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"Charlie, this is Reagan. Reagan, Charlie Mallick."
"It's so nice to meet you. Thanks for having me to your home," I said, holding out the box of cigars.
I knew it was the right choice when his eyes lit up. "I'm going to have to sneak outside with these, or my wife will have my head. But thank you, sweetheart. You'll want to bring her in to see the women," he added to Nixon before moving off to show his sons his gift.
If I wasn't mistaken, as Nixon led me through the house, I was pretty sure I saw four black-haired heads following one silver-and-black one out the front door. Likely to open the box. Which gave me a warm feeling as we closed in on the back of the house where female voices were raised. Happy, laughing.
"Nixon!" a dark-haired, dark-eyed woman to whom the resemblance was too striking to be anyone else than his sister. Scotti. "And look, Nixon brought a girl everyone!" she added, making conversations stop, heads swivel.
"Well, he better have," a woman, older than the rest, beautiful as all of them, broke away from the crowd, wiping her hands on a rag as she went. "That was the rule," she added, giving Nixon a warm smile as she stood before us. "Do I need to school you on your manners?" she asked when he didn't immediately begin introductions."
"Helen, this is Reagan. Reagan, Helen."
"Tell me, Reagan. Are you here against your will?" she asked, trying to make her voice grave, but her eyes were dancing. "Blink twice if you are," she added, making a laugh bubble up and burst out of me.
"Our Nixon here hasn't had the best track record with the ladies," another brunette declared as she rolled something out on the counter.
"Lea," Nixon supplied, voice near my ear.
"Thanks for having me," I said to Helen, holding out the box of chocolates. "You have a lovely home."
"Ohh," another woman said, moving in closer. This one was blonde and heavily tattooed. Her hand was reaching out toward the box.
"They're not for you," Helen scolded, whacking the woman on the hands with the box. "Alright. You go hang out with the men who are trying to pretend they're not smoking cigars in the backyard," Helen told Nixon, making me smile even wider. "Leave the girl with us."
"Will I get her back in one piece?" he asked, raising a brow at her.
"If she is strong," Helen told him, making him chuckle before leaning down by my ear.
"They're nice. Just overwhelming. I'll be back in a few."
With that, he sauntered off, and I turned back to face shocked expressions. One woman, a black-haired beauty wearing a shirt that declared I'd Rather Be With My Dog was clutching a hand to her chest. "Aww!"
"Down, Savvy," a mermaid-haired woman with tattoos demanded, shaking her head. "For all you know, they might just be organ grinding."
"Can you cook, Reagan?" Helen asked, placing her chocolates above the refrigerator before going back to snapping green beans.
"I am a really sufficient stirrer," I declared, earning a smile from a few of the gathered women.
Seven in total were my age or older, likely the girlfriends or wives of the Mallick and Rivers brothers. Another was younger. A late teenager, by my estimate. Pretty like her mother--the one with tattoos.
"Quick introductions. We have... Scotti, Savea, Peyton with the crazy hair, Dusty over there washing potatoes, Lea, Autumn at the stove, and then that is Mayla by her mother, Fiona."
"I promise to try to remember a third of those," I told them as I moved closer to the island, looking for some way to make myself useful. But as I was decidedly not a cook of any sort, I had no idea what to do.
"I know, it's archaic, isn't it?" Fiona asked, rolling her eyes. "The men get to be out there smoking cigars while we little ol' ladies have to be in the kitchen slaving away at a meal."
"She's just bitter because she has been banned from doing any of the real cooking."
"I burned the sauce once. Once."
"And by 'burned the sauce,'" Lea chimed in, "she means she set Helen's stove on fire."
"Well... who left me unsupervised?" Fiona shot back, nudging her daughter to the side so she could help roll up what looked to be croissants.
"So, Reagan, what do you do?" Scotti asked, clearly the one who had more of a stake in who I was as a person since I was supposed to be dating one of her big brothers.
"I run a whiskey company."
"Shut up," Fiona said, shaking her head. "That is too rom-com-y. Isn't it?" she asked. "Nixon loves whiskey, she..."
Fiona trailed off as the back door flew open, ushering in a man who had to be one of Nixon's brothers. The same height, similar build, same hair, same eye color. Only this one was a bit tanner than Nixon. And his smile came easily and fully.
