I couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of me. “You’re lucky we let you back here after all the near disasters you’ve had.” But I had to admit it was nice to have her here again. Being the head honcho of the Community Center meant she was in charge of all the big-picture stuff and had less time to be in the trenches with me. So, when we got afternoons like this one where we cooked for the shelter’s thirty or so residents, I soaked them up.

“Traitors,” she grumbled under her breath.

“Traitors who care about keeping all of your fingers and toes firmly attached.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re just lucky I love you both.”

“Good thing because you’re stuck with me for life.”

My phone buzzed in my back pocket. I quickly wiped my hands on a towel and pulled it out. Being permanently attached to my phone was just one of the requirements of being head of Hope House. The shelter could have any number of emergencies pop up at any time, and I had to be ready to put out the fires.

The corners of my mouth tipped up as I saw my sister’s name on the screen.

Chelsea: How are the hooligans? Making you pull out your hair yet?

Me: I bribed them with beer and cigarettes. That seemed to do the trick.

There was a pause for at least thirty seconds, and I started to question if we were ready for those kinds of jokes. It had taken us a long time to get back to a place where we could be in each other’s lives, where Chelsea believed my truth about what had really happened all of those years ago. The fact that she was moving to Sutter Lake and trusting me with her kids while she wrapped up her life in Portland was a huge step.

Chelsea: Don’t waste the good stuff on them. Natty Light is all they need.

A laugh burst out of me, startling Kennedy. She let out a rather creative curse. “If you don’t want me to lose a finger, don’t scare me like that.”

“Sorry.”

“Who is it, anyway? New boyfriend?” She waggled her eyebrows in my direction.

I rolled my eyes and shoved my phone back into my pocket. Boyfriends had not been on the docket for me. Not since my first and last had landed me in juvenile detention for two and a half years. I’d gone on dates here and there, but it never quite seemed worth the risk. And I’d had other things to worry about—like staying alive.

“It was Chelsea, checking on Lyla and Justin.”

“Where are they, anyway?”