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The house itself was a two-story construction of tall, dark wood and gray stones that gave it a distinctive and charming Colorado vibe. What she liked about it the most was that it looked like something that would feel like a home. Big enough to hold a large family of boisterous kids but not so big that it felt like a museum. Her father’s house a case in point.
“This doesn’t look like a restaurant.”
“Who said anything about a restaurant? Just a place to get some real home cooking.”
“Home cooking?” She looked at him and back to the house. “This isn’t your place, is it?”
He smiled wryly. “Mine? Hardly. I’m currently living in Conner’s fixer-upper along with him and Tyler. No, this is my parents’ house.”
“And why are we here?”
“Because it’s Sunday, which means family dinner.”
“Yes, but I’m not family.”
“It’s loosely interpreted. Trust me. They’re going to be happy to meet you. Plus it will save them from having to make up some excuse to stop by the office to meet you.”
She hesitated, which was her mistake when Reynolds hopped out of the car and came around to open her door, not giving her any choice but to step out as he stood there waiting for her.
“I promise,” he said, leaning down to meet her eyes. “They’re not going to bite.”
Okay, she supposed it wouldn’t hurt to stop in for just a few minutes. And it was only fair considering he’d just had the pleasure of meeting her father and all of his friends.
“All right,” she said and got out, taking a moment to press out the wrinkles from her dress. “You don’t think I’m overdressed?” she asked, noticing he wasn’t grabbing his dinner coat from the back seat where he’d placed it after they made their escape.
“You look great.”
Her stomach a flurry of nerves, she headed up the path to the porch, where, without waiting for anyone to answer it, Reynolds opened the door and walked in.
Like the outside, the interior of the house and the rooms they passed were simple but beautiful without unnecessary embellishment. Family photos lined the walls, photos she wanted to park herself in front of and try and identify which one was Reynolds but decided it would have to wait until after the nerve-racking introductions were over.
“There he is,” said a guy with sandy-brown hair standing at a kitchen island, piling strawberries on a plate. “Mom said you had some other obligation, but I was certain you were just avoiding more wedding planning.” The guy stopped when he saw her, and his smile broadened. “And who do we have here?”
Immediately, several pairs of eyes turned in her direction, and she felt her face flushing with the attention.
“This is Waverley, everybody,” Reynolds said. “Waverley, this is my family.”
Helpful.
An older woman with a short blond bob and sparkling brown eyes got up from the table and came over. “Hi, Waverley. I’m Kim Cavanaugh, Reynolds’s mom. It’s nice to finally meet you, dear,” she said and leaned forward, wrapping her arms around Waverley and hugging her before Waverley could tell what she was about to do.
“Nice meeting you, Mrs. Cavanaugh. I hope it’s okay that Reynolds brought me along.”
“Call me Kim, please. And you’re always welcome.” She turned around. “Let me properly introduce you to everyone. That’s my husband, Hank, over there on the couch, who appears incapable of ripping his attention from the television.”
At hearing his name, an older handsome man with Reynolds’s dark brown hair and build stood and started walking toward her. “Nice to meet you, Waver—” But before he could take two steps, the two younger guys seated around the couches shouted at the television.
“Come on, ump. Do you need glasses?” one of them shouted. “That was a strike.”
Hank stood in front of the television in similar disbelief at what was happening.
“Sorry about that,” Kim said. “We have a lot invested in this game. Those two are my sons, Landon and Tyler.”
“Hey, Waverley,” the guys said and grinned at her before returning their attention to the TV.
Both sons were incredibly good-looking, with thick brown hair, easy grins, and muscular builds. The one with gorgeous blue eyes she figured was Landon from the way he’d nodded to her as his mom had said his name. The other one, Tyler, had brown eyes like Reynolds but, unlike Reynolds, a mischievous glint in his eyes and dimples that were impossible to miss.
“And this is my other son, Conner,” Kim continued, turning back toward the kitchen and the tall guy with green eyes and sandy-brown hair and a mouth full of strawberries, who’d been the first to greet her, “who is stealing all the strawberries.”
