Page 27 of Married to Number 22
Matt looks up from his cup of coffee, shaking his head at his family’s shenanigans. “You’d both do better to know there’s no such thing as controlling your women.”
“Exactly,” Kathy says.
“You just learn to ignore them.”
“Hey!” Kathy and Carrie say at once.
“And mission accomplished,” Aiden murmurs, lips brushing my earlobe again, making me shiver.
When I glance up at him in surprise, he winks, and God, it hits me hard. Because I missed this, missed sitting next to him, the silent language we developed, the silliness between his mom and his siblings, even his dad just sitting on the sidelines, letting them get their tease on, while only occasionally joining in.
And Aiden, stepping in. Navigating the personalities, carefully making sure that no one takes it over the line.
I don’t have too many moments like this—most of my and Aiden’s free time was spent at the rink—but the handful of family meals I got to attend with the Blacks werethis.
Boisterous and loud and a bit overwhelming.
But so much better than the silent meals I shared with my brother and dad, the quiet only punctuated by talk of the business or extolling my brother’s accomplishments.
Eating with Grams wasn’t like that, and it wasn’t like this.
It was…cooking interrupted with bites taken bending over the stove, the spoon’s contents steaming because we’ve stolen those bites directly from the pan, “just so we can make sure it tastes right.” It was learning new skills, holding tight to the memories of my mom, my sister, making new ones with Grams. It was leaning against the kitchen counter, plates in hand, downing homemade mac n cheese or Seven-Up Cake or cookies so hot out of the oven their chocolate chips were melted, smeared on the corners of our mouths, threatening to drop onto our shirts.
“You’re a million miles away,” Aiden murmurs.
I blink, realize the conversation has turned to other topics—thankfully for Dave, not about his ability to be a good fiancé. And thankfully for me, Kathy is regaling the table with tales about her garden club instead of shoving pastries down my throat.
They’re delicious, yes.
But my stomach is so full I want to unbutton my pants.
And they have an elastic waistband so I won’t get any relief there.
“Luns?” he asks, expression growing concerned.
I blink again. “Sorry,” I say softly. “Food coma.”
He studies my eyes, doesn’t say anything. But I have the feeling he knows I’m lying—or at least that I’m not giving him the full truth.
And it’s his birthday.
His family’s here.
I’m a complication at best. At worst…
I close my eyes, shove that down, but somehow the words still slip out, “She would have loved to be here.”
Gentle green eyes, fingers lacing through mine. “She’d put them in their places easily enough,” he murmurs lightly.
I grin. “I think you did pretty good yourself.”
“It’s wrangling cats.” One big shoulder lifts and falls in a shrug. “Evie would have done it as easily as breathing.”
Maybe.
She always did better with managing people who weren’t my brother and father.
The business. Me. Our friends.
