says with a grim smile. “I’m fine, you stay and have fun.” She kisses Max’s cheek before saying goodbye and following my mom to the front door where dad’s waiting to go with her.

“You were serious about the cookies?” Wes’s eyebrows rise.

“Yes!” Kendall cries exasperated. She goes to the fridge and pulls out multiple large discs of dough, wrapped in plastic wrap.

“I carved a pumpkin last month for the first time in like fifteen years. They mean business when it comes to the holidays and traditions,” Jameson confirms.

Je

“If you do this, you’re in trouble,” Je

“Do what?” Jameson asks, leaning forward to see over Wes’s shoulder. Kendall and I begin giggling before Je

“You knew she was going to do that!” Wes cries accusingly to Kendall who’s standing on Jameson’s other side. He grabs a handful of flour and doesn’t hesitate before throwing it. It disperses into a white cloud. Kendall moves surprisingly quick, avoiding nearly all of it as she ducks. Max is exposed. The flour lands on his chest, leaving a large white mass on his dark shirt. My hand instantly covers my mouth as I work to stifle a giggle as Max stares at Wes with contempt.

“Okay, okay, enough with the flour,” Kendall says, lifting up a cookie cutter.

“Yeah, enough, boys,” Je

Kendall begins demonstrating how to get the most cookies out of the dough, when Je

I’m still standing on the other side of the bar, not far from the battle, but far enough I haven’t been hit. I slowly edge myself back, knowing from experience that moving bodies are usually the first to be targeted.

I make it a safe distance back and reach for my phone and ensure that the flash is off, before I begin snapping pictures of them as they exchange threats and fists of flour while laughing.

“Ace, you better delete those!” Kendall yells.

I pocket my phone and duck as the attention turns to me, bringing with it a cloud of flour. I’m not sure who gets me first, but within moments my clothes and hair are all coated in the fine powder.

“No more! No more!” Je

“Seriously, you still haven’t outgrown this?” Mom’s voice draws every pair of eyes on her as she and Dad enter the kitchen holding bags of groceries. She walks to the sink and washes her hands silently, and I can feel the trepidation roll from all three of the guys as they look around at the mess of white surrounding us. Without warning, she turns, opens the bag of flour and throws a large handful at my dad who’s standing beside me.

He cries out in protest, releasing a slew of threats, as he grabs my arms and pulls me in front of him as a human shield, making us the target. I shriek and close my eyes until something distracts them from us, and they begin throwing the flour at each other again.

The fight continues until the bag of flour is completely depleted, and the kitchen is nearly completely coated, making the hardwood floors slippery. I peel off my sweatshirt, causing billows of flour to fall to the ground, and wipe my hands on the front of my jeans. As I watch the flour fall, a large glob of flour lands in the center of my chest.

“You looked a little too clean.” Jameson shrugs i

I shake my head and grab an acorn-shaped cookie cutter and make quick work of stamping a disc of dough that Je

When we finish making cookies, which is quick considering how many we’ve made, the kitchen’s a disaster. The mood is vibrant with everyone smiling happily as jokes are made and stories are shared. At one point I look up to realize that Je

She then forces us all to pose for a few shots, making Kendall grumble and whine about her hair before Dad grabs her and hauls her to his side, waiting until she finally gives a smile.

“Okay, you kids have one hour while I get this place back in order, then you girls are back in here on pie duty,” Mom says, returning with the vacuum. “If you’re going in the pool go hose off first, last year y’all clogged the drain with all the flour.”

“Last year?” Wes asks shock evident on his face.

“They love food fights, the messier the better,” Dad explains, shaking his head in defeat. “They learned it from their mom. She taught them that goofy trap of ‘whoever does this will be in big trouble.’”

“Who fell for it?” Mom asks with a grin.

“Jameson,” Kendall responds with a laugh that my parents share with her.

“Don’t worry, Caulder still falls for it,” Mom says, patting Jameson on the shoulder.

“Yeah, he’ll be happy to hear there was a new sacrificial lamb,” Dad jokes, raising his eyebrows.

“It’s the role I’ve always worked so hard to fill,” Jameson replies with a straight face, and I feel my heart grow a little bigger as I watch him joke with my family. I know he’s a member of my family. No one could be better for Kendall. It’s as though he was artfully and specifically created just for her.

“T-minus ten minutes until you’re in that pool.” Jameson looks directly at Kendall before the three boys make their way to the door.

Kendall and I aren’t about to take the chance of them using the hose on us, and therefore change dangerously fast, working to make sure everything is properly covered as we dash outside and assist one another in getting the flour out of our hair before we immerse ourselves in the pool that even in November is nearly as warm as bath water.

The boys come barreling through the yard, bare chested and in their swim shorts. Even though I see Max without his shirt on a daily basis these days, I still turn to check him out and feel myself swoon over his deliciously sculpted body.

Jameson goes for a ca

“What in the hell was that?” Max asks when Jameson emerges whipping his head back.

“It was slippery,” he says, swimming over to where we’re standing in the shallow end. His chest rises out of the water and his movements change as he starts walking rather than swimming toward us. “Did you see how smooth I pulled that—”

His words cease as his head falls under the water for an instant before he pops back up, ru

The five of us play around, shooting the basketball and bobbing in the warm water, still laughing about the flour fight as Wes retells his perspective of the battle that has us all bent over in laughter because Wes is that kind of storyteller, a natural with tones and voices, knowing exactly when to pause and how long to hold it for suspense.