Wyatt drops his jaw. “What? Why her?”
“She didn’t laugh at my name,” I say with a smile.
Gracie beams. She looks the most like her aunt of any of the kids, but that could be because she’s older. Or maybe because the others looked more like a blur than anything.
Lou grins at her niece and nephew. “Come on—let’s feed Patty to the wolves.”
They all flash wicked smiles, then turn and run across the long paved driveway, up the porch stairs, and into the house.
And like they’re leading me on a leash, I follow.
“Auntie Lou is home!” Wyatt calls as we walk into the warm, inviting home.
Faint Christmas music bounces around the exposed rafters. Wide-plank hardwood floors lead from the entry into a living room, where I see a stone fireplace, a huge fake Christmas tree that hasn’t been taken down yet, and bookshelves lined with biographies, history books, and classic novels. Gracie and Wyatt guide us past the living room, so I don’t have a chance to look at the family photos hanging on the walls.
“Where’s WinWin?” Lou asks as the kids pull us through a hallway and into the kitchen. “That’s what the kids call my mom,” Lou says to me, looking over her shoulder.
“WinWin,” I chuckle under my breath.
“I don’t think you’re young enough to call me that,” a voice like rich leather says behind me.
I freeze. My childhood crush, one of the greatest country artists of all time, is standing right behind me, hearing me say something dumb about her nickname.
Stupid, stupid Patrick.
She’s a beautiful woman, a couple of inches taller than Lou, but with her same light blonde hair, almond-shaped light denim eyes, and lean build. But while Lou is a blazing bonfire—intensely bright and hot, drawing people in with her light but with enough sparks to keep them from getting too close—her mom is the steady glow of a fireplace, with a slower burn and lower, more enduring heat.
She holds out a hand a little longer than Lou’s, and I take it, trying not to be starstruck.
I knew some big names in my day, but Winona Williams wasn’t just a name. She was an icon … and my idol. I feel all sorts of awkward meeting her like this, unprepared, after saying something so dumb.
Especially with her very pretty, very fiery, very amused daughter watching.
“I’m Winona,” Winona says, her smile crinkling her eyes.
“Patrick,” I say. “Good to meet you, ma’am.”
“Patrick,” she repeats, keeping her gaze on me, her eyes catching on my jaw before jumping back to my eyes.
I duck my head, hoping the movement is subtle.
“You look very familiar.”
“I have one of those faces, I guess,” I say, growing hot beneath the collar.
Lou and Winona swap a glance and then laugh.
“No, you most definitely do not,” Winona says.
Then she steps away from me to wrap her arms around her daughter, and her hearth fire roars brighter.
“I am so happy to see you!”
“I missed you, Momma,” Lou says, hugging her mom tight.
And when her dad and sisters appear moments later, Lou embraces them all, looking so happy, it bursts out of her like fireworks.
The warmth on her face is so real, so unguarded, it throws me for a loop. If she resents her parents as much as she claims, she hides it well.
