“Wyatt, over here!” a woman calls out.
I look over and suck in a breath.
She’s gorgeous. She’s probably in her mid-to-late thirties and has long black hair that looks almost blue when the light hits it. They look nothing alike. Then again, I guess they don’t have to, since they are cousins, but still, she looks nothing like I expected her to.
“Reagan,” Wyatt says fondly as we walk toward her.
When we get close, he drops my hand and pulls her into a hug, lifting her off her feet.
The beautiful woman laughs and slaps his shoulder.
“Put me down, you fool,” she teases.
“Maybe I don’t want to,” he quips as he sets her down.
Her face softens as she reaches up and cups his cheek. “How are you?” she asks softly.
“I’m good.”
“We’ve missed you.” She bops him on the nose.
He chuckles. “I’ve missed all of you too.”
I shift from one foot to the other as I watch them interact.
My movement catches her attention, though, making her eyes dart to me.
“Wyatt Scott, did you forget your manners? You’re supposed to introduce me.” She scolds him with no heat.
Wyatt steps away from her and touches my back lightly, pushing me forward.
“Reagan, this is my girlfriend, Lyla. Lyla, this is my cousin, Reagan.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” I say as I hold out my hand to shake hers.
Reagan pushes my hand to the side and pulls me into a hug. “Sorry, we hug around here. Handshakes are for business deals,” she murmurs.
Wyatt laughs. “I remember when I was a kid and you thought differently. In fact, I distinctly remember you not being the touchy-feely type before you got married.”
Reagan pulls away and rolls her eyes. “Oh, shut up.”
Wyatt looks over at me and smiles. “No, seriously, she became all soft and shit when she became a mom and then again when she got married.”
“I did no such thing,” she protests as she sits down.
Wyatt pulls out a chair for me, and I sit.
“Thank you,” I murmur to him softly as he takes a seat next to me.
“You’re welcome,” he says before looking back at Reagan. “How’s the family?”
I glance over and note the dreamy look on her face. “They are fantastic. Dad and Grandpa are still being pains in my ass, and Nick is growing like a weed and falling more in love with football by the day.” She looks over at me. “In case this fool didn’t tell you anything, Nick is my son.”
“Oh, that’s awesome. How old is he?”
She winces. “A preteen. It’s not pretty in our house right now. It’s all body spray and growth spurts.”
Wyatt and I laugh.
