by Amy Knupp
“The North Brothers? North Brothers Sports? And you didn’t tell me?” Kennedy said.
“I only found out the night of your wedding.”
Kennedy’s mouth was still hanging open when Adam Riccio, who was William Eldridge’s assistant, blond, close to Sierra’s age, clearly ambitious and organized, and had been the main contact throughout the process so far, entered the room and made a beeline for Sierra.
He shook her hand and said, “You did a fantastic job tonight.”
“Thank you.” Sierra smiled and hid all of her doubts. She introduced Kennedy and then said, “It sounds like the mansion will be beautiful regardless of who wins. But I hope it’s my company.”
Adam laughed, then got serious. “I’m sorry about the inappropriate questions from other panelists,” he said, his voice dropping in volume so that said panelists didn’t hear. “I assure you Mr. Eldridge is not concerned about the winner’s gender.”
“That’s reassuring,” Sierra said, feeling gratitude down to her toes that he’d clarified that.
“I’ll be honest,” Adam said with a conspiratorial tone, “if anything, your answers to those questions knocked it out of the ballpark and helped your cause rather than hurt it.”
Kennedy gave Sierra’s wrist a subtle squeeze, as if to say I told you so, and then Adam was off in a flurry to grab a flute of champagne and congratulate the other finalists.
Exhausted now that the adrenaline of presenting was wearing off, Sierra forced herself to thank each of the other panelists, Crum included, and then she and Kennedy took their leave, walking out to her truck in silence.
“How do you feel?” Kennedy asked once they were inside the cab.
Sierra exhaled and thought about the question, the keys still in her hand. “I feel pretty damn good. It’s been a hellaciously crazy week of prepping, but I stand behind every last bit of my proposal. I did my best.”
“You rocked it. I’m so proud of you.”
It was almost embarrassing how much those words meant to Sierra, but she’d spent her life wishing her older siblings took her more seriously, respected her. Maybe they had all along and she hadn’t seen it. She didn’t know, but she believed her sister now, and she leaned across the cab to pull her close in an awkward, one-armed hug. “Thank you. Love you.”
“Love you back. Now let’s go home. My sexy husband is waiting for me, and you need to call your sexy guy.”
“Not mine,” Sierra qualified. “Yet. At least not that he’ll admit.” With a smug grin, she started the truck and backed out.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“You sure you’re ready for this?” Cole asked Sierra as he parked his truck in front of his mom’s house Saturday evening.
For the dozenth time since he’d shown up at her apartment half an hour ago, he shoved down the guilt that was dogging his ass, determined to not let it ruin their time together. He’d been in Birmingham since Thursday, putting everything into place for construction to start on the remodel Monday morning. Of the four new properties, Birmingham was the simplest and also the most urgent. But because of it, he’d let Sierra down on her big presentation, and he was still trying to forgive himself for that. At least she’d been able to hire a new foreman yesterday, though it would take time and extra work for her to get him up to speed once he started.
“Are you kidding? I can’t wait to meet your mom and get to know the rest of your family.”
Shaking his head as he smiled—he couldn’t seem to get the smile off his damn face since he’d laid eyes on her, in spite of his underlying self-recriminations—Cole opened his door, hopped down, and hurried around to help her out. She was already climbing down when he got there, but he took her hand anyway, not because she needed it but because he wanted to touch her.
“You look good,” he said into her ear, then pressed a light kiss along her jawline as they walked up the driveway.
Good was an understatement, even though this was a casual family get-together, a laid-back gathering to celebrate his job with North Brothers Sports. It was late November, the Saturday before Thanksgiving, and winter was flirting hard with Nashville, but Sierra had skipped wearing a coat. He’d inventoried every piece she wore when he showed up at her apartment, imagining taking each one off of her later tonight—a button-down shirt with the ends tied at her waist under a long, soft gray cardigan, jeans that hugged her slender legs, and ankle boots with a slight heel that made her legs look all the longer. Around her neck was a necklace with multiple strands and charms, and a silver bracelet jangled at her wrist, both of which he might or might not remove later, because a guy only had so much patience. Her hair cascaded in soft waves over her shoulders, and he ached to run his fingers through it as it draped over his pillow…
With a little laugh, she leaned into him. “You look good too.”
