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Her eyes light up and she bounces on her diapered booty, clapping her hands with the kind of excitement grown-ups reserve for winning the lottery. Ah, to be a baby and thrilled by simple pleasures.
“I call all the garlic bagels!” Nash says, lifting a hand my way with a grin. “Morning.”
“Good morning,” I say, a little unnerved by that grin.
Nash and Nick are brothers, but they don’t look that much alike—Nash is taller, broader, more muscled, and much more conservative in his dress and habits. The don’t even sound alike. Nash has his mama’s southern twang, while Nick seems to have lost any drawl he might have had after living in the city. If I didn’t know better, I wouldn’t even think they were related.
At least, not unless I saw them grinning side by side.
They have the exact same smile, the one that was on Nick’s face last night when he assured me he didn’t mind coming back to my place.
Ugh.
“You can’t have all the garlic bagels,” Aria says, hustling back into the living room and snatching the bag from my hand. “If you’re eating garlic; I’m eating garlic. Otherwise, I’m not kissing you until the stink wears off.”
“Fate worse than death,” Nash says, grin widening as he meets his wife’s eyes.
Ugh again. I want to be grinned at like that. I really, really do.
“Then I’ll take one garlic,” he amends, “one plain, and Skeeter and I will split a cinnamon raisin.”
“Eet eet!” Felicity cries out and reaches for Nash to pick her up.
“I didn’t know she could say ‘eat’ now!” I turn to Aria with an excited smile. Felicity’s only had three words for a while—"mama,” “no,” and “deer”—but I can’t wait for her to have more. I want to know all the thoughts racing through her squirrely little head. I have a feeling my niece is going to be a hoot to talk to once she can communicate.
“She doesn’t. That’s how she says ‘Skeeter.’” Aria shoots Nash a mock glare as he passes her on the way to the kitchen, Felicity babbling happily in his arms. “Nash’s delightful nickname seems to have stuck.”
“It is a delightful nickname,” Nash says. “Isn’t it Skeeter?”
“Eet!” Felicity shouts with such enthusiasm I can’t help but laugh.
Aria sighs and rolls her eyes, but she isn’t fooling anyone. I’ve never seen my sister this happy. She and Nash are made for each other, and the family they’ve created together is something really special.
“Come on.” Aria loops an arm around my waist. “Help me get some of these in the toaster oven. I’ll make coffee and then we can go out on the patio and have a talk.”
“How did you know I came to talk?” I ask, letting myself be led into the sun-drenched kitchen, where Nash and Aria’s paintings fill the walls, leaving no doubt that two artists are in residence, even if one of them happens to be a police captain and the other a pastry chef.
“I’m psychic,” she says with a mischievous grin. “And you’re never out of bed before nine on a Saturday unless you’re upset about something.”
“She’s wise, this one.” Nash settles Felicity into her highchair and crosses to take Aria in his arms and press a kiss to the top of her head.
The moment is so sweet and loving that my heart lurches in my chest, happiness for my sister warring with the miserable certainty that I’m never going to find a love like Nash and Aria’s.
“You two take the last of this pot and go on out for your talk,” he says, hugging Aria closer before gathering the bagel bag from her hand. “I’ll take care of the bagels and the fresh pot of coffee.”
“Thanks, baby.” Aria pushes up on tiptoe, pressing a kiss to Nash’s cheek. “Make sure Felicity eats something other than a bagel. Fruit or something healthy.”
“Got it,” Nash says, moving into the kitchen.
Minutes later, Aria and I are settled on the patio in the late September morning sunshine, two steaming mugs of coffee with extra cream clasped in hand.
It’s a gorgeous day—bright, but not too warm, with a crisp, clean scent in the air that promises autumn isn’t too far away. Even before we dive into the sister talk, I feel my spirits lift.
With sun on my face and someone who loves me ready to listen, my problems suddenly seem more manageable than they did a few hours ago.
“So, what’s up?” Aria asks, drawing her feet up into her chair. “Did the audition go badly?”
“No, it went fine,” I say, a little shy about the nature of my questions now that the time has come to ask them. “Better than fine, really. I think I have a decent chance. There are more people auditioning this weekend and then they’re going to have a band meeting to discuss next steps, but we should know who got the job by Monday. Tuesday at the latest.”
