“Yeah, if your dad was taking the pretty neighbor to Walmart, we would be having a serious conversation about what’s appropriate and what’s not.”

“That would be weird.” I laugh as I set the kitchen towels to the side and lean on the counter. “I don’t know if I should make a move or not. He’s really nice and can hold a good conversation, but I’m nervous that maybe he’s not interested in me. He could just be a nice guy, and do I really want to ruin a friendship?”

“First of all, if he’s not interested in you, he’s an idiot. You’re the entire package, sweetie, and I’m not just saying that because I’m your mom. And secondly, maybe just take your time, develop a friendship with him; if things progress forward into something more, then you’ll know. But for now, just be friends.”

“As a friend, am I allowed to gawk at him?”

Tilting her head back, my mom laughs, the sound a sweet memory of my childhood.

“Only when he’s not looking, sweetie.”

CHAPTER TEN

GRIFFIN

“There he is, my favorite child,” my mom says, taking both my cheeks in her hands, pulling me down, and plopping a wet kiss right on my lips. “So handsome.”

“You know we can all hear you, right, Mom?” Reid asks, always salty when my mom claims me as her favorite.

She turns toward him, her arm wrapping around my waist. “Well, when you’re the only child who doesn’t split me from front to back during childbirth, you’re bound to be my favorite.”

And there it is, the old front-to-back story.

Everyone groans, except Jen, who chimes in. “I agree with Mom. The twins are my favorite. They still make me want to bang my head against the wall just as much as Braxton does, but at least they didn’t shoot out of my vagina. They were ripped from my body during the world’s easiest cesarean.”

Rogan winces and holds his hand up. “Please, for the love of God, can you not say ‘ripped from your body’? You’re ruining the miracle of childbirth for me.”

Jen scoffs. “Please, like you’re going to have kids one day.”

“What?” Mom spins on Rogan. “What does she mean by that? Are you planning on not having children?”

Rogan shifts in his seat, pulling on his pressed black dress pants. “Are any of us really having kids other than Jen?” he answers with a laugh, but a part of me thinks he might not be joking.

We haven’t said a word about the curse to anyone outside the family. None of us have, except for one person.

Brig.

The loudmouth got drunk one night at the Har-Bahr and told Jenna Davenport—yeah, Mrs. Davenport’s daughter—all about the curse. Word spread like a brush fire, and we’ve had a giant scarlet letter on our shirts ever since, making us completely undatable. None of the local women have approached any of us since . . . and a part of me can’t blame them.

When our mom finally heard about what had happened—one of her bingo friends told her after a few games in city hall—she gathered the four of us and told us to pull our heads out of our asses and stop paying the “curse” any attention, because there’s no such thing. Whenever it’s brought up around her, she shoots it down quickly. As one of the matriarchs of the successful tourist town, she makes sure no one messes with her family. Want to see a mama bear in action? Piss off Karen Knightly; she will rattle your bones with fear.

Mom points to all four of us boys, a stern look on her face. “You will be having children, do you hear me? All of you will give me grandchildren. I don’t care how you make it happen, but after the hell I went through giving birth to you, you are required to pay me back with at least one grandchild.”

Reid, the instigator, takes a large gulp of his beer. “Jen gave you three, so does that mean only one of us has to provide a grandchild now?”

“Oh no, you can’t use my children as your plus one to this family,” Jen says, stepping in. “You had no role in the making of my children, therefore you have no claim.”

“Technically, I have some claim.” I raise my hand to gather everyone’s attention. “I introduced you to Zach, who impregnated you; therefore, I can at least claim Braxton.”

“Nice try,” Jen shoots back and then smiles slyly. “Speaking of relationships, why don’t you tell Mom all about Ren?”

“Ren?” My mom turns excitedly toward me, practically spinning in her deck chair. The wind from the ocean whips behind her, a familiar scene since we’ve spent many nights out on the deck of my parents’ house at this very table, talking and joking around. “Who’s Ren—oh, wait . . . is that the girl who fell out of a tree?”

