Page 88 of The Trouble with Flings

He cuts the engine and turns to me in his dark blue button-down and jeans, those piercing eyes watching me, making sure I’m okay. “What’s the plan, wild girl? When are we telling them?”

My pulse quickens again. “After dinner. Big news always sits better on a full stomach.”

“After dinner it is.” He grabs the flowers from the back seat and comes around to help me out.

As I step from the car, his gaze trails down my cream shirt, which I’ve knotted at my waist, and pleated coral maxi skirt, then back up again. I’ve been feeling rounder lately, pudgier, but the way he looks at me obliterates every critical thought I have about my body.

“I know you’re nervous about what’s going to happen in there,” he says, “but it sure doesn’t show. You look as confident and beautiful as ever.”

Too nervous to properly appreciate that sweetness, I bundle it up and tuck it away. “Save that charm for my family. You’re probably going to need it.”

“I’ve got plenty to go around,” he says cockily. “But seriously, I know you’re worried, so here’s your friendly reminder that those people in there love you unconditionally. If they ask too many questions, or someone says something that rubs you the wrong way, it’s only because they care about you.”

“I know they do, and I appreciate the reminder, but aren’t you nervous about meeting them?”

“Sure, but I know we’re doing the right thing, and that keeps me focused on what matters most, which is making sure you’re okay.”

He takes the cake box from me, hands me the flowers, and says, “Ready?” as if he didn’t just blow me away for the millionth time with his thoughtfulness.

“No,” I say honestly.

“Think of this as a dress rehearsal for when we tell my parents on Easter.”

I gulp air into my lungs, my nerves kicking in anew. “A dress rehearsal for the most difficult day of my life. Got it.”

He leans in and kisses me. Then his hand takes up residence on my lower back, solid and warm and intensely reassuring.

I look at the house where I had dozens of arguments when I was a rebellious teenager and more good times than I can count. I know when I walk in that door, it’ll smell like baked bread, Jared will be wearing a path in the carpet because he’s incapable of sitting still, my niece and nephews will have everyone wrapped around their little fingers, and Fitz is right: they’ll all love me no matter what. Yet my family has no idea what’s coming, and in my heart of hearts, I want them to love him, too.

I stop walking before we reach the porch and turn to him.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, concern brimming in his eyes.

“Nothing. I just want you to know I’m really glad you’re here with me.”

“I’ll always be here for you. As long as you let me.”

His words steal my breath. My own confession is right there, vying to be set free, but my throat tightens around it. I force myself to push through that fear, working hard to get it out, because he deserves to hear it. “It’s not just that you’re here. I want you to know that I wouldn’t want to be in this situation with anyone else.”

The tension in his jaw that I hadn’t realized was there eases, and relief rises in his eyes, sending another rush of emotions through me.

“I wouldn’t want to be in this with anyone else, either.” His hand slides to my waist, his strong fingers curling around it, and he says, “We’ve got this, wild girl.”

I cling to that as we climb the porch steps, and the front door opens. At six foot five, bearded with collar-length dark hair and darker eyes, Jace fills the doorframe, and the sight of him loosens the tension in my chest the way it always does.

“Hey, sis.” He pulls me into a hug. “Missed you.” His gaze shifts to Fitz, filling with recognition and surprise. “Silver? Great to see you, man.”

“You too,” Fitz says, shaking his hand.

Relief washes over me, but before I can get a word out, Jayla and Rush appear at Jace’s shoulders, and Jared materializes like he was launched from a catapult. Three sets of curious eyes move between us.

“Told you it was a dude,” Jared announces.

“Jared,” I chide my filterless, tatted brother, dressed in his standard T-shirt and jeans.

“Jared, this is Fitz Silver, Wells’s brother,” Jace says.

“Seriously?” Jared says. “Nice to meet you, man. I’ve heard great things about you.”