“They moved to Florida when Astrid was five,” Mom says, smiling as Freja and Alma make their way toward Callan’s little sister. “The house sat empty for years.”
“That explains the neglect,” his father says.
Dad makes introductions, and then Tony goes with Dad to the grill to finish cooking the meat while the three girls race down the steps and run toward the trampoline. “I’ll get drinks,” I say, asking the adults what they’d like before turning to Callan. “What would you like? We have iced tea, water, a bunch of different sodas, and there is also coffee.”
“Water is fine, thanks.”
“You should help.” Mrs. Hunt sends some silent communication to her son through her eyes.
“Sure.” His smile is a little strained. “Lead the way.”
We walk in silence into the kitchen. “I’ve got this if you want to go back outside,” I say.
“It’s cool.” His smile is more genuine this time. “How long have you lived here?”
“My parents bought the house a few months before I was born,” I explain, opening the refrigerator and removing drinks as I talk. Beer for the two dads. White wine for the moms, water for us, and sodas for the kids. “Dad met Mom when she was modeling at twenty, and it was love at first sight. Within six months, they had gotten married, bought this place, and I was on the way.”
“Wow, your dad wasn’t messing about.”
“No, he wasn’t.” I love my parents’ love story. They are still every bit in love as they were at the start. Dad worships the ground Mom walks on, and she adores him. They make a great team, and they are the best parents. “I guess when you know you know.” There is a lot more to it, but I’m sure Callan has zero interest in my parents’ romantic history.
“Right.” His fingers brush mine as he takes the bottle opener. “My parents met their last year in college, and it was pretty much the same story. Married and knocked up with my brother, Dara, within a year.” He pops the lid on the beers as I pour white wine into two glasses.
“I think it’s great our parents are still together, happy and in love, after all this time.” We walk out of the kitchen, side by side. “It’s a big achievement, especially when divorce rates are on the increase.”
“I’ve never really thought about it.” Callan opens the double doors for me to step outside first. “But I guess so.”
We walk across the deck.
“Thanks, Astrid.” Mrs. Hunt accepts the wineglass with a wide smile as Callan strides past the table, heading toward the men at the grill. Callan’s mom buries her nose in the top of the glass, inhaling sharply. “This smells delicious.”
“There is nothing quite like a crisp, chilled glass of sauvignon blanc on a warm summer’s day,” Mom says, adding, “Thanks, sweetie,” when I hand her a glass.
Callan catches my eye as I move to go back inside. “Stay there. I’ll get the rest.”
“I can get them,” I protest. He is a guest after all.
“I’ve got it. Sit.”
“If you insist,” I say over a smile, watching as his long-legged stride eats the distance to the doors in record time.
When I look around, both moms are smiling at one another, and I turn about ten shades of red, knowing exactly what that look is for. I clear my throat. “How are you liking Ryemont so far?” I ask Callan’s mom.
“I am so in love with this town. I didn’t realize somewhere so picture-perfect existed. In some ways, it reminds me a lot of Ireland, and in other ways, it’s completely unique.”
Callan returns, hugging bottles of water and soda to his chest, as his mother gushes about living here. He hands me a water and places his on the table before jogging down to the trampoline and handing our little sisters a soda each.
“He’s very thoughtful,” Mom says, gesturing in Callan’s direction.
“He’s an amazing big brother,” Mrs. Hunt supplies before sipping her wine. “Erin adores him, and he’d do anything for her.”
“Sounds like Astrid.” Mom pats my hand. “She always has time for her sisters, and she’s very patient with them.”
“It seems like you and Callan have lots in common.”
“Ma, stop.” Callan sinks into the seat alongside his mother. “Please.”
“What did I say?” She fixes him with innocent eyes, but I recognize a meddling mother when I see one. They mean well, of that I’m sure, but it’s freaking embarrassing.
