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Miles and River cut the engines as they rolled into the driveway, headlights sweeping over the front porch. The moment they killed the ignition, laughter—loud, gasping, uncontrolled—echoed from inside the house. Miles shot River a look. “That’s either a good sign… or a disaster.” River sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “With this group? Both.” They stepped through the front door—and froze. Rhea was on the floor near the couch, clutching her stomach, tears of laughter streaming down her face. Glitter covered half the room like a fairy bomb had gone off. Pink dust shimmered on the hardwood, across the rug, and in a very sparkly trail leading straight to the kitchen—where Beau stood, arms out, dripping with glitter. Head to toe. Hair, beard, shirt, even his eyelashes sparkled like a
- Writer
