Before either of them could continue, a blonde woman approached us. She wore a pair of stylish black pants, low-heeled boots, and a beautiful wool coat tightly belted at her trim waist.
“Good morning, Jordan,” she greeted him with a smile. “Sorry, I’m late.”
I realized then that this attractive, fit woman was Jordan’s aunt and she didn’t look a day over forty-five, much less fifty-four.
“Good morning, Joyce. Let me introduce you to Tanya Blake and her father, Will Blake.”
She smiled warmly at me and I saw that her sparkling eyes were the same shade of blue as Jordan’s. When I held out my hand, she took it and pulled me closer to kiss my cheek. “Wonderful to meet you, Tanya Blake. You’re exactly as Jordan described you.”
“Thank you. It’s lovely to meet you as well. Jordan has told me quite a bit about you.”
“Don’t believe it all, dear. He tends to exaggerate.”
I heard Jordan chuckle behind her and felt the last of my nerves melt away. Because of Jordan’s tendency to remain aloof and cool with people, I expected Joyce to have a similar demeanor. An expectation that I was thrilled she didn’t meet.
Instead, Joyce Hawke seemed warm and friendly.
She released me and held her hand out to my father. “A pleasure to meet you as well, Will.”
I watched as my father took her hand, my eyes narrowing slightly. Suddenly, he looked…different. Rather than shaking her hand, Dad held it as he looked down at her. I understood then that my father was flirting with Jordan’s aunt. Right in front of me.
The hostess came over to let us know our table was ready, thereby saving me from what would surely be a disaster. I glanced over at Jordan with wide eyes as my father and Joyce walked ahead of us toward the table.
He outright laughed at the expression on my face, his arm curving around my waist. Leaning in, he whispered in my ear, “I think your father is smitten.”
“I noticed,” I murmured back. “How likely is it that he’ll offend your aunt with his flirting?”
Jordan continued to chuckle in my ear. “Oh, I’m more worried about your father than Joyce. She’s a handful.”
I grinned at him, our faces a few inches apart. “He’s used to that. He had two independent, stubborn daughters.”
“Then this will definitely be an interesting meal.”
We came to a stop by the table and Jordan gave me a light kiss on the lips before pulling out a chair for me. When I settled in the seat, I looked over to find Joyce smiling at me with a soft expression on her face. My father stood behind her, clearly having helped her with her seat as well. Jordan took the chair to my right and my father sat across from me.
Joyce leaned over, placing her hand over mine. “Thank you,” she murmured.
Confused, I also leaned toward her. “I’m sorry?”
She squeezed my hand. “He so rarely laughs and almost never in public. Thank you.”
My head felt light as I nodded at her and straightened in my chair. I knew Jordan wasn’t an overly emotive man at work or with strangers, but I hadn’t known that he was the same with his family.
I glanced at him to find him smiling at my father as they talked. I wondered if perhaps the change I was seeing in him wasn’t just because we were getting to know each other, but something more.
My anxiety faded away completely as the meal progressed. After a mimosa and entertaining conversation with Joyce, it was impossible not to relax. The food was delicious and my father seemed to enjoy himself as well.
After we ate, my father tried to pay the check, but Jordan insisted he should take care of it since he had issued the invitation. To my surprise, my father didn’t argue any further.
Instead, he said, “Tanya and I meet for dinner on Thursdays. Why don’t you join us this week?”
I was equally shocked and pleased by his invitation to Jordan. The fact that he asked him to Thursday dinner meant that he honestly liked him, but it took me by surprise because Thursday dinners were a family tradition. While Tessa and I were in college, boyfriends were not allowed at Thursday dinner.
“I will definitely be there,” Jordan replied, earning another approving nod from my father.
As we gathered our things and walked out of the restaurant, Joyce fell into step beside me, her cell phone in her hand.
“Give me your number, dear, and I’ll call or text you next week. We can meet for lunch or a drink when you’re free.”
