Mr. Basil gives me a kind smile and waves me to sit down. “Oh, please, honey. We don’t stand on formality around here. Call us Stan and Muriel.”
Leah scoots her plate over to give me space to sit next to Holt. There’s already a bowl in front of me full of chili. It smells fantastic. “Stan, Holt said you have a famous cherry pie?”
“It’s nothing but a bit of dough and jam.” Stan blushes.
“Oh, please, Dad,” Gage scoffs. “It wins the blue ribbon at the county fair every year.”
“Except for that one year,” he grumbles.
“Because you had the stomach flu and were laid up in bed for three days,” Holt reminds him.
The conversation takes off from there, and I’m not sure how anyone can hear what another person is saying. There are at least three different topics being discussed, and every person at the table is participating in all three. It’s madness.
“Thank you for coming,” Holt says just to me. “I know I didn’t give you much of a choice, but I’m glad you’re here.”
“I’m glad to be here too. It reminds me of my family dinners at home.”
“Loud and mildly invasive?”
I laugh. “Exactly. My parents have a group of friends they’ve known since they were kids. They’re basically my aunts and uncles, and they have regular get-togethers just like this.”
“Gia, what is it that you do for work?” Muriel asks meover the noise of her sons bickering over which teams will make it into the hockey playoffs.
“I’m a graphic designer.”
“A creative type. I like it. Holt has always had a very logical brain. Even when he was little, he would make sure all the boys were playing games by the rules. There was no room for interpretation.”
Holt makes a derisive noise. “Rules are there for a reason. They keep everyone honest.”
“Says the lawyer,” one of the twins says. I haven’t figured out which one is which yet. One has tattoos lining his tan arms, and the other is wearing dark-framed glasses, but nobody has used their names yet.
“He’s always been a stick-in-the-mud. You should drop him for someone more fun like me.” Gage winks.
Holt scoffs, his hand clenched in a fist.
“I don’t know. Holt can be very fun.” I smirk at him, making it clear I mean in bed.
He melts a little at my compliment, and I revel in the pink staining his cheeks.
“Hoo-wee, I can feel the heat all the way over here,” Stan teases.
“Do you need to turn the fan on, Pop Pop?” Lauren asks, her concern genuine.
Everyone laughs as Stan tells her he’ll be okay. As the conversation turns away from Holt and me, a hand lands on my thigh. Even through my leggings, the warmth of Holt’s palm seeps into my skin. His thumb makes tantalizing sweeps across my leg. I want to spread my legs and see how far he’ll slide his hand up my leg, but I’m not going to do that surrounded by his family.
We eat until we’re almost too full to have dessert, but the smell of Stan’s pie makes my mouth water.
“Holy shit,” I moan around my bite. “Sorry for cursing, but this is the best dessert I’ve ever had in my life.”
“Thank you, sweetheart. These yahoos don’t appreciate my cooking anymore. They eat like a bunch of hoodlums and then leave me with barely even a goodbye.”
“Hey!”
“That’s not true.”
“You’re so dramatic.”
Each Basil brother protests in some way, and Stan cracks up laughing. I soak up the familiar feeling of family. I’ve missed mine more than I can say, but this has been a perfect substitute.