I need more alcohol for this. “She didn’t fall out of a tree, Mom. She ran her car between two trees after swerving to avoid a moose. I helped her out of her car.”

“Carried her up a hill in all of his fireman gear,” Brig adds with a wink.

“A true knight in shining armor,” Reid says. “He took her out last night too.”

My gaze whips to Jen. She doesn’t even hide the fact that she opened her big mouth. “What?” She shrugs. “If you thought I was going to keep that to myself, you don’t know me at all.”

My mom waves her arms. “Wait, wait, wait. Is there a new woman in your life, Griffin?”

“No,” I answer quickly. “I was just helping her, being a good neighbor. There is nothing going on between us, and there will be nothing going on between us, so before you—”

“He broke up our breakfast this morning with her so he could have her all to himself,” Brig says, a smarmy look on his face.

I turn to Rogan, who snorts into his beer, not even giving me a hand with these idiots. He’s the closest to me, so he should have my back right now, but it looks like he’s enjoying my pain way too much.

“I was not clearing you out. You guys happened to leave right after I arrived. I didn’t stay much longer.” I let out a heavy breath and set down my empty beer, gripping the arms of my chair. “Listen, there is nothing going on, okay? So stop bringing it up. She’s a nice girl but not my type. Drop it, all of you.” I stand to go help my dad in the kitchen to a chorus of jeers and mocking oohs from my douche brothers.

I push through the screened-in door, fuming. I swear, this is one of those moments when I wish I were an only child.

When I enter the kitchen, I catch my dad hovering over the oven, eyes laser focused on the garlic bread. There is nothing my dad hates more than burnt garlic bread; it’s why he’s put himself in charge.

“Hey, Dad.”

“Griffin,” he greets me, before falling silent, staring at the oven, until finally: “I think she’s all kinds of your type, and you’re too chickenshit to do anything about it.”

He turns and smiles at me, blue eyes earnest as he pats my shoulder.

“Thanks, Dad,” I groan, slouching into a chair at the kitchenette set.

He’s right. Ren is my fucking type, and it scares me. Every time I’m around her, I start to feel something deep in my stomach, something so foreign yet familiar. I like being around her, more than I would prefer, and despite my fears, the whispers of a goddamn curse hanging over me, I still find myself wishing she were here right now, taking shit from my family right along with me.

“Almost there,” he mutters, hand on the oven door. “Just a few more . . . seconds.”

Three.

Two.

One.

He whips open the oven door, and with a hand covered in a lobster oven mitt, he retrieves the perfectly toasted garlic bread and places it on a trivet. “Nailed it!” He fist pumps. “Would you look at that bread.” He kisses his fingers and then flicks them to the sky. “Perfection.”

“Looks good.” I chew on the side of my cheek, thoughts of Ren invading my mind.

Absentmindedly my dad talks to me as he carefully cuts up the bread using tongs and a knife. “You know, I’ve been doing some thinking.”

“If you’re thinking about adding more fudge flavors, I’m going to tell you right now, Mom is not going to go for it.”

“Ah, your mother doesn’t know what’s good for the shop. She’s practically retired by now.”

“Don’t you think you should join her?” I casually say, picking at a piece of lint on my pants.

I get wanting to make the fudge—my dad really enjoys it—but as for everything else, I really think it’s time he makes the tough decision of handing over the rest of the responsibilities to the Lobster Landing.

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

My ears perk up as I sit ramrod straight in my chair. Out of all my siblings, I’m the only one who’s shown interest in taking over the family business. Jen is there every day working, but she doesn’t want to do more than she has to because she also has a family with three kids. Reid has zero interest in taking over the Landing, and Brig, well, he has his cars.

But me, hell, I’ve become so accustomed to thinking that I hold the reins to the family business, when in reality, I’m barely tugging on them from behind my dad.

I want nothing more than for my dad to step aside, trust me with his “baby,” and finally let me take charge.

“I’m getting old.”