“Twice. Once after I graduated. And the one time I came here to see them. She was pregnant with Mason then. Dad didn’t make it a pleasant trip. I think he was anxious about becoming a father again and I was in the way. I never came back, and Dad never came to see me.”
“So, it’s been?—”
“Five years.”
“Wow. That’s a long time.” I can’t imagine going that long without seeing my parents.
Light flickers through the window of the door; someone is coming.
“Have I mentioned that Felicity is only a few years older than me?”
I peek through that window, trying to get a better look. That’s right, he said that. I was a little too focused on the whole “brother” fact. “I mean, she has a four-year-old. So, a big age gap, then?” Not that I care. What does it matter to me if Roman’s father has a young wife?
“Twenty-four years.”
I swallow. “Oh. My entire life. My life is their age gap.”
It doesn’t matter. It just feels a little surprising. She’s just a mother-in-law. Astepmother-in-law. Nothing crazy. Nothing shocking. She’s young. So what?
And yet, when Felicity Graves opens those double doors—because she swings both open, not just one—I am stunned.
The woman looks like a modern version of a red-headed ’70s movie star with strawberry curls bouncing on her shoulder and designer jeans hugging her hips. She isadorable. Someone I’d share fries and a fully leaded Coke with, while talking about my ex. And yet, she is my mother-in-law.Stepmother-in-law.
“Roman!” she cries, throwing out her arms.
Roman glances at me, his eyes widening. Is he asking for permission for this woman, his hot little stepmother, to hug him? If so, my answer is,over my dead body.
But Felicity doesn’t gather Roman up. No, she drops her arms, her smile just as wide as before. “Peter said you’d back out, but I knew you wouldn’t. We have been waiting and waiting for a visit. It’s been so long.”
“Probably as long as I’ve been waiting for Dad to come to a game.”
I gulp nervously with Roman’s dry tone, trying not to choke. Grumpy Roman is back. But Felicity seems unfazed.
“I’ve been keeping up with them online. You had a great season.” Then, Felicity, a redheaded Margot Robbie, turns her gaze on me.
I stiffen next to Roman and fear a little for my life. She isn’t going to hug me, right? I’m not actually wanting to share fries and gossip about old boyfriends.
“Stella?”
I press my glossed lips together and nod. “That’s me.”
“Are you a hugger because Roman is not a hugger, and it’s been the hardest part about being his stepmother.” She winks. Maybe she is a fifty-seven-year-old woman inside of a thirty-year-old’s body.
“Umm.” My brows pull together, unsure what to say. This is Roman’s family. I don’t want to be rude.
“She’s not,” Roman says.
I nod. “He’s right. I’m not. No hugging. I don’t even let this one hug me.” With my free hand, I pat Roman’s chest. “We never touch. Never ever.” I let out an uneasy, semi-fabricated laugh.
“Never?” Roman grunts.
But Felicity’s eyes drop to our knotted hands.
“Well, not never,” I say, an anxious edge to my voice. I glance at Roman, realizing what a stupid claim I’ve made—and yet, I am committed. “We touch sometimes. Depending on the situation. Mostly when we have to.”
Felicity’s brows knit. She is concerned for our marriage—with good reason.
While I’m a nervous ninny, Roman is calm. Isn’t he supposed to be the anxious one today?
