Twisted-Games

Bridget laughed. “Yes.”
“Hmm. We’ll see.”
I drew her closer and kissed her forehead. I could hear Booth’s football
game in the den, and our takeout containers lay scattered on the kitchen
island along with Andreas’s empty whiskey glass and the rumpled diagram
he’d drawn for me.
It didn’t look like a royal gathering. It looked like a normal Wednesday
night at home.
And as Bridget wrapped her arms around my waist and Andreas returned,
grumbling about a delayed bachelor trip to Santorini, I finally identified the
odd sensation gripping me.
It was the feeling of having a family.