She looks absolutely beautiful.
And again, it’s not how she has her hair down with curls swishing against her shoulders that are left bare by the baby blue sundress she’s wearing. It’s not her long tan legs underneath the hem of that dress. It’s not the simple, pale pink gloss on her lips or the white sandals on her feet or anything else about her physical appearance.
It’s her smile. It’s her laugh. It’s how she jokes and teases with my brothers. It’s how comfortable she is around my parents and how much they obviously like her. It’s how her sister and her parents obviously adore her, which is evident just in the way they smile at her and watch her when she’s not looking. It’s the way my nieces lit up when they saw her walk into the room.
It’s just the way she fits here.
She’s already a part of my life. She knows all of the important people to me, and they all like her and enjoy having her around.
Dating Mia Hansen—doing even more than dating Mia Hansen—would be so fucking easy.
Except for one man.
Scott and Peyton did, in fact, attend the party.
And Scott is now sitting at the picnic table with my father and my uncle Ty. They each have a beer in hand and are chatting and laughing easily. They’ve known each other for years and Scott fits here as comfortably as Mia does.
I cast one more look at Mia, to remind myself that this is absolutely worth it, then head to the picnic table and take a seat next to Ty.
“Nice,” Ty comments when he notices my painted fingernails.
“I see you went for the sapphire blue,” I say. He grins and wiggles his fingers, but only one hand is painted.
“You couldn’t decide on a color?” I ask Scott, the only one at the table with no paint on the tips of his fingers.
After Mia and Sloan painted the girls' fingernails, they all wanted to practice. Because all of their friends' fingernails were already done, it fell to the adults to be the test subjects.
We all had happily volunteered. Chelsea is having an amazing time. I haven’t seen her smile this much in months.
“I got a mani too,” Scott says. He holds his hand out and I peer closer.
His nails are shiny. “Clear polish doesn’t count,” I say.
He chuckles and lifts his beer. “You’re just jealous you didn’t think of it.”
He’s right.
I take a long swallow of my cola, then say, “Scott, hey, I’ve been meaning to tell you, I think the pavilion plans are great. I know the other day we got off on the subject of all the animals and stuff. But I did want to tell you that.”
He looks surprised, but nods. “Thanks. I know that spot probably has some nostalgia for you.”
Fucker. Yes, I drank and smoked down there. But really? Did he have to bring that up when I was being nice?
He seems to realize what he said and holds up a hand. “I’m sorry. I appreciate it. And it’s fine that you didn’t say anything. You were busy. We threw a lot at you. That’s my fault. I should’ve called you a long time ago.”
I nod. “You should have. It would’ve been a lot easier.” Then I realize I did the same thing. He has apologized. I should just accept it and move on. So I shake my head. “Sorry too. We’ll get it taken care of now. It’ll be fine.”
“Even with the cats? You can get eight cats moved?”
“No. Moving them isn’t a good idea. That’s their territory. They’ll probably just end up back there if we try to relocate them all at once too quickly.” I glance at my dad. He just takes another drink of beer. “And one’s pregnant. I’m afraid she’ll return and have kittens in the work site somewhere and we won’t know it. Instead, Mom and Dad are going to take them in.”
“All eight?” Scott asks, turning to my dad.
“Temporarily,” Dad says.
I chuckle. Eight is a lot of cats. Especially when one of them is about to turn into five or more. “We’re going to work on taming them. Get them fixed. Socialize them. Then get them adopted.”
“We?” Scott asks.
