It’s everything.
“You really don't,” I mutter, turning onto the long driveway lined with oak trees. “My dad especially. He has zero filter. Like, literally none.”
“I can handle inappropriate humor, Grant. I'm not exactly delicate.”
I know she's not delicate. This is a woman who trains for the Olympics, who survived losing her mother, who adapts towhatever life throws at her with a resilience that leaves me in awe. But my family could test the patience of a saint.
“Just... don't say I didn't warn you,” I tell her as the main house comes into view, already surrounded by vehicles. The whole clan is here, apparently.
Mia's eyes widen at the sprawling ranch house with its wraparound porch, shutters flanking every window and the massive barn behind it, where colorful streamers announce my mother's birthday celebration. “This is where you grew up?”
“Home sweet home,” I confirm, parking the truck. “Ready?”
She takes a deep breath, then nods. “As I'll ever be.”
She doesn’t know what she’s walking into.
But hell if I don’t want her to walk in anyway. Right beside me. Just like this.
I lead her toward the house, hyper-aware and loving the feel of her hand in mine and the curious glances already being thrown our way. We don't even make it to the porch before the tornado that is my family descends.
“There he is!” Dad's voice booms across the yard. He strides toward us, arms outstretched, wearing his ridiculous “Kiss the Cook” apron over a button-down shirt. “And he's brought a girl! The world must be ending!”
Mama appears beside him, swatting his arm. “Eric, behave yourself.” She turns to Mia with a warm smile that reminds me why I love her so much. “You must be Mia. We've heard so much about you.”
“All lies,” I interject quickly, earning a laugh from Mia.
“It's lovely to meet you, Mrs. Taylor,” she says, extending her hand. “Happy birthday.”
Mama bypasses the handshake and pulls her into a big hug. “Call me Celia, honey. And thank you for coming. It's not every day that my most elusive son brings a date to family dinner.”
“She means her mostemotionally constipatedson!” Christian shouts from somewhere in the background.
Mama ignores him and turns to me. “What? It’strue!” she says innocently, but there’s mischief in her tone. She releases Mia from the hug and stage-whispers with zero actual volume control, “He hasn’t brought a girl home since high school. We were starting to think he’d secretly joined a monastery…or a cult.”
“I can hear you,” I deadpan.
Dad steps forward, sizing Mia up with a gleam in his eye that makes me instantly nervous. “So you're the city girl who's got my son walking into walls and forgetting his own name.
“Dad—” I start, but Mia interrupts.
“I wasn't aware of my wall-walking influence,” she says smoothly. “Though that might explain the bruise on his forehead.”
Dad's eyebrows shoot up, and for a split second, I worry he'll say something truly mortifying. Then he throws his head back and laughs, the sound echoing across the yard.
“Y’all know how many Taylor men it takes to fall in love? One. Grant. And apparently all it takes is a sundress and a sharp tongue.” He laughs at his own joke, stepping in next to me.
“I like her,” he declares, slapping me on the back. She's quick. Good luck keeping up, son.”
Before I can respond, the rest of the Taylor siblings descend. My older brother Connor shakes Mia's hand formally, ever the businessman even at family gatherings.
“Connor, loosen up man!” Ryan the oldest Taylor sibling says, slapping Connor on the shoulder and rolling his eyes as he offers her a quick hug. “Ignore him. He was born wearing khakis”.
Christian my youngest brother is next and hugs her and immediately launches into the story of how his plumbing disaster led to her staying with me to anyone with ears within a 100 yard radius.
“So technically,” he concludes with a grin, “you should be thanking me for your current living arrangement.”
“I'll send a fruit basket to express my gratitude for the sewage in my rental,” Mia deadpans, and Christian barks out a laugh.
