Hothouse Flower

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DAISY CALLOWAY

“Oh my God, it’s cold,” Lily complains, hugging one of Rose’s white fur coats tighter around her tiny frame. Along with her Wampa cap, she looks like a little furry creature. Totally huggable. Which is why I have an arm around her shoulders, taller than my older sis.

Our breath smokes the air, standing in two feet of snow that blew in yesterday. We hide behind a fir tree in the front lawn. Or as Lily likes to call it: the big ass Christmas tree.

“I agree,” Rose says, so cold that her bones have frozen her into a rigid stance.

“I offered you my sweats,” I remind her. She’s in black tights and a maxi dress that soaks in the snow. Her booties are completely sunken in the white powder. My outfit isn’t better. I slipped on the shoes by the door in my haste to pull my sisters outside quickly.

They were flip-flops.

Let’s just say the chill is most definitely creeping in, and my numb toes scream for a warm bath.

Rose gives me a look at my comment, and I think she would put her palm to my face like don’t even. But she’s too cold to stretch her arms past her sides.

“I promise this is going to be worth the pain,” I say with a big smile. I reach out and shake both of their arms playfully. I love that I have more time left with them, and Lily shares my smile like it’s contagious.

Rose rolls her eyes. But I swear the corner of her lips lift. She takes out her cell, and Lily reaches over me to grab it, but she’s too far away. Rose easily clutches the phone to her chest.

“This is a stealth mission, Rose,” Lily whispers.

I snatch the phone out of Rose’s hand and pass it to Lily, who starts checking her texts.

Rose sets her hand on her hip. “Why are you whispering?” she snaps. “There’s no one here but us.”

Lily gapes at the screen. I lean over her shoulder and see a series of texts back and forth between her and Connor. “You couldn’t leave his texts unanswered for an hour?” she asks.

“He was annoying me,” she retorts. “My voice had to be heard.”

My own phone buzzes in my jeans, and I check it quickly.

Will you be coming to the luncheon on Sunday? – Mom

A pit forms in my stomach. I text back: Yeah, but Ryke is coming with me.

I wait a couple seconds since she usually replies quickly, but my phone stays silent. Every time I stop by the house, she refuses to acknowledge Ryke. I think she’s partly embarrassed by what she did with the cops, and she’s too proud to admit fault.

So she’s sticking to her guns.

But I can’t be fake to her. I can’t be friendly when she’s being rude. And I’ve told her numerous times that if she doesn’t apologize to Ryke, then I won’t be the warm, cheerful daughter around her. I’ll be a little colder.

I’m willing to meet my mom halfway. My dad told me that she loves me too much to be stubborn for so long. To just give her time. I hope he’s right.

“Shhh,” Lily whispers, her eyes bugging. As the silence descends, I hear the sound of Rose’s Escalade rolling into the driveway.

“One…” I whisper, listening to a couple car doors popping open.

Lo’s edged voice resounds across the yard. “Christ, we need to get someone out here to plow the driveway again.”

“Two,” I count to my sisters.

“I can do it later,” Ryke tells him.

I smile wide. “Three.” We run out of our hiding places, or really, I run with frozen feet and they walk. Snowballs lie in their gloved hands (mine gloveless).

I focus on the guy in the leather jacket, carrying a case of Fizz Life and a carton of eggnog. And I pelt him with a snowball, square in the chest, the snow bursting open and soaking his gray shirt.

I grin. And his eyes darken on me while his brows rise. “Really, Calloway?”

“Really, really,” I say, already scooping up more snow for my second attack.

Lily shrieks, and I glance over, realizing that Lo’s hair is wet and he’s started chasing her around the snowy yard. She abandons her pre-made snowballs and runs away with a silly smile, her hands on her head like her Wampa cap may blow off.

“Nice hit, Lily!” I call.

She gives me a thumbs up.

And then cold blasts my bare skin. Right in the face. Waking me in an instant. I smile and look at Ryke who has ditched the soda and eggnog. He bends down to make his second snowball.

Game on.

I dodge his next shot and land another one at his shoulder. I try to take a step towards him, but my flip-flop gets stuck underneath the snow. I outstretch my arms for balance, but my weight tilts me backwards and I fall, the white powder catching me like an icy pillow. My hair and my long-sleeve tee is soaked through and through.

