“So glad,” he says on an emphatic exhale. “Other than you almost dying in the woods, this has been the best weekend of my life.”
Same, my man.
Jake and an unusually subdued Bellamy have disappeared with the dogs, but Michael walks quietly behind us as we make our way toward the door. Connor keeps sending suspicious glances his way. “Can I help you with those boxes, Mike?”
He shakes his head without a word.
“It’s Michael,” I hiss at Connor. “Not everyone likes nicknames, Conman.”
“We’ll call you Numpy.”
“We are never calling me that.”
A panting Veronica meets us at the door, her cheeks rosier than ever as she hands me the crutches, and I really can’t turn them down since she went to all the trouble of getting them for me.
“The kitchen staff is setting up a brunch buffet in the lobby for the guests,” she tells Michael. “Which means you’ll have about an hour to prep and set up your desserts.”
He just nods and smiles. Why is he being so quiet now? Did he leave his voice box in the cabin? Did his brother punch him in the throat? Should I be worried?
Veronica takes our jackets, and while we’re waiting for her in the lobby, Seamus comes striding over with his twin brother, Stephen. “Michael, I’m so glad you’re here. When I invited you, I was hoping I’d have more time to introduce you to the rest of the family before the party. I had no idea we were in for that storm. You remember my brother Stephen. Can I take one of those containers?”
Michael shakes his head, and when Seamus doesn’t ask what the hell is wrong with him, I realize that this might be what Jake meant when he said his father thought he was shy.
When I can’t stand the silence, I decide to jump in. “I think he’s got it, Seamus. He’s been working on the elements of it all weekend, and he’s just excited to put them all together. He told me your kids asked and he couldn’t say no to them. I think he likes being an uncle,” I add with what I hope is an endearing grin.
Seamus and Stephen exchange a look.
“They did ask him,” Seamus confirms with a fond expression, “and we’re grateful, since Tasha was working on another project with the kids and didn’t have the time. Mom loves this dessert. She’ll love it even more knowing family made it for her.”
Michael clears his throat. “I’m glad I could help.”
He can speak! It’s a miracle.
“You’re Bex’s friend, Win,” Stephen says, holding out his hand and flashing his perfect politician smile. “We’re all feeling very lucky that Michael decided to stay at the cabin this weekend, otherwise we might not have found you. I’m glad to see you’re not too banged up after your ordeal.”
He eyes my crutches and the scrape on my cheek in concern.
“It wasn’t that much of a hardship,” I assure him. “I got to eat fancy cookies and recover on the couch while he cooked and kept the fire going. There was only one problem.” I pause for effect. “The man would not stop talking. Just a constant stream of chatter. And don’t get him started on Turkish soap operas or you’ll never shut him up.”
The twins have the exact same chuckle, which is both cool and creepy.
“He is a talker,” Seamus says dryly, following my lead. “Which is odd, because his brother is so introverted and quiet, I hardly ever notice he’s there.”
I glance over at him to make sure he isn’t embarrassed or insulted by the teasing. When I see him smiling ruefully, I inwardly sigh in relief. Thank goodness he didn’t leave his sense of humor back at home along with his voice.
Not home. A rental honeymoon cabin I’ll never see again. Same for those cute dogs, and probably Michael, once this party is over. My good mood deflates as swiftly as a popped balloon.
“We’ve got to get our baker to the kitchen, guys,” Veronica says into the lull. “Why don’t you two grab some brunch and enjoy the rest of the day with your family?”
Efficient. Good instincts. I definitely like her.
She and Connor walk beside us as if to protect us from any more interruptions, regaling me with their multiple mini-dates as I maneuver down the hall with the crutches, trying topretend I actually need them and they aren’t cumbersome and uncomfortable.
A wingman’s work is never done.
She’s telling me about what they did yesterday as we walk through the double doors of the lodge’s kitchen. “Then for lunch, he asked me to give him a little ski instruction in the training room. One on one. I used to teach here during the busy season, so of course I said yes. He’s very athletic, isn’t he?”
Connor puffs out his chest and I try not to laugh. “That’s what I hear.”
