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“Can I show you the new toadstool we found?” Nicky thrust his hand into mine, pulling me away from the cabin toward the forest.
I cast a glance back at Mike to see if he minded. He smiled, genuinely at ease. And there was something else in his eyes—a satisfaction, like maybe I had just passed a test I didn’t know I had been taking. He watched me go with the children until Dillon suggested that they go inside to get the meat.
I wanted to be there to reintroduce Mike to Macy, but I supposed they could handle that themselves. Instead, I put on my best “fun aunt” smile and appreciated the collection of mushrooms sprouting beyond the driveway. As we were discussing the dangers of eating said mushrooms, Jason and Lindsey pulled up in their truck.
The kids instantly abandoned me for the prospect of young Mary Ellen. I followed them back toward the house, smiling generally until Lindsey stepped out of the truck. She unbuckled Mary Ellen and set her on the ground, to the delight of Macy’s kids.
“Hi,” I welcomed my boss.
“Hi,” she said.
Jason stepped out of the cab at the same moment as Mike and Dillon exited the cabin, plates of burgers and dogs in their hands.
“Mike, you already know Lindsey. This is Jason, Lindsey’s husband.” I stuck my nose into the crowd to introduce the guys. “Jason, this is Mike, my…”
“Date,” Mike supplied easily, offering his hand to Jason.
“You work at the lumberyard, right?” Jason asked.
“That’s right,” Mike said.
“Grab a beer.” Dillon indicated the cooler. He went to the grill, setting down his plate of raw meat. The rest of the guys naturally gravitated toward him, circling the grill. Jason grabbed a brew, and the three of them fell into an easy discussion of woodworking.
“Help me get the burger fixings from the truck,” Lindsey said.
I followed her around the side of Jason’s truck, and she loaded my arms with buns, grabbing a grocery bag full of ketchup, mustard, and pickles. We worked on arranging the picnic table, pausing when Macy came out to greet us. Lindsey made a move toward the beer cooler, but Macy grabbed her back. She put a finger to her lips, grabbed her best friend by the hand, and led us into the house.
In the kitchen, Macy opened the refrigerator and proudly produced a bottle of Kahlua. “We can make White Russian shakes.”
“Oh my gosh!” Lindsey gasped. “I can’t.”
“Just one,” Macy argued.
“Okay,” Lindsey sighed.
“Tammy?” Macy asked.
“One,” I agreed. My stomach wasn’t used to something so decadent, so I knew one would keep me satisfied all night.
Macy sourced the ice cream from the freezer, spooned it into the blender, and added more Kahlua and vodka than she should have. We abandoned the men to cook and take care of the kids and had our own little party in the kitchen.
“Mike seems nice,” Macy said, licking froth from her upper lip.
I giggled. “Dillon said more to him in five minutes than he’s said to me in almost a month.”
Macy blushed. “Dillon’s a man of few words. I guess that’s different when it comes to men.”
“As soon as Jason learned Mike knew anything about wood, he was hooked,” Lindsey said.
“Jason’s into wood?” I asked, already starting to feel the buzz.
Lindsey nodded. “Woodworking. He’s made chairs and end tables for us, and toys for our daughter.”
“That’s nice,” I said. “I don’t think Mike is a craftsman. I think it’s just a job for him.”
“You never know.” Lindsey shrugged.
“Mike likes fishing,” I said, memories of that recent trip bringing heat to my cheeks. “But I’ve never heard him talk about woodworking.”