A six-foot-three guy suddenly hovers above me, blocking the sliver of sun, undisturbed by clouds. His dark eyes swirl with protectiveness and lust. He grabs my ankles out of the snow and inspects my footwear. His face hardens. “You’re fucking insane.” He removes my flip-flops and rubs one of my reddened feet.

I tilt my head back and almost moan. “That feels so good.”

And then his eyes pin on my chest.

I glance down. My nipples are totally hard, and the thin white shirt is see-through. The words printed right below say: Taken.

He shrugs off his leather jacket, his intense gaze still pinned on my boobs, and my chest rises and falls heavier than before.

“Didn’t you hear?” I ask, watching him watch me. “I’m taken.”

“I heard,” Ryke says, scooping me in his arms and wrapping the jacket around my shoulders. His eyes meet mine. “I also heard that he’s the only one who can keep up with you.” And then he lifts me in his arms, the breath blowing out of my lungs.

With his hands underneath my back and legs, he carries me towards the driveway. I realize that we’re outside, alone, and the other two couples have retreated to the warm indoors. I don’t even think Rose participated, but at least she withstood the cold in camaraderie.

I reach up and run my fingers through the hair by the back of his neck. And his hard muscles tighten, his eyes descending down my body once more. Then he kisses me, his tongue effortlessly sliding against mine, heating every inch of my skin.

I’m in his arms.

No longer just the sister of his brother’s girlfriend.

Or the sister of a friend.

Not even just a friend.

I am his.

And as he carries me into the house, the kiss turning more and more urgent and fiery, I realize something, deep in my heart.

We are free.

No matter if the public hates us. No matter if my mom never accepts him. We’ve done all that we can for now.

I smile into the next kiss, my hand rising in his thick hair.

“I can’t narrow it down to ten,” Rose tells Connor, cutting into our moment. We both break apart and turn our heads.

Rose has her legs tucked beside her on the cream suede couch while Connor passes her a mug of coffee. His hand is draped over her thighs, keeping her close to his body.

“You need to unless you want to have fifty kids, darling,” he tells her.

Rose looks over to Lily and Lo, the latter of which is watching me in Ryke’s arms. Even though Lo is still getting used to seeing us like this, he doesn’t scold or reprimand Ryke. He just lets us be.

“How many names do you have picked out?” Rose asks Lily. “Connor thinks it’s ridiculous that I have options.” This must have been the subject of their text war.

Connor says, “You can have one or two options, anymore becomes superfluous.”

“Why am I married to you?” she retorts.

He replies in French, and I’m fairly certain he says: Because you love me. And I love you.

Ryke must have his fill of them because he starts carrying me to the staircase. But I see the look on my sister’s face, something pure and magical and beautiful.

Definitely love.

“We only have two names, one if it’s a boy and one if it’s a girl,” Lily tells Rose.

Her mouth drops and Connor gives her an I told you so expression.

They all break out in discussion, Lo starting to bicker with Rose.

I was worried that they’d all change now that they’re having kids—that they’d desert their twenties for the mini-van and every time-suck that seems to come with children. Maybe they will eventually, but right now, I revel in the impromptu snowball fights, the game nights and the dinners we cook together. We’re rooming as though we’re living on a college campus, saving rent, but we’re also living as sisters.

It reminds me every day that I’m only eighteen. They’re only twenty-three and twenty-five.

We have years to grow up and split apart.

That time doesn’t have to come yet.

Halfway up the stairs, Ryke sets me on my feet, his eyes grazing me from head to toe with powerful want. I want him too. I walk backwards and he follows in close pursuit.

“You know what would make me closer to my sisters?” I joke. And then I rub my belly.

His eyes darken. “You know that handstand you did this morning?”

“Yeah.”

“And that cartwheel?”

“Uh-huh.”

“And how you tried to do a fucking backflip off the trampoline?”

I smile at the fresh memory. “That was really fun.” Snow blew up at my face with each bounce. I take a couple more steps backwards, ascending the staircase. He matches me.

“Imagine not being able to do all of that for nine fucking months, Calloway.”

I stop on one of the stairs, my smile fading. That sounds…not fun.

He reaches me and holds the back of my head, his lips brushing my ear, “No restraints. One-hundred-and-fifty miles per hour. You and me, sweetheart.”

My smile returns. That sounds much better.