Wynn and her son, Hunter, were the first to arrive. The ten-year-old went directly to the first TV, grabbed a controller and started to play.
“You forgot to say hello,” Wynn said, her voice filled with affection and exasperation.
“Hi, Pallas,” the boy said without glancing away from the screen. “Thank you for having me over tonight.”
Pallas hugged her friend. “See? He has potential.”
“I keep telling myself that.” Wynn set a plate of brownies on the kitchen table. “Easily grabbed dessert that shouldn’t be sticky. I believe that’s what you requested.”
“It is. Thanks for coming by. Are you going to play?”
Wynn grimaced. “I can get my video game butt kicked at home. I don’t need more witnesses. I can’t figure out if I’m just too old to get it or if I don’t have the right gene pool. What about you?”
“I’m observing and collecting ideas.”
“Good. I’ll keep you company.”
More friends arrived. By six, her small living room was full. People found places to sit on the floor. All three TVs were on and blasting out the music along with fiery kill shots. A few people were going to have to wait to play, but Pallas figured that couldn’t be helped. Eventually a player would run out of lives or turns or whatever it was and have to give up his or her seat.
Nick was next to Hunter. They were both staring intensely at the screen. She couldn’t tell if they were working together or trying to destroy each other, then decided it didn’t matter. As long as everyone was having fun.
“Someone told me there was a party here.”
Pallas turned and saw her grandfather walking into her house.
“Grandpa Frank.” She hugged him. “What are you doing here?”
He smiled at her. “Like I said—I heard there was a party.”
“We’re playing video games.”
While her grandfather was a great old guy with a zest for life, he was pushing ninety.
He winked at her. “Prepare to be amazed.”
“I always am.”
He walked into the living room and stared at the crowd. “Where’s the line to get a turn?”
Silver held up a small dry-erase board. “I’m taking names.” She smiled at Grandpa Frank. “I’ll move you to the top of the list because you’re so handsome.”
“You’ve always been my favorite of Pallas’s friends,” he told her.
“I know.”
Grandpa Frank turned back to Pallas. “Is there anything to eat at this shindig?”
“In the kitchen.”
There were only a couple of people getting food there and it was quieter away from the game. Grandpa Frank took a paper plate, then started to fill it. Despite his years, he stood with perfect posture. His hair was white, his skin tanned. He looked much younger than his actual age, which Pallas guessed had a lot to do with the ever-present twinkle in his eye.
“I heard this was for a wedding you’re throwing,” he said as he took a couple of Wynn’s brownies.
Word certainly traveled in their small town, she thought. “It is. Nova and her fiancé developed the game. They want to use the world as a backdrop. It’s going to be original—that’s for sure.”
He took a bite of a small wrap and chewed. “You always did have a knack for finding your way, Pallas. You make me proud. You and your brother, both, striking out on your own.”
“Thank you,” she said, a little surprised at the compliment. She’d never seen herself as someone who found her way. Most of the time she felt as if she were fumbling and failing. It was nice to know things looked different from his point of view.
“You have a lot of your father in you,” he continued. “You’re ambitious, willing to do the work. Libby is a company girl, but you’ll never be that.”
Pallas’s eyes widened in surprise. Her father? How could she be like him? She barely remembered him. He’d died when she was ten, but for her it seemed like he’d never been around at all. She had vague memories, but nothing that wasn’t mentally blurry.
“I don’t remember Dad being a rebel,” she admitted.
“He was, in his way. He was also determined.” Grandpa Frank hesitated. “I’d like to think you get your character from me.” He winked.
“Grandpa Frank!” Silver yelled from the living room. “You’re up.”
Her grandfather handed her his plate. “Someone wiped out early. This is my lucky day.”
Pallas laughed. “I had no idea you were so ruthless.”
“You gotta be tough to make it,” he told her. “Tough and willing to take chances. That’s the secret, Pallas. You remember that.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
PALLAS WOKE EARLY the morning after the party. She’d called it a night a little after midnight, despite the fact that the games were still going strong. She’d had no idea that there were so many die-hard Concord Awaken fans in Happily Inc.
She’d put out the rest of the food, mugs for coffee and had told everyone to help themselves. She’d left extra towels, soap and toothbrushes in the guest bath, then had retreated to her bedroom. Now she showered quickly and got dressed.
Only one TV was still on in the living room and it was obviously on hold or whatever it was called when a game was paused. The picture was frozen, with a purple-clad warrior in midshot. Hunter was curled up asleep in one of her upholstered chairs. Grandpa Frank was stretched out on the sofa, with Silver draped across the other upholstered chair. Judging by the sound of water running in her guest bath, she had one more overnight guest. Good thing she’d planned ahead and had bought plenty of eggs for breakfast.
