I turn to a beautiful young woman with curly, purple, shoulder-length hair, standing with her hands on her hip, staring at Andreas’ mother.
“You were a bonus,” Mrs. Townsend says, making the girl smile. “Stasi, don’t be rude. Introduce yourself to Andreas’ girlfriend,” his mother orders.
The girl with the largest hazel, doe eyes I’ve ever seen turns them on me.
“I’m Anastasia," she says, approaching me with her hand outstretched. “Everyone in this family calls me Stasi, though. You know, ’cause it’s short for Anastasia. Mom says it’s because I couldn’t pronounce my own name when I was a toddler so they had to shorten it. It kind of stuck, I guess.
“Since Dre brought you home, I suppose it means your family now, too. You can call me Stasi. I give you permission,” she says as if bestowing me with an honor.
I grin. She’s kind of adorable in a chaotic, high energy sort of way.
“Yeah, she’s the only one whodoesn’tring the bell before entering,” Andreas tells me before pulling his sister into a hug. “Don’t be a pain in the ass, Stasi.”
“Mom, Dre cursed at me.”
“I heard, and your brother knows to watch his mouth in this house,” Mrs. Townsend says sternly. “And you know not to tease your brother.”
“But it’s fun.” Stasi laughs.
“Aren’t you supposed to be over the little sister, bratty phase by now? You’re twenty-one.”
Stasi ducks when Andreas goes to ruffle her hair.
“Not the hair!” Stasi squeals. “I just got it redone and trimmed for Mom’s birthday.”
Andreas rolls his eyes. “Why is she still in her purple phase?”
“Apparently, it’s not a phase,” his mom answers.
“I’m late because I had to stop by the store to get some vanilla bean ice cream to go with the brownie pie I’m making.” She holds up a bag of groceries in her hand.
“Oh, I need to put this in the freezer.” She suddenly slaps Andreas’ arm. “You almost made me forget to put the ice cream up.”
“Stasi, don’t hit your brother,” Mrs. Townsend says, sounding like she’s said this exact phrase at least a million times before.
“See how I get abused when I come home?” Andreas looks at me with a sympathetic expression.
“Abuse? Ha!” Stasi interjects. “Did you not hear me say I’m making brown pie? It’s not your beloved carrot cake or anything, but my brownie pie is damn good.” Her eyes go wide, and she looks over at their mother. “Sorry, Mom.
“Anyway, I have to prep the kitchen.”
“I can help,” I say, rising to my feet.
“You don’t have to,” Andreas assures, moving to take my hand.
But Stasi moves just as fast.
“Move, big brother. If the young lady says she wants to help, then I say thank you.” She does a slight bow before pushing in between Andreas and me to wrap her free arm around mine.
Thirty minutes later I laugh, watching Andreas’ younger sister at the kitchen counter.
She’s made a lobster bisque and is in the middle of preparing a homemade dressing for the arugula salad I helped her make. There’s also garlic bread baking in the oven now.
“You know, I don’t usually let anyone into my kitchen.” She peers at me over her shoulder, eyes narrowed.
“Consider yourself lucky. Also, you’re the first girl Andreas has ever brought home. Did you know that?” She looks back again.
“Yes, I did,” I reply since Andreas told me as much.
