Page 7 of Happily Ever Never

“Your Uncle Leo could probably eat an entire chicken on hisown. That’s why I brought double what I normally would have.”

I winced at the cost of that. “I’m sorry, Caroline. Youshould have let me bring something. I would have.”

She waved me off. “You have for the past three picnics inthe park. It was our turn. If Alejandro were here to help out,he’d probably eat more than you. But somebody needed to work today. And itwasn’t going to be us.” She winked as she said it, and the love she felt forher husband was clearly etched on her face.

I liked my brother-in-law—loved him, even. He was a greatman who adored my sister to no end. And he was a fantastic father. I didn’tknow how the two of them handled four kids…soon to be six. But they seemed todo it with ease.

And my favorite part?

I got to be Uncle Leo.

The best title I could ever have.

I sat on the blankets, the girls scrambling over me as theyfought a little about who would sit where. My sister moved us around as if shehad done it a thousand times. And, honestly, she had. She organized everybodyin her life and fit them where she needed them. I usually just followed whatshe said because she generally had the right idea.

“Chicken!” Willow exclaimed as she clapped, and then we allgorged on potato salad, macaroni salad, fruit salad, veggies with dip, coldfried chicken, cornbread, and cookies.

I was pretty sure we had enough to feed an army, andconsidering my nieces, we were one. “That was good. Did you make it?”

My sister gave me a look and then threw her head back andlaughed.

“You know I didn’t make this. I can do most things, but Icannot fry chicken.”

“I thought Mom taught you the paper bag method.”

“Oh, I can do that part. It’s the frying part. It alwaysfreaks me out, and I don’t like so much oil around the kids. I bought our lunchfrom the grocery store. Sue me.”

“Hey, it was worth your time to buy it rather than make it.I’m just grateful you shared it with me.” I leaned forward and kissed the topof her head.

“You’re a good brother sometimes.”

“Only sometimes?”

She smiled at me. “So, since I’m here baking these two,”—sherubbed her belly—“and my other four are frolicking inthe daisies in front of us, I have a question for you.”

Foreboding slid up my spine. It was never a good thing whenCaroline had questions.

“What?” I asked through gritted teeth.

“When are you going to settle down, dear brother? Don’t youthink it’s time? I see you with the girls. They love you. They’re amazing withyou. I only want to make sure you’re happy.”

I looked at her and shook my head, a sad smile playing on mylips. “You know I have fun. I’ll find it when I find it.”

My sister rolled her eyes. “You’re a player. You never leadwomen on, but you don’t stay with anyone for longer than a night.”

I shrugged. “I’m not ready.”

“Ready for what? Happiness? You don’t need to sleep withevery woman in Denver to find your person.”

I groaned. “It’s not every woman.”

“Close enough.”

I sighed. “I’ve watched two of my best friends fall in loverecently. And I watched another lose someone he loves.”

Caroline’s face fell. “That poor boy. And now he’s a father?I can’t believe he lost Marley. I can’t believe women can still die inchildbirth with all our advances in medicine.” Tears filled my sister’s eyes,and she put both hands over her belly. “It scares me to death. I had fourbeautiful pregnancies that, yes, had few complications. But twins now? At myage? It’s scary.”

I cursed myself for bringing up Marley. I should not bementioning a friend who’d died in childbirth to my pregnant sister. There wererules, yet here I was, being an idiot. “I’m sorry. Though before I put my footin my mouth again, don’t say ‘at my age.’ You’re thirty.”