He patted her on the knee.
Just think about it? As if she’d think about anything else for the near or far future.
They arrived at his aunt’s house, and he walked her to the door, her thoughts still frazzled.
“You’re welcome.”
“For what?” she asked.
He gave a smile filled with a healthy dose of male superiority. “For giving you something better to worry about than impressing my so-called aunt.”
Chapter Eighteen
Erin wanted to punch Smith in the head, but he seemed too pleased with himself. He could tease her all he liked about being nervous, but she saw the anxiety he tried to suppress with humor.
“Quit with the ‘so-called.’ She wants to think of you as her nephew. It’s sweet. You be nice.”
He raised a brow. “Yes, ma’am.”
She huffed and crossed her arms over her chest.
He put an arm around her shoulders and waited.
The house looked massive on the outside, and situated on the water, not far from the ferry, it had to be worth a pretty penny. She’d learned from Smith that Jane Griffith, Evan’s mom, was related by marriage, so she didn’t actually have a blood tie to Reid or Cash. Her husband had been brothers with Reid’s father. Despite learning Cash’s father was not her husband’s brother, Jane insisted nothing had changed. She loved her nephews and considered Smith family.
Erin liked her for that already.
The house though, that she’d have to take in bit by bit. Erin felt overwhelmed, the homeowner obviously one of wealth and means. Apparently, Jerome, the owner, was a retired geologist who’d made his money in oil before retiring to teach. Now fully retired, he planned to marry Jane, who’d been widowed many years before.
“Jerome is cool,” Smith told he again. “A damn nice guy. And Jane—”
“Aunt Jane,” she reminded him.
He sighed. “Aunt Jane is nice. Remember, she’s older than Evan, around Tilly’s age, I think.”
“I know. Stop fretting.”
“I’m not fretting,” he muttered. “How long does it take to answer the damn doorbell? Are they five thousand miles away in the wine cellar or what?”
“Maybe the butler is otherwise occupied,” she teased.
“Or he killed them all with the candlestick in the ballroom.”
After a pause, she shook her head. “That was just bad.”
He sighed. “I know.”
The door finally opened, and a man who resembled Reid opened the door. Handsome, with a bright, charming smile and pale gray eyes, he looked well at home in khaki’s, a white collared shirt, and loafers.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Smith asked.
She pinched him.
“Ow.” He frowned down at her.
“Hi. I’m Erin. And you must be…Evan?”
“Good guess.” The stranger shook her hand and drew her inside, ignoring Smith, who swore after him. “Jerome, my mom’s sugar daddy—”
