Page 30 of A Little Crush
“Hi.”
She smiles back at me while patting her temples and chest with a linen napkin. “Hey, babes. How are ya?”
“Good,” I return. “This is…” My gaze flutters around the crowded room. “Something else.”
Her laugh is light and airy as she snatches my champagne and takes a sip. “Yes. Yes it is.”
“You okay?” I ask.
“Yeah. Just took a break from dancing with your dad.”
My eyes thin as I take in the haze hidden in her expression. “You sure?”
Her nod is slow but genuine. She reaches over, tucking my hair behind my ear. “Just missing your brother.”
My bottom lip wobbles before I suck it between my teeth and bite down, fighting the urge to pull out the hanky Jaxon loaned me earlier from my clutch. “Me, too.”
“He would’ve loved this,” she continues. Her attention trails around the beautifully decorated space. “Would’ve been on the dance floor all night. Would’ve said an incredible best man’s speech. Not that Reeves won’t knock it out of the park.” She sighs. “I don’t know. I guess I’m all up in my feels today. The good, the bad, and the ugly.”
Stealing another glass of champagne from a caterer’s tray since my mom took mine, I let the bubbles fizz on my tongue, then rest my chin on my palm. “I think it’s expected.”
“Me, too,” she admits. “Still bittersweet.”
I nod my agreement. “Definitely.”
“Have I told you how grateful I am for you lately?”
“Only about a thousand times,” I tease. Giving in, I tug the hanky out and dab at the corner of my eye in hopes of not ruining my makeup, thanks to the oh so familiar burn behind my eyes. “I’m grateful for you, too.”
“Hey, Rore,” my Aunt Ashlyn interrupts.
I turn toward the familiar voice, finding one of her grandbabies on her hip. Scratch that. It isn’t just any grandbaby. It's Jaxon’s daughter. She’s so little. Maybe six or seven months old. With a pair of dimples, baby blue eyes, and a pretty little bow on her head, she’s probably the cutest baby I’ve ever seen. My stomach bottoms out as I stare at her. Her tiny hands. Her chubby cheeks. Her fancy little dress. We haven’t been formally introduced, but I saw her on Uncle Macklin’s lap during the ceremony. She looked grouchy then, and she doesn’t look too happy now, either.
Tearing my attention from the adorably grumpy baby, I push the chair beside mine out from under the table andmotion to it. “Hey, Aunt Ash. Take a seat.” The baby’s face scrunches with another soft cry, fanning my concern. “Is she okay?”
With the patience of a saint, Ashlyn simply smiles, patting the baby’s back as she sits beside me. “Yeah, she’s fine. Tired, but fine.”
“Reminds us of you,” my mom chimes in.
My brows pull. “What do you mean?”
“Poppy’s a picky softie. Just like someone else we know,” Aunt Ashlyn clarifies, though she’s kind enough to soften the blow with another knowing smile. “The only person Poppy doesn’t fuss around is Jax. Even her mom struggles to calm her down when she’s really worked up.”
“Just like someone else we know,” my mom repeats, her eyes dancing with mirth. “Go figure, the only one to calm you down when you were this little was the very same Jaxon.”
I force a smile, tossing her own words back at her. “Go figure.”
“You look beautiful, by the way,” Aunt Ash interjects.
I glance down at my dress and smooth out the silky fabric. “Thanks.”
“Seriously,” she gushes. “I swear it’s like I’m looking at your mom from twenty years ago. Well, minus the tattoos.”
With a laugh, I smooth out my dress again and deflect, “I don’t know about that.” My mom was andisquite the looker. Hell, she’s drop-dead gorgeous even now. Maybe it’s the willowy build. Maybe it’s how she turns heads when she walks into a room and holds herself in conversations. Maybe it’s her wide smile, thick but still silky hair, and charming personality. Honestly, it’s probably the combination of all of that really makes my mom one of the most incredible women on the planet, and I have no idea how she birthed me. When I was in middle school, she used to joke that as soon asI gained some confidence, I’d be able to wrap whoever I wanted around my finger. Instead, I curled in on myself, unable to look the opposite sex in the eye, let alone build a connection with them.
Fool me once and all that, I suppose. Not that it mattered.
I smooth out my dress once more, grateful for the distraction. Third time’s the charm.