She retreated to her kitchen and collected the ingredients for a simple baked frittata. She preheated the oven, then sprayed the large casserole dish and began cracking eggs into a bowl. Yesterday she’d already prepped the veggies she would need. She added them, along with milk and cheese, then poured everything into the casserole dish. Just then Nick walked into the kitchen.
She had to admit, the man looked really good rumpled. He’d washed his face, but hadn’t shaved, so there was dark stubble along his jaw. His hair was mussed, his shirt wrinkled. He looked tired, but was smiling. It was an impossible combination of sexy and vulnerable.
“Morning,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. “You’re up early.”
“I could say the same about you, only I’m not sure you’ve been to sleep at all.”
He raised one shoulder. “Hunter conked out first, around three, but Grandpa Frank and Silver hung in until nearly five.”
“Wow, you’ve had a whole hour of sleep. This is probably not the day to work with a chainsaw.”
He moved close and put his hands on her hips, then drew her against him. “I was thinking the same thing,” he murmured right before he leaned over and kissed her.
His mouth was warm and gentle against hers. He tasted of minty toothpaste. She relaxed into him, liking the heat of his body and the way she could tell he was still a little sleepy. His hands roamed up and down her back, making her wish he would touch her everywhere. When he brushed against her lower lip, she parted for him, giving herself up to the desire just waiting to explode.
Even as their tongues brushed, she arched into him, pressing her belly against his growing erection. Her breasts ached and between her legs she felt the first rush of need.
Maybe it was the fact that they were both not awake enough to have defenses in place. Maybe it was the man himself, but for a heartbeat or two, she thought about pointing out that the counter was probably the perfect height for a quick rendezvous.
Only she wasn’t someone who ever offered that kind of thing. At least not for a first time. There was also the fact that there were three people, including a ten-year-old and her grandfather, not twenty feet away.
>
As if reading her mind, Nick drew back. His expression was serious, his eyes dark. He rubbed his thumb against her lower lip. “I’ll admit to fantasizing about spending the night, but somehow never imagined this particular scenario.”
“Me, either.”
He kissed her lightly. “Rain check?”
“Absolutely.”
“Good.” He stepped back. “Now how can I help?”
“Are you awake enough to fry bacon?”
“I am.”
She pointed to the refrigerator. “It’s in there. I’ll get out the frying pan.”
Nick collected the package and opened it. Pallas got him set up at the stove, put the casserole in the oven, then started cutting up fruit.
She had to admit she felt good. Better than good, maybe. She had a lot of ideas for Nova’s wedding, a house full of people she cared about, and she was still tingling from the toe-curling kisses of a man she liked a lot. All in all, it was a very nice way to start her day.
* * *
NICK STOOD NEXT to Ronan and studied the drawing on the wall. It was to scale and in color, showing the installation as it would be when it was finished.
The underwater scene would be ten feet high and thirty feet long, and filled with the familiar—sea grass, fish, rocks, along with a mystical mermaid swaying in the ever-present tide.
Every element, every glowing color, each shape, was made of glass. There was movement in the forms, a sense of life. As if just standing there you could hear the rush of the ocean all around. Nick honest to God had no idea how his brother did it. A project like this was at least a year’s commitment. While he had help from Mathias and the apprentices who came to the studio to learn from him, he did most of the work himself. He preferred it that way.
Ronan pointed to the sand on the ocean floor. “I haven’t figured that out yet. Real sand is the obvious solution but it doesn’t look right. It’s too flat. Glass is too bright.”
“Have you looked at a combination of ground rock? Quartz with a little polished granite. Or something else, with glass beads thrown in to add depth.”
Ronan nodded slowly. “Maybe. I’ll have to play with it.”
What neither of them said was that Ronan could ask their father. There was little about glass that Ceallach Mitchell didn’t know. Only he wasn’t one to give advice, even to his sons, which meant it was a risk to get in touch with him. Nick knew that Ronan rarely spoke to the old man. There had to be a safer topic for the two of them to discuss.
“I heard from Del the other day,” he said, thinking their oldest brother should be safe enough. “He and Maya are getting married here in Happily Inc. They’re going to want some kind of theme wedding.”
Ronan glanced at him. “Like a royal wedding?”
Nick snickered. “I’m going to tell Del you’re talking about him wearing tights.”
Ronan laughed. “Go ahead. Is there really a theme?”
“That’s what the email said. Maybe I read it wrong, or he meant something else.”
“I hope so.”
Nick thought about the two themed weddings he’d helped out with. “They’re not as crazy as you think. It’s kind of fun that the couple getting married has something like that in common. You know—a memory that connects them.”
“Did someone drop you on your head?”
“I’m just saying they can be nice. Especially when it’s a family thing.”
Not that Del would want that for himself, Nick reminded himself. His oldest brother had spent the better part of a decade avoiding his nearest and dearest. Del had left a hole in the Mitchell clan—his leaving had upset the dynamics. Nick would guess their mother had missed her oldest most of all.
