I’d met a lot of great guys. Really great guys. In fact, I’d become friends with most of them. Which tells you exactly how much spark there’d been with them, sadly. So I had a big circle of male friends in various walks of life…but no boyfriend.
Until I’d met Jon.
I knew Mom was taking in his height, just over six feet, his high forehead and intelligent blue eyes, his nice manners and impeccable clothes. I also knew she was wondering how Jon was going to fit in with my dad, a retired police officer; my brother Connor, now a firefighter; and my other brother Daniel, a police detective in Boston. Not to mention Andrew, a pro hockey player.
We were about to find out.
We stepped into the house and a burst of laughter from the kitchen greeted us, along with the faint scent of pine. “Play That Funky Music” by Wild Cherry blasted from speakers somewhere. I rolled my eyes, but it secretly amused me. My parents’ taste in music was firmly stuck in the seventies. I needed to plug my iPod into those speakers when nobody was looking and get my Christmas playlist going to get us in the holiday spirit.
We paused in the foyer to hang our jackets on the old oak coatrack, already laden with outerwear, then passed by the living room with the big tree in the corner sitting bare and undecorated, following the loud voices and laughter to the kitchen. An addition on the back of the house created a great room with big windows overlooking the snowy backyard, where Daniel and Connor had beat me up on many occasions. I exaggerate. But there were times they’d chased me with spiders, and the time they’d tied me to the swing set and left me swinging helplessly. Andrew had rescued me that day.
“They’re here!” Mom announced and everyone turned.
It took me two seconds to know that Andrew wasn’t there yet.
I linked my arm with Jon’s to draw him into the room. “Everyone, this is Jon. Jon, this is my family.”
Dad moved toward me and kissed the top of my head. “Hey, Bugsy. Good to see you.”
I gave him a punch on the shoulder, which I knew he preferred to a hug and a kiss, and did an eye roll at the nickname. “You too, Dad.”
My brothers and I likewise exchanged head rubs and shoulder pats. They all shook Jon’s hand with narrow-eyed looks and several firm arm pumps. Then my sister-in-law, Emily, approached with the baby.
“Thankfully another woman,” she murmured, giving me a one-armed hug.
I grinned and hugged her back. “We’ll stick together. And here’s my new nephew!” I peered down at the wrapped, sleeping bundle. “You couldn’t have given me a niece? Seriously, Em, another girl in the family would have been appreciated.”
She laughed. “I think you’ll have to blame your brother for that.”
“Can I hold him?” I stared at the tiny face, watching in fascination as it scrunched up, then relaxed.
“Sure.” She passed over the bundle and I settled Christopher into my arms. Heat rushed to my chest at holding this little being and I couldn’t stop looking at him. I touched the blanket with my forefinger and eased it back from his face, taking in perfect ears, the sweetest nose, and thick, dark hair.
“Aren’t you handsome. Such a perfect, handsome boy. He’s got the MacFadden hair.” I brushed my fingers over his silky head. “And nose. As in, no nose.” Both my brothers and I had very small noses, taking after our mom, which I figured was a lot better than getting our dad’s big honker. On him, six-three and two hundred pounds, it looked fine. It probably would’ve looked good on Daniel and Connor, who were similar in size. But on me, a pipsqueak compared to them, as they’d told me numerous times, it would’ve been a certain trip to a plastic surgeon. Or who knows, maybe I would have loved it.
My heart swelled as Christopher’s tiny lips pursed. I blinked back a little sting in the corners of my eyes and looked up at Daniel. “He’s so beautiful. I can’t believe you made this, you big ugly doodoohead.”
Daniel burst out laughing and Christopher flinched. I rocked him a little.
“Looks good on you.”
My eyes flew open at that voice and my hurt lurched to a full stop. I swallowed hard and turned to see Andrew standing in the kitchen doorway, obviously having come in behind us.
He smiled and nodded at the baby in my arms, his eyes warm, the corners crinkled so attractively, the deep dimples in his cheeks evident. Our eyes met.
For the space of several seconds, the world dropped away as I held his gaze and I couldn’t look away. Could not. Then his words sank in.
I looked back at the baby, horrified. “God no!” I handed Christopher to his mother. “He’s cute, but I don’t want one of those.”
Everyone laughed and Emily snuggled her baby into her arms again.
I sucked in a breath and rubbed my palms over my thighs. “I didn’t know you were here yet, Andrew.”
“Flew in late last night right after the game.”
“Ah.” I stared at him. “Um. Right.” I should, um, hug him. Or punch him. I moved toward him, not sure which of those it was going to be. He held out his arms and I stepped close enough for us to do a tiny air hug. Then I remembered Jon. “Oh, let me introduce you.” I touched Jon’s arm and he extended a hand, smiling. “This is my boyfriend, Jon Booth. John, Andrew Ross.”
A peculiar expression crossed Andrew’s face, fleeting, barely there, his head jerking a little, eyes tightening. But he smiled and shook Jon’s hand. None of the overprotective sizing up that my dad and brothers had done appeared on his face, just that wide, friendly smile. “Good to meet you, Jon.”
“Likewise.”
“Everyone’s here!” Mom clapped her hands and closed her eyes briefly. “I’m so happy.”
“I’m hungry,” Daniel said.
Christopher chose that moment to start wailing.
“Like father, like son.” Emily bounced her son gently. “Come on, little guy, let’s go see how that diaper is.”
“We can have lunch anytime.” Mom moved to the fridge. “I’ll just put out some cold cuts and bread to make sandwiches. Jenna, come help me.”
“Why me? Why can’t Connor help?” Wow, I was reverting back to childhood after being back in the family home less than half an hour.
“ ’Cause you’re a girl.” Connor joined me in my regression. “Cooking is girl’s work.”
We all ignored that because we totally knew he didn’t mean it. Mom had been very careful to raise all of us without gender-specific ideas about household tasks. The boys had cooked meals and scrubbed toilets as much as I had, and Dad had taught me to check my oil and tire pressure and had made me take my turn cutting the grass. Even Andrew had never complained about having to do that stuff, but then, his place in our home had been a little different.
I grabbed some tomatoes and started slicing them on a cutting board while everyone else moved into action, everyone except Dad, that is. Dad didn’t cook. Ever. I still remembered the day Daniel had called him a hypocrite because he made his sons learn how to cook but he refused to boil water. Dad had been furious and had slammed Daniel into the wall and told him to do as he said, not as he did. They’d both been incensed, and now, in hindsight, I was pretty sure Dad was so angry because Daniel had actually been right.
Also, because the reason we’d had to learn how to cook was that Mom was an atrocious cook.
Dad was a tough, strict disciplinarian who took no crap from his kids. He also loved us beyond measure, so even though there’d been lots of rebellion and shouting, door-slamming fights (mostly between Dad and Daniel—we figured Daniel kind of eased the way for the rest of us), we respected him for the values he’d tried to teach us.
Daniel grabbed a big bag of potato chips and dumped them into a bowl, while Connor sliced rolls in half and Andrew set jars of pickles, mustard, and mayo on the counter.
Okay, everybody was helping except Jon, who naturally wasn’t familiar with the kitchen and sat on a stool at the small island, a little apart from everyone, smiling faintly at the affectionate insults being tossed around.