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I’m unloading my third run of the dishwasher when I sense him. My smile is already spreading on my face when I look up to find Bobby leaning over the bar. I have less than a heartbeat to react before he grabs me around the back of my neck and pulls me toward him for a proper hello.
His kiss is a mint-flavored claiming of my mouth that leaves no corner unexplored or possessed. I feel more than hear him hum, “Mmm.” With two quick smacks that promise much more, he pulls back, and I fall back to my heels, only now realizing that I’d lifted to my toes to reach him too. “Missed you today.”
His tone is heavy, but even so, I think he’s kidding. I mean, I know what he said last night and this morning, but it’s seriously been maybe ten hours and he’s been working, same as me. I’ve thought of nothing else all day, but he probably hasn’t given me a thought until he was on his way here. But that’s okay, he’s here now and quite obviously happy to see me. His eyes scan me from head to toe, seemingly in awe of what he sees. I don’t understand why—I’m just me—but the intensity in the depths of his eyes, the relief at merely seeing me again, is near palpable.
From behind him, a deep voice barks out a laugh. “That’s putting it mildly. Dumb fuck wouldn’t shut up all day. Willow-this and Willow-that. If he hadn’t been talking about you all damn week, I would’ve thought he’d taken up with a tree.”
Bobby takes the teasing good-naturedly, to my surprise, throwing up a middle finger behind him to whoever spoke but grinning as he does so. He explains, “I’ve been holding ’em back with promises of introducing you when you were ready. Well, ready or not, here they come.”
He steps to the side, and I realize that the group of folks behind him aren’t the latest rush for the bar to grab a round of beers but Bobby’s entire family. The extended one. I can tell who is whom from listening to his stories.
His oldest brother, Brody, dark and broody, and Rix, short and savage and currently picking what looks to be grease from beneath her nails. I hand her a napkin, which she takes with a dip of her chin.
Brutal, the teaser who is, to put it nicely, scary as hell and as tall as a tree. Not just any old tree, either, but one of those Christmas trees you think looks grand until you get it in the house and the top bends sideways because it’s smooshed up against the ceiling. That’s Brutal. Even with several feet between him and the ceiling, he just feels . . . big. Next to him is a blonde wearing white frayed-hem shorts, a blingy tank top, and a kind smile. That’d be his wife, Allyson.
Another lighter version of Brody, grumpy and seemingly put out at being out, so that’d be . . . Mark Bennett. He’s got his arm locked around Katelyn, a curvy blonde whose eyes haven’t left his. They seem to be having some sort of silent conversation that even from here feels private.
A blonde guy wearing a big belt buckle and holding hands with a pretty brunette, who’s eyeing me curiously. That’d be James and Sophie Bennett. She works for Doc Jones, and he speaks highly of her intelligence and work ethic.
And last but not least, a younger-looking woman with honey brown hair, who is currently bouncing on her boot-covered toes and being held back by another blonde guy. Luke and Shayanne Bennett, A.K.A. Bobby’s sister.
“Let me at her. I’m a hugger, it’s who I am!”
“Shay, she’s working. And she doesn’t even know you. Hugging could be construed as assault,” Bobby warns.
“Pshaw,” she argues, as if that’s an actual argument. I get the feeling that in her eyes, it is. And that it usually works and she gets her way. But I already like that she’s a hugger, even if she’s on the other side of the bar.
“Hi,” I say, waving awkwardly. “I’m Willow.”
Smiling faces greet me, and almost in tune, they answer, “We know.” Brutal adds, “Fuck, do I. Nonstop, I tell you. Non-fucking-stop.”
Allyson lays a hand on his forearm, and he looks to her and shrugs. “What? It’s the truth.”
Bobby isn’t as nice and backhands his brother’s arm with a smack. “Shut up, man. Did I go around telling Allyson when you were all boohooing over her and whining about how you couldn’t live without her? No, I did not. So don’t fuck this up for me or I’ll never babysit Cooper again and you’ll be forced to sneak in quickies while he’s watching a twenty-minute cartoon. God knows I love the kid, but he’s got the attention span of a gnat, so twenty is pushing it. Maybe . . . eight at most.”
