I’m too busy gawking at the fit of the clothes and the outline of her body that they show.
“You don’t think it’s too tight?” Iris says, pulling a bit at the sweater.
“It’s perfect,” I tell her, my voice a little hoarse from the need that overwhelms me.
“If you say so,” Iris says softly.
“You’ll fit right in,” Tate adds.
“Is this the outfit I’m going to die in?” Iris peers up at us, her eyes shining less brightly than they usually do.
Tate hops off the stool and heads toward Iris, grabbing her hands as soon as she’s close enough. “Babe, look at me.” She waits a moment for Iris to gather herself. “You’re not dying today unless the universe has it out for you. I have faith in my gramps, and you should too.”
Iris stares at Tate with a slight quiver to her bottom lip. “Okay,” she whispers as Tate squeezes her hand.
I stalk across the loft, making quick work of the distance, until I’m next to them. “In a few hours, this will all be a memory,” I say, wrapping my hand around her upper arm and hauling her to my chest. “I promise it’s almost over.”
Iris curls her fingers around the material of my T-shirt as she nuzzles against my chest, placing the top of her head under my chin. “I believe you.”
Tate looks up at me, her eyes saying everything without moving her lips.
I’m a goner for Iris, and no matter how much I want to deny it, Tate may be right.
Iris just might be the one.
12
IRIS
Before today,I’d never been around a group of strangers who felt more like family than my own blood.
“Iris, honey. Do you want another serving?” Brax’s grandma, Betty, asks me as she stands over me with a spatula full of eggplant parm. But it’s not just regular eggplant parm. It’s the best I’ve ever tasted…exactly as promised.
“Um.” I glance down at my empty plate, wondering if I’ll even be able to walk after this meal.
“You have room for a little more,” she says, not waiting for me to say yes before sliding the mountain of cheese-covered veg onto my plate.
Tate laughs at my side. “You have to learn to say no to her or else you’ll need a new wardrobe.”
I drag my eyes to hers, already wishing I had on apair of leggings with an elastic waist instead of her skintight jeans. “I can’t say no. Not yet.”
Gigi, the cousin from Florida, rubs her stomach. “Your parm may be better than my grams’,” she says to Betty.
Betty stops dead in her tracks and turns toward Gigi with the biggest smile on your face. “That’s quite a compliment.”
I lean over toward Tate, dropping my voice. “I don’t know what you two were talking about. Your grandmother is lovely.”
Tate stares at me without a smile. “Wait until after dinner. She’s being good right now.”
My stomach turns, and I’m not sure if it’s because of what happens after the meal is served or because I ate enough to feed a small family of people and not just myself. “Great,” I whisper.
“I love nights like this,” Brax’s grandfather—Tino, as he told me to call him—says from the head of the table.
He’s exactly how I pictured him after hearing his voice over the phone while he talked to Brax. He’s stunningly handsome with his salt-and-pepper hair. I can imagine the way he had the ladies swooning in his younger years because I’m pretty sure, even at his age, he could be quite the catch for women even decades younger than himself.
Will Brax look like him in forty years? Probably. There isn’t an ordinary-looking person around thistable. Not even the ones who married into the family. I suddenly feel plain in a world of pretty, and that doesn’t often happen to me.
I’m not stunning or model-worthy. I’m cute with thick curves, big boobs, and a nose that I’m thankful I’ll never need to have surgery on to have it fit my face. I’m not conceited about my looks, nor am I down on myself either. I’m happy with who I am, how I look, and how my body fills out a pair of jeans…even if they’re too tight tonight.
