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“Maybe we’ll stop by some other time when you aren’t so busy—”
“And I predicted that you’d be moving to a new town—”
“Bye now, Zig!”
I’m giggling as Mason drags me out of the metaphysical shop and down the breezy sidewalk.
But moments later, when we step into Mason’s grandmother's famous bakery, my nerves are bubbling up again.
Meeting the family? Scary as hell. Even if we are—as Mason said—friends.
Two girls, probably right around my age, are working behind the bakery’s front counter. Judging by the way they dash out to hug Mason—and the identical brown eyes that the three of them share—I’m going to guess these girls are a couple of Mason’s little sisters.
“Girls. This is Karli,” Mason announces, stepping back.
Their eyes grow wide when they see me.
“You brought a girl!?” the redhead asks.
“Oh my god. And she’s so freaking pretty!”The one with wavy chestnut hair says.
They're squealing and freaking out while Mason does a whole lot of eye-rolling.“Thefreaking pretty girlis standing right here,” he grumbles. “And she can hear you.”
His sisters laugh and immediately come over to tangle me up in a hug.
They introduce themselves to me as Ruby and Maya. Ruby is the baby of the family at 23 and Maya is just one year older at 24. We get along immediately.
I’m just about to ask Maya where she found her super cute shoes, when a short white-haired woman strolls out of the kitchen.
“What’s going on out here?” she asks, her voice sweet and melodic.
“Hi, Grammy.” Mason strolls over to the little lady and gives her a hug.
“You! I have a bone to pick withyou,” she says, her stern words contradicting the smile tugging at her face. “Did the boys tell you I made your favorite dish last weekend for dinner? Nobody bothered to tell me that you weren’t com—”
“Grammy, Grammy,” he says softly, trying to interrupt her scolding rant. “I’m sorry about last weekend, but look...I brought someone to meet you.” He gently angles her to face me. Masondidtell me that she was losing her vision.
The lady stops yelling. Then she squints her gaze in my direction. Mason guides her forward, until we’re face to face.
“Grammy, this is Karli. Karli, this is my favorite Grammy.”
“I’m your only Grammy, boy.” She smacks Mason on the wrist, and a laugh bursts out of me.
“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Westbrook,” I tell her, taking her hand for a soft shake.
“Karli,” she says. “That’s such a lovely name.”
“Thank you,” I beam, already starting to feel comfortable in her presence. “And I just have to say, your chocolate mousse pie tastes like heaven.”
Mason’s grandmother grins proudly, patting my cheek. “That’s sweet of you, dearie.” Then she grabs my hand, pulling me toward the display counter, her chatty granddaughters leading the way. “And you’re going to enjoy what I just pulled out of the oven.”
Mason leans over as we pass him by, whispering in my ear. “They all love you.”
Gosh—I love them, too. The Westbrooks sure know how to charm a girl and make her feel welcome.
My heart twitches. And I grin. Again.
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