Her arms are warm and steady and provide the kind of motherly comfort I’ve never known. She knows Romy is pregnant, yet she still hugs me when she should be kicking me in the balls. Romy was right, it might be okay.
Brad sets down the salad tongs. I met him at the cookout, exchanged a few words, but that was before he knew I’m the guy who knocked up his daughter.
He extends a hand. “Hey, Zander, nice to see you again.”
I shake it, firm as if I’m trying to prove something, convey I’m not going to fuck over his daughter.
“She’s the hugger. I gotta feel you out.” He winks, and I’m unsure how to take that.
“Oh my god, Dad, stop.” Romy takes another piece of bread and puts the tomato concoction over it. “Zander, want some?”
Brad kisses Romy’s cheek, hugs her from behind, and winks at me again before walking back over to the salad. The ease between them is so foreign that witnessing it seems as if I’m staring into a snow globe.
The door bursts open, and a golden retriever barrels in.
“Mack, Mack, Mack!” Romy kneels, hugging the golden retriever. “Oh, I missed you, buddy. I haven’t seen you in forever. Where are they keeping you these days?”
“We’re keeping him in our house. Maybe you should venture away from The Knotted Barn occasionally and visit your family,” Lottie says, stepping into the room.
Brooks follows, still dressed in his sheriff’s uniform. “He’s driving me crazy. He’s getting used to the new land, but I feel like he’s trying to teach all the bunnies he’s the sheriff.” He shakes Brad’s hand, then Darla hugs him.
“Hey, Brooks, keeping our girl out of trouble?” Darla asks.
Brooks chuckles. “Yeah, you might remember, but your eldest daughter finds her own trouble.”
They laugh, and I shift awkwardly until Brooks turns to me.
“Zander, nice to see you. I heard you were going to join us this evening.”
He shakes my hand, feeling firmer than necessary, but who am I to judge? I’m trying to prove who I am here too.
Then the chaos begins. The door bangs open, and two little girls dart into the room, sliding across the floor toward the dog. One of them has a tennis ball in hand.
“Mack, Mack, let’s go!” they say in unison.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, girls,” Darla says.
“Say your hellos,” Brad says, stripping away the tennis ball.
“Where are your parents?” Darla asks.
“They were taking forever, so we ran ahead,” one says.
The girls hug everyone quickly, barely allowing each person to wrap their arms around them. Then they stop in front of me. They look alike but different. Clearly siblings.
“Who are you?” the one with darker hair asks.
“You know who he is,” the other one says. “Don’t act dumb.”
“I’m not dumb.”
“He’s Zander Shaw. We were at the cookout, Wren. Don’t you remember?—”
“Girls!” Romy drops her half-eaten bruschetta on the counter and bolts up. “Let me introduce you.” She stands behind the darker haired one. “This is Wren.” She shifts her body behind the next one. “This is Leia. Girls, say hi to Zander.” She smiles over their heads, and my heart stutters because she introduced me as Zander and didn’t use my last name.
“Hi!” they say in unison. Then they look at Brad and Darla. “Can we go now?” The slight whine in their voices makes me chuckle.
“Go.” Brad tosses them the tennis ball.
