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After our talk that morning, starting a family was weighing so heavily on me. I wanted to be a stay-at-home mom, but I wasn’t sure how Bash and Mac would react to that. It was a conversation for a different day. I didn’t even want to broach the subject before the final game.
“Where’s Mac?”
Bash motioned behind him, and I glanced over my shoulder, snorting when I saw how high his plate was piled. “What’s he doing?”
“Someone realized he’s Mac Savage from the Evergreens,” Bash whispered, sending shivers down my arm. “They’re plying him with food and he’s happily accepting all of it.”
Mac was navigating a minefield of little kids as he balanced his plate. Countless little boys around nine years old and a few girls a little older swarmed him, asking him a million questions.
“Hey. Let the man breathe.” Ivan, one of James’s countless family members, guided the kids over to a table. “At least let him sit before you bombard him.” He winked at Mac and pulled out a chair. “Need another burger?”
Mac’s eyes widened. “Maybe in a couple minutes?”
“Good, good.” Ivan bustled off, returning to endless rows of burgers sizzling on what had to be a custom-made grill.
“Should we rescue him?”
Bash watched Mac fielding more questions than any press conference and shrugged. “He’s handling it just fine.”
“Are you, though?”
Bash scowled. “Am I what?”
“Handling this.” I nodded toward the small crowd of people that made up the biggest family I’d ever seen.
I had an aunt and a few cousins, plus my grandma was still alive, but it was nothing like this. Even when we had shared vacations with Bash’s family, we didn’t have a third of the amount of people here.
James walked up, a s’more dripping down his wrist. “Ready for dessert?”
I licked my lips, certain I could taste the marshmallow in the air. “Where do I get one of those?”
James pointed to the fire pit, where Nicole was helping her little girl roast a marshmallow. “The sticks are in the box over there. The marshmallows are next to Laurie.” An older woman with hair just like the toddler’s waved to me. “She should have a stack of chocolate bars there, too. Graham crackers are—” He looked around. “Somewhere?”
I laughed and squeezed Bash’s hand. “I’m sure I can find them.”
James tipped his s’more to me and turned to Bash. “Are you a hockey player, too?”
I walked away, giggling at the snort Bash couldn’t contain. As much as my late brother, Rob, had tried to get him interested in sports—especially hockey—Bash had refused every step of the way.
“Here for a marshmallow?” Laurie loaded a roasting stick and handed it to me.
“Thanks.” I grinned and held it over the fire. “You have a pretty spectacular family.”
Despite three large canopies and a yard full of kids clamoring for Mac’s attention, everything was peaceful. Not quiet, but jubilant. Everyone was chatting and eating, making more food, cleaning up as they went along.
“We do?” Nicole asked, keeping the toddler from touching a smoldering marshmallow.
“You really do. I don’t know if my family could ever get together like this. How often do you see each other?”
Laurie frowned and watched the man grilling burgers. “We’re at each other’s houses all the time.”
“Do you live around here?”
“No, we live in Vancouver. James and Susan own this property and invite us to stay as much as we want during the summer.”
“We’re from Vancouver, too. No wonder some of the kids have heard of Mac.”
“My husband played hockey, too.” She motioned toward a man who was making his way to us. “On the east coast, though. And not professionally.”
