Stephanie laughed. “Oh, I like that.” Then she gestured to the quiet, silver-haired man beside her who had also stood up. “Thisis Dr. Boyfriend.”
The man extended his hand with the patience of someone who had long since accepted his fate. “William Blakely.”
“He insists,” Stephanie said, waving her champagne glass. “I find it lacks panache.”
“Nice to meet you, William,” Charlie said.
He gave her a smile that suggested he was used to being the straight man and had made his peace with it. “You as well,Charles.”
“Smart man,” Stephanie told him, then she kissed his cheek.
Gina pulled Charlie away before Stephanie could reel them in. They made their way to the massive leather couch where Wren was sitting, close to Frankie's armchair. Frankie had her head turned and was talking to Rochelle. She didn't notice them until Charlie sat down across from her.
“Hey, you,” Frankie said, beaming. “Moving in going okay?”
“Yes, thank you.” Charlie glanced toward the fireplace where Lachlan Campbell was approaching Ben and Kyle. She watched Lachlan look Ben over with a raised eyebrow.
“Nice skirt, lad.”
“Skirt?” Ben replied, eyebrows raised. “It's an Irish kilt.”
“Oh dear, here they go,” Gina said, shaking her head with a soft smile. “We've lost them.”
“What do you mean?” Charlie asked.
“Oh, just listen. This'll be hilarious.” She tilted her head, considering. “So long as they don't come to blows.”
Charlie's eyebrows rose. “Really?”
Gina put her finger to her lips and gestured with her golden eyes toward the men. Charlie tuned into their conversation, Gina grinning beside her.
“I'm not saying that Ireland's kilt tradition rivals Scotland's,” Ben was saying. “But it does have a legitimate history.”
“Uh-oh,” Gina whispered.
“Legitimate history? Only if you're talking the nineteenth and twentieth centuries,” Lach rebutted.
“The léine predates your Great Kilt by centuries?—”
Lach snorted. “A léine is practically a dress?—”
“It's a long tunic and a precursor?—”
Charlie looked at Gina. “How long does this usually go?”
“Last time? Forty-five minutes.” Gina sipped her wine. “Kyle had to physically separate them.”
“They're not going to?—”
“No, no. They’re great friends.” Gina smiled. “Lach is the same way with Kyle about whisky versus Irish whiskey with an E.”
“And when he’s not arguing with Ben about kilts, it’s about mead,” Arden said, appearing at Charlie's elbow with a tiny bundle in her arms. Her grey eyes were soft and warm. “Do you want to hold him?”
Charlie looked at the baby. She hadn't held a baby since—since her little brother was an infant. She looked at Frankie.
“It’s fine if you want to.” Frankie answered her unasked question with a smile.
“Yeah,” Charlie said, surprising herself. “Okay.”
