Page 66 of Wildflower and Whiskey
I swallowed; my throat tight. “Thank you for having me.”
“Of course,” Pierre said, as if there’d never been a question.
Inside, the house was the best kind of chaos. Eric was in the kitchen wearing an apron dusted with flour, carrying a basket of rolls like they were treasure. Asher leaned against the counter with a glass of wine, smirking as if he’d been saving up wisecracks for hours. Becket stood in the corner with his arms crossed, watchful but relaxed, while Angela flitted between table and stove, trying to wrangle everyone into some semblance of order.
And there, at Pierre’s side, was someone new.
“This is Sandy,” Pierre said, placing a steadying hand on the small of her back.
Sandy smiled at me, kind but a little shy, her chestnut hair pulled into a neat twist, a blouse the color of marigolds setting off her eyes. She carried herself with quiet grace, but there was something about the way all the brothers looked at her; curious, assessing, some amused, which told me she was still earning her place at this table.
“It’s nice to meet you,” I said, meaning it.
“You too,” Sandy replied warmly. “Pierre’s told me all about Braden. Happy birthday. Such a gift to share a birthday with Thanksgiving. I brought something for him later, if that’s all right.”
“Of course. And yes, my son has been a great gift,” I said to Sandy.
Phoenix squeezed my hand once before letting go to take Braden and settle him in the high chair Pierre had pulled from storage.
Dinner was loud, messy, and absolutely wonderful.
Braden was banging his spoon like he was conducting an orchestra. Eric fussed about people not appreciating the rolls enough, Angela and Dominic kept nudging dishes toward everyone like she was afraid someone might starve, and Asher was busy making commentary on how “pumpkin pie should count as a vegetable.”
At one point, I leaned over toward Sandy, curious. “So, Sandy,” I said softly, “how did you and Pierre meet? He hasn’t exactly been forthcoming.” Phoenix had told me his dad was seeing a new lady. It was the first time he brought a woman around the family on more than one occasion. Pierre was also acting differently. He was humming and dressing in nice pants as opposed to his usual worn-in jeans. If Phoenix wasn’t able to get any information out of his dad, I figured it was best to leave it up to the ladies.
Her smile brightened, eyes sliding toward Pierre, who was slicing the turkey with soldierly precision. “Oh, that’s a story,” she said warmly.
Pierre groaned under his breath. “Not at the table.”
“Oh, definitely at the table,” Eric cut in, grinning. “You aren’t the biggest sharer, Dad.”
“Fine, Sandy, go ahead and enlighten everyone since we seem so interesting,” Pierre said, giving her a warm smile. Truth is, I’d never seen Pierre shining in this way, happy and not so focused on policing the town.
“I have a florist shop in town on Main Street,” she began. “It was late evening; I’d just come back from delivering weddingflowers when someone threw a rock straight through the front window. Glass everywhere. I panicked and called the police station, expecting maybe a patrol officer to show up.”
Becket chuckled, already knowing where this was going. “And instead, the director himself marched in, pen and notepad at the ready.”
Sandy laughed, nodding. “Exactly. I looked up and there he was, Pierre Thorne in full command mode. He surveyed the damage, asked sharp questions, and started sweeping up the glass before I could stop him. I thought he was there to take a statement, but he was patching the hole in the window like it was his own place.”
Pierre shook his head, clearly embarrassed but not denying it. “It was after hours, we were short-staffed.”
“Uh-huh,” Asher said, grinning. “Translation, you saw a florist in distress and decided this was a job for the boss man.”
The whole table erupted in laughter.
Sandy gave Pierre a playful nudge. “He even told me to breathe in the roses I had on hand. Said it would help steady me.”
Becket barked a laugh. “Of course he did. Director Thorne, protector, lawman, and part-time aromatherapist.”
Pierre shot his son a look, but there was humor in it.
“Sure,” Eric teased. “Right up there with Miranda rights.”
“I have to admit,” Sandy added, looking back at Pierre with fondness that made my throat ache, “I wasn’t expecting him to come by the next morning. Off duty, with coffee and maple crullers. That’s when I realized he wasn’t just being the director. He was being Pierre.”
The table softened, laughter fading into something warmer. Angela reached across and patted Sandy’s hand. “I like you already.” Dominic gave his wife a loving smirk.
“She’s a softy for a good romance,” Dominic said. Angela and Dominic had joined the Thorne’s for dinner since their kids weren’t home for the holiday, and they found it a bonus to be celebrating Braden’s first birthday.
