Small Town Pretender by Brighton Walsh

After the last guest had left, Nat and Asher, along with her sisters and their guys, sat around a table under the largest tent, thankful the Haven estate was vast enough that the neighbors wouldn’t complain about the noise.

Gran had insisted on taking June and Owen for the night—to give Nat and Asher an evening of privacy, she’d said with a wink. And despite not needing an evening alone for the reason her grandma had insinuated, Nat would still take it, considering the long-ass day they’d had sprung on them.

She sat next to Asher, her feet resting in his lap as he ran his thumb over the arch. She’d had no idea just how much she needed the impromptu foot massage. Or how much the act would make her tingle in places that most definitely were not just where he was touching her.

It had taken a shit-ton of liquor to get Mac speaking more than a couple words to her again, which meant they were all well on the other side of tipsy. It also meant their conversation was slowly drifting into the gutter, somehow naturally transitioning from Havenbrook gossip into sexual stereotypes and their validity.

“I just wanna know who started the rumor that big feet equal a big dick?” Nat said, her who-knew-how-many drink of the night warming her veins and loosening her lips. “Because I can promise you, that’s not always true.”

“Excuse you,” Nash said, lifting up one gigantic foot as if that were evidence enough.

She threw out her hands toward him in exasperation. “That doesn’t prove anything. That’s exactly what I’m sayin’! A man had to have started it, because what? Every woman should just go up to a guy with big feet and say, ‘Whip it out and let me measure’?”

“C’mon, princess,” Nash said to Rory. “Back me up here.”

Rory poured the last of the wine bottle she’d mostly polished off on her own into her glass and sat back with a huff. “If you think I’m gonna spill about how huge your penis is just because you can’t stand for people to think otherwise, well—”

“Well, you just did, genius,” Mac said with a chuckle from her perch on Hudson’s lap.

Rory opened her mouth, no doubt to argue, before snapping it shut again, her cheeks flushing. She cleared her throat and brushed aside a stray piece of hair. “Oh, shut up. Nat, give us another one so everyone stops lookin’ at me.”

Nat snorted. “Okay, how about the stereotype that all uptight women are lousy lays because they can’t let loose in bed?”

“That—” Nash started before Rory elbowed him in the gut.

“Don’t you dare say a word.”

“I was only gonna defend you. You’re not a lousy lay.”

“Oh, but I am uptight?”

Mac snorted. “That’s not exactly news, Rory.”

“You shut up, unless you wanna have some stereotypes thrown your way.”

With a shrug, Mac said, “Wouldn’t bother me if you did.”

“Okay, fine.” Rory sat up straighter, her eyes narrowed as she stared at Mac. “I suppose you both just…always have sex outside?”

“Actually, that’s not really a generalized stereotype so much as it’s a very specific assumption,” Will said, brows raised.

“What are you, the word police?” Nat said. “Finn, get your woman a drink. She’s makin’ too much sense.”

“If only she wasn’t bein’ DD for y’all. Because the more she drinks, the higher my chance of gettin’ lai—”

Will slapped a hand over his mouth. “Not if you keep talkin’, it won’t be.”

“Well?” Rory asked.

Mac furrowed her brow. “Well, what?”

“Do you only do it outside, or what?” Rory asked with exasperation.

Hudson cleared his throat. “Only? No, but if you see the tree a rockin’, don’t come a knockin’…”

“Oh my God.” Mac glanced back at Hudson, shaking her head. “You’re a dork.”

“A dork you love gettin’ naked with outside.”

“I take it back. You’re not a dork—you’re a menace. And you’re only encouragin’ them.”

Will snorted. “Like Nat needs any encouragement.”

“That’s true,” Nat said, tipping her beer bottle toward her sister. “Except I’m out of stereotypes…”

“How about the one that all musicians are selfish in bed?” Will asked.

“Ouch,” Asher said, his hand to his heart. “What’d I do to get thrown under the bus?”

“Oh! Asher, I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

“Damn, Willowtree, you’re feisty tonight,” Finn said with a laugh.

Asher waved her off. “Nah, I’m just messin’ with you. Don’t worry about it, Will. It doesn’t pertain to me anyway.”

“That so?” Nat asked with a raised brow. “Because there was this rumor that went around in high school about you…”

“Which one was that?” Nash asked dryly. “He had a few.”

“We all did.” Nat laughed. “But I’m talkin’ specifically about the one that said he was a bad lay.” She glanced over at him with a brow raised, the strings of lights around the tent casting his face in harsh shadows.

“You never heard that,” Asher said, completely unbothered. As if the mere thought of such a claim were preposterous.

She had absolutely no doubt it was. For one thing, he’d proved it with a simple make-out session earlier that morning. For another thing, she’d made the whole thing up.

“I totally did! Swear,” she insisted, lying through her teeth. Thank God she was an excellent story weaver. “It was the Monday after senior prom. Stacey James wouldn’t shut up about it in the locker room. She went on and on about it—how you didn’t go down on her, how you only lasted ninety seconds, how you have a small dick…”

“You know at least one of those isn’t true,” he said under his breath, only loud enough for her to hear.

Her breath caught, her nipples growing tight as images swarmed her mind all while laughs erupted around the table.

“Shit, man, you better up your game,” Finn said before sipping from his beer.

“He’s not lyin’.” Hudson shook his head. “You need to do a hell of a lot more than a minute and a half in missionary once a week if you have any hope of keepin’ a Haven girl.”

“How the hell did I get thrown to the wolves here?” Asher asked. “We proved all the other stereotypes untrue, but this random rumor from senior year is somehow accurate?”

Everyone inserted their opinions, laughing as they ribbed on one another, but it all transitioned to white noise in Nat’s head, her thoughts stuck on what Hudson had said. If you have any hope of keepin’ a Haven girl.

Except, there was no keeping when it came to Nat.

Today felt surreal, and what was supposed to be a courthouse wedding had somehow been transformed into one that felt all too real. But she had to remember one very important thing—it wasn’t. She was only staying as long as Asher needed her to…until the custody was finalized. And then she’d be off, and Asher…wouldn’t be.

For better or for worse, he was hoping Havenbrook would be his permanent home. How he was going to make that work with his career, she had no idea. Now that the wedding was behind them, he would, no doubt, be putting all his focus on that. Even if it meant he’d be giving guitar lessons to anyone within a hundred-mile radius, she knew he’d do whatever it took to make sure he’d be able to raise his sister’s kids where she’d wanted them to grow up.

She glanced around at the faces of those she loved and felt a pang of longing for something she wasn’t even sure she’d wanted in the first place. She’d stayed away from Havenbrook all these years because it held the kind of shackles she’d spent her whole life running from. She didn’t know if it was the events of the day, the amount of alcohol coursing through her veins, or the simple fact that she’d missed her sisters more than she thought she had, but she could see now why Aubrey had chosen Havenbrook to raise a family in. Why her parents had. Why her sisters still lived there, too.

There was no denying the sense of community in this place. Of family, even with those who weren’t connected by blood. And that was something one didn’t experience everywhere in the world. Turned out, Havenbrook wasn’t as bad as she’d always made it out to be. It had changed in the years since she’d been gone.

Or maybe it was her who had changed and grown into someone different than the feral eighteen-year-old she’d been when she’d fled.