She pulled up short for a moment. “We’re not going to watch the contest?”
“We can if you want, but it’s only going to get—” Before he could even finish his sentence, a loud roar erupted from the living room. “Louder,” he finished, as the din continued. Most of the Storm family was probably crowded into that one room.
“The kitchen sounds great,” she said, suddenly concerned about sitting down to dinner. Her claustrophobia was no joke.
Grayson gave her a quick kiss on the cheek.
“What was that for?” she asked, smiling.
“I missed the hell out of you the last three days. We’re never going to be apart that long again.”
Wren, despite all the bad shit whirling in her head, laughed. This man was perfect. So. Fucking. Perfect.
They walked into the kitchen together, and Mrs. Storm spotted them instantly. She quickly wiped her hands on her apron, then walked over, folding Wren into a warm, motherly hug.
“It’s about time you got up here for Sunday dinner, Wren,” Mrs. Storm said, pulling away but keeping her hands on her upper arms as she took a closer look at her. “Oh my. You’re a beauty, just like your sister Lark.”
Grayson chuckled. “That’s the weird thing about identical twins, Mom. They look, you know…identical.”
Mrs. Storm swatted at her son playfully, then turned back to her. “I raised a brood of smart-asses,” she said. “Though it was bound to happen, considering who their father is.”
As if summoned, Mr. Storm walked through the back door with a platter full of vegetables—zucchini, squash, and peppers—that he’d grilled outside. “What am I getting blamed for now?”
“Your sons being smart-asses,” Grayson replied.
Mr. Storm lit up as he set the platter on the large center island. “Oh, I’ll take all the credit for that.”
Mrs. Storm immediately whipped out a roll of aluminum foil, covering the veggies to keep them warm, as her husband placed a kiss on her cheek. Very similar to the one their son had just given Wren.
Mr. Storm looped his arms around his wife’s waist, standing behind her. Obviously, Grayson also got his size from his dad, because the man was just as tall and broad, while Mrs. Storm was at least a couple inches shorter than Wren’s five-foot-six height.
“From my wife, they all got their good looks,” Mr. Storm added.
Mrs. Storm playfully elbowed her husband, obviously touched by the compliment. “My husband is quite the charmer.”
“Another thing Grayson seems to have inherited from his dad,” Wren said. Then instantly blushed over her candid, revealing comment.
Grayson, like his mother, enjoyed the compliment. He loosely wrapped his arm around her waist, nuzzling his nose against the side of her head. “Glad you think so,” he murmured, loud enough his parents overheard.
They turned as Kasi and Mila entered the kitchen. Kasi had married Grayson’s oldest brother, Levi, and, according to Lark, was currently five months pregnant. The family was calling it a honeymoon baby, but Lark and Remi seemed convinced the baby preceded the vows by a few weeks. Not that it made a difference. Remi swore the second Levi set his sights on Kasi, even a tsunami couldn’t have kept her cousin from marrying her best friend.
Mila was also in a committed relationship, currently living with the farm’s vineyard manager, Boone, and his tween daughter, Sadie. Wren knew Mila the same way she knew most of the Storm family—in a neighborly fashion. They were the “say hello, how are you” in passing kind of acquaintances, though Mila did come to the library every few weeks or so. However, while there, her conversations with the woman were limited to books rather than anything personal.
Everything Wren knew about the Storm family, she’d learned through Lark and, more recently, Grayson.
“Who won?” Grayson asked.
“Levi,” Kasi said, grinning widely, pleased her husband had been crowned the champion.
“Though it was close. Honestly, I sort of think Sam threw it at the end, simply because Remi started threatening that we were all going to eat dinner without them. Sam would rather eat crow than miss Aunt Claire’s chicken casserole,” Mila added.
“You’re not wrong about that,” Grayson said.
“Do you need any help?” Wren offered, though her kitchen skills were limited. And given what Grayson had told her during their nights spent whipping up dinners together, his mom, Kasi, and Mila were practically James Beard award-winning chefs.
“No,” Mrs. Storm replied, just as a timer went off. “That’s what I was waiting for. Grayson, do me a favor. Help your dad open a few bottles of that Chardonnay of yours, while Kasi, Mila, and I put the food on the table. Wren, sweetheart, do you mind going to the living room to let the troops know dinner is ready?”
She nodded, heading back in the direction of the earlier noise. Peering into the living room, she realized she’d been right. The place was packed to the rafters with Storms. Unfortunately, Lark had already made plans with a girlfriend to go shopping in Leesburg and out to dinner, so she didn’t have her twin for support.