Before he could stop himself, he asked, “You ever talk to Mom?” A question bound to get a reaction because, despite being Elaine’s favorite, Ronan wasn’t biologically her son.
Nick only knew the basic facts about his brothers and their past. That as far as everyone was concerned, Ceallach and Elaine Mitchell had five sons; the youngest two—Mathias and Ronan—were fraternal twins. Three years ago, when Ceallach had suffered what ended up being a mild heart attack, the truth had come out. Ceallach had admitted that Ronan was the result of an ongoing affair. When Ceallach’s mistress had wanted to give up her son for adoption, Elaine had agreed to take in the week-old baby.
Nick still had trouble grasping his mother’s extraordinary decision. She’d had her own month-old baby at the time, which meant Ceallach’s wife and his mistress had been pregnant at the same time. Yet the old bastard hadn’t said a word. What kind of woman willingly took in the child of a rival and raised him as her own?
Her three older boys had been under the age of five and none of them had remembered one child miraculously turning into twins. Del, the oldest of the brothers, vaguely recalled being told that Ronan had been in the hospital all that time.
The deception was impressive, but even more remarkable was the fact that as they grew up, it was clear to everyone that Ronan was her favorite. The one child who wasn’t hers had the tightest hold on her heart.
“She’s not my mother,” Ronan said, still studying the drawing.
“Don’t be an ass.”
“It’s biology. I can’t help it.”
Nick wasn’t one to run from a fight, and right now the idea of punching his brother seemed to make the most sense, but he knew that Ronan wouldn’t hit back. He would win by simply standing there, as if asking is that all you’ve got? Which left Nick annoyed and frustrated.
“She raised you from the time you were born. She loves you and you love her. Saying she’s not your mother makes you sound like an idiot. Worse, it hurts her. She has her flaws, but she doesn’t deserve that.”
Emotions flickered across Ronan’s face but before Nick could figure out what he was thinking, they were gone.
“There’s nothing to say.”
Nick swore. “You never call her? You never check in?”
Ronan’s silence was an answer.
“At least no one has to question whether or not you’re Ceallach’s son,” he said. “Talk about being a dick.”
There was so much more he wanted to say. Like the fact that the five of them had years’ worth of memories and those had to matter. That they’d lived and fought and blown glass the way other brothers had played baseball or basketball. That even now they were each defined by their relationship with their father. Especially the three youngest—the artists. He would guess Mathias and Ronan shared his love-hate relationship with the old man, not to mention confusion about their mother—the woman who had loved her husband unconditionally—no matter what he did.
“Those alien flowers I sculpted? They’re for a wedding. Nova and Joel. They were planning to get married anyway, but then her dad got diagnosed with cancer and now they’re determined to have a wedding while he can still walk his daughter down the aisle.”
Ronan started to speak, but Nick held up his hand.
“Don’t,” he said quickly. “You’re going to say something we’ll both regret. My point is you shouldn’t wait. Mom’s already had breast cancer. She beat it, but what if it comes back? What happens when they get old? Are you still going to ignore her then? Dad deserves what he gets, but she doesn’t.”
“She’s not my mother. Everything about my life was a lie.”
Nick rolled his eyes. “Dramatic much? Talk about an excuse. She loves you. That’s all she’s ever done. She took you in when she didn’t have to and she loved you. Now you won’t even call her? There aren’t any words to describe how crappy that makes you.”
“Get off me.”
“Or what? You’ll give me a long, cold stare?” Nick pointed at the drawing. “You know what’s missing? Heart. Because you sure as hell don’t have one.”
* * *
PALLAS HEARD BANGING from the main level of the building. As she was supposed to be the only one working that morning, she started down the stairs to investigate. At the halfway point, she wondered if she should have brought something heavy along, as a defense weapon, then quickly dismissed the idea. This was Happily Inc. Nothing bad ever happened here.
She passed through the ballroom and into the big storage area and found Nick dragging support blocks across the concrete floor.
“Hi,” she said when he paused to take a breath. “I wasn’t expecting you today.”
“I’m not here,” he told her. “Or working.”
“All evidence to the contrary?”
He shook his head. “Good point. I couldn’t get anything done at the studio and I needed to work off my temper so I came here.”
“To move impossibly heavy blocks?”
“I’ll need them in place for the next panel.”
In about three weeks, she thought, studying him.
He looked as he always did—good. Casually dressed in jeans and a worn T-shirt. But there were also signs of tension. Some tightness around his mouth and in the set of his shoulders.
“Want to talk about it?” she asked.
“No. Yes. Hell.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Family stuff.”
“Ah, so it’s serious.”
That earned her a slight smile. “My brother is a jackass.”
You Say It First--A Small-Town Wedding Romance Page 10