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CHAPTER 9

WYATT

I stare at the front door of the Bardot house and realize I’ve never been in this situation before and I’m not going to lie meeting my soulmate’s family is terrifying.

I ring the bell and juggle the fucking flowers and bottle of wine. My palms are slick. I’m supposed to be the guy who keeps his shit together under sniper fire, but right now I’d rather bodycheck a stampede of crazed groupies than walk through this door.

It opens fast, and June Bardot stands in the frame. She’s about five-four, auburn hair streaked with silver, and sharp blue eyes that seem to see right into my soul. She’s wearing a floral blouse tucked into jeans, and her arms are crossed in the universal pose of “we’ll see if you’re worth my daughter’s time.” She gives me a once-over, no apology, then sets her mouth in a polite smile.

“Wyatt,” she stares unblinking. “Come in.” She steps aside and I enter, boots barely making a sound on the glossy hardwood. “Please call me June.”

Inside, it’s all family photos and weird, homey art. Every surface seems to have a story. I see a crooked vase holding three petrified roses, a faded theater poster with a hand-written “Congratulations, Naomi!” in gold marker, the glass bowl of candy sitting on the hall table. It’s lived-in, not staged, and the air smells like roasted chicken and something spicy.

“I hope you like Pinot.” I hand her the bottle of wine I grabbed from Roman’s extensive collection. He assured me this will impress so I’m believing him.

June closes the door behind me with a deliberate click. “Thank you for the wine,” she says, taking it from me. She doesn’t look at the label.

“These are also for you,” I say, and my voice comes out with a goddamn hitch that shows how fucking nervous I am.

Her eyebrows go up as her steely eyes soften a little. “I hope you’re not just buttering me up.” She gives me a tentative smile.

I look her dead in the eye. “Is it working?” I pull on my collar theatrically. “Cause I’ve never tried to impress a mother before.” I lay my cards on the table.

“No one has been worth the effort?” her eyes harden again.

“No,” I shake my head. “I haven’t ever dated. I was too busy dealing with rockstars who acted like toddlers to even consider subjecting someone to that lifestyle.”

Her mouth opens and closes silently for a few seconds before she asks, “Seriously?”

“It’s part of why I wanted to leave that lifestyle. I’m ready to settle down. It seems the universe decided to have mercy on me when it dropped the most wonderful woman in the world right into my life.”

“Holy shit.” She breathes. “You’d better not be spinning lines or you’ll find out just how Bardot women deal with assholes.”

“I’ve already seen Bardot women in action and I’m not brave enough to piss one of you off.” I give a fake shudder.

She lets out a bark of laughter and, just like that, some of the tension dissipates. She sets the flowers on the counter and starts hunting for a vase, calling out, “Naomi! Your young man is here!”

I hear a thump from somewhere upstairs, then footsteps. My entire nervous system runs on red alert.

Naomi appears at the top of the stairs, hair down, wild, in a sleeveless green dress that looks criminally good on her. Her mouth splits into a huge smile when she sees me. She bounds down the steps and closes the distance in three seconds flat, then wraps her arms around my waist. She smells like vanilla and heat. I pull her close and kiss her, just a quick one, but it crackles anyway.

“Hey,” she says, low and private. “You survived the front lines.”

“So far,” I mutter, but her smile makes it worth it.

Casey arrives with the subtlety of a tornado, skidding around the corner in cutoff shorts and a “Free Britney” tee that hangs off one shoulder. Her hair is wild, two streaks of pink on either side, and her eyes are already locked on me like she’s about to cross-examine a hostile witness.

“Hello, Wyatt,” she says, folding herself onto a bar stool and grabbing the wine bottle off the counter. She spins it, inspecting the label. “You charmed mom. Let’s see what you can do with me.” These three women come as a package deal and I’m ready to keep them all. I haven’t had a family in years and this feels like coming home. “I’m Casey. Your worst nightmare and also your new little sister.”

“Good to meet you, Casey.” I look over at Naomi, who’s watching with love shining from her blue eyes. “I’ve always wanted a sister.”

June finally finds a vase and starts shoving the stems in with gentle violence. “Naomi, can you help set the table?” she calls, then turns to me. “You drink wine, Wyatt?”

“Yeah. But you don’t have to⁠—”

“Nonsense,” she says. “You brought it, we’re going to drink it.” Her tone brooks no argument.

I follow Naomi into the dining room, where the table is already half-set. She nudges me with her hip and whispers, “Relax. You’re doing great. Casey only bullies people she likes.”