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“What do you like?” Lonan calls from the entryway; I didn’t even hear him come in.
“His tattoo. I got to hear all about the prison tats.”
“Oh, yeah. That was awesome,” he says, walking into the kitchen with a bottle of wine and a small bakery box. “Uncle Lo! Did you bring me anything?”
Maddie leaps into his arms, and with impressive reflexes, he sets down the bottle of wine in time to catch her.
“Madelyn Bridget, we don’t ask for gifts. Sorry, L,” Audrey smooths out Maddie’s hair while she perches in Lonan’s arms. He’s a natural with her.
“Of course I brought you something!”
He sets her down and hands off the bakery box, and she runs off to the dining room table, popping the cardboard flaps and digging into a colorful cupcake.
“Her middle name is Bridget?”
The namesake pulls at my heart. That little girl was given my name.
“It was never a question,” Jack says. “It’s fitting too; she reminds me of you when you were little.” Then he smiles. “But you were more of a pest.”
“Dude, I just got back, and you’re already giving me shit?”
“How long are you going to milk that abducted-child card, huh?”
I drop my mouth in faux shock, and he mirrors my expression before we bust out laughing.
“Rude.”
“Mom!” Lonan says, taking a beer from the fridge, “What on earth are you making? It smells delicious!”
I bite down on my lower lip to hide my grin. Not just because my ego has been stroked but also because their special relationship makes me happy. Mom nods toward me.
“Birdie’s cooking tonight,” she hollers back and gives me a knowing smile.
“Really.” It’s more like a statement as he sizes me up.
I’ve added rosemary, sage, thyme, and garlic to the potatoes and am now adding the last bit of salt and pepper. I pour them onto a hot sheet pan and pop them into the oven.
“Yup. Food should be ready in twenty.”
He leans his hip against the countertop. “Can I help?”
My gaze falls to his chest; that shirt stretched across his broad chest is doing something to me. I want to drag my nails across it.
I clear my throat. “You can set the table.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Mom is watching us carefully.
“Hey, let’s let Birdie finish cooking. Who wants to play a quick round of UNO?” she suggests.
I squint at her and shake my head disapprovingly. She has a sneaky side, I suspect she’s playing matchmaker, considering we’re alone again.
“So, what tattoo did you get?”
“Which one? I have a lot of them.”
I noticed.