He laughed with her. “In my jeans and thermal shirt.”
“Your good jeans and thermal shirt.”
When they got to the front door, he opened it, as usual not stopping to ring the bell, and guided her in with his hand at her waist. He kept it there as they headed through the two-story entryway toward the noise that was his family, hanging out in the open family room, dining, and kitchen area.
“There he is,” his aunt Liz said as they came around the corner into her view. She stood near the dining table, well-dressed as always in dark jeans and a cowl-neck sweater, her chocolate-brown hair with lighter highlights making her look younger than her sixty-three years. “Man of the hour.”
The rest of the family called out greetings as he and Sierra approached.
“What do you mean? I only get an hour?” Cole said.
He went to the head of the table, where his mom sat, looking happy and content, even though Cole suspected she detested being parked at the table instead of in the kitchen, busy and in charge. Her color was good, her cheeks the slightest pink, and her eyes sparkled with the joy of having her family around her. He put his hand on her shoulder and said, “Hi, Mom.”
“Hey, cousin.” Miranda, the only female of all the North siblings and cousins, came up to him and bumped him with her hip before putting one arm around him and giving him a side hug. “Congratulations. We’re happy to finally have you in the family biz.”
“Thanks,” Cole said, kissing the side of her head, hoping to hide his discomfort with being the center of attention.
“Took you long enough,” Connor, the oldest North cousin, said, reaching up from one of the dining chairs to give Cole a fist bump.
“Everyone, this is Sierra Lowell. This is the North family,” he told Sierra, “plus a couple of wannabes.”
“I’m their third mother,” Geraldine Fleming called out as she removed a pan from the oven.
“That’s about the truth,” Liz said of her and his mother’s best friend.
Cole went around and introduced everyone. “Geraldine Fleming, a.k.a. Third Mother, and Logan North, tech geek extraordinaire in the kitchen with Gabe, who you met. Liz North, my aunt—”
“And second mother,” Liz said as she poured red wine into a glass and handed it to Miranda.
“It’s a good sign that these ladies claim you all,” Sierra said, garnering a collective laugh and a couple of smart-ass remarks directed toward the two women.
“You’ve met Mason, and next to him is Gabe’s lifelong friend Lexie Gallagher, who we’ve pretty much adopted as a sister, Miranda, Connor, and this,” he said, squeezing his mom’s shoulder, “is the leader of our people, my mom, Faye.”
“Only because she’s oldest,” Liz said.
His mom pushed up from her seat, and Sierra graciously said, “You don’t have to stand, Mrs. North.”
His mom straightened the rest of the way, turned toward Sierra, smiled at her, and pulled her into a hug. “It’s Faye, and it’s so nice to meet you, dear.” When the hug ended, she said, “I’ve been sitting so much I think my butt size has increased by two inches on each side, just in the last hour. These peo
ple are bossy. Every last one of them.”
“Everybody likes to boss the boss,” Mason said.
With a laugh, Sierra said, “It’s nice to meet you. Cole’s told me a lot about you.”
Faye put her arm around Cole and pulled her middle child to her side. Craning her neck to look up at him, she said, “I can assure you only the good stuff is true.”
“It’s all good stuff,” Cole said, elated that she was in such good spirits. She usually was, was an optimist at heart, but there’d been a couple of days lately when frustration and impatience with the slow healing process had gotten her down. “All the bad stuff was me.” He kept his tone light, even though truer words had never been spoken. “Where’s Drake?” he asked to the room in general.
“Who ever knows?” Mason said.
“He said he’d be here,” Gabe said as he pulled down a tall stack of plates and set them on the edge of the counter. It appeared dinner was buffet-style tonight, catered in, which made sense and smelled damn good—and was no doubt making his mom twitchy.
Within a few minutes, Geraldine, Gabe, Liz, and Logan had everything ready, and all twelve of them—including Drake, who’d sauntered in, unhurried, claiming his afternoon shift at the gym had run late—filled their plates and squeezed around the table and at the breakfast bar to enjoy a typical loud North family dinner. Except it wasn’t quite typical because, for once, Cole realized he was starting to feel like he belonged here. And that, in turn, made him wonder when the other shoe would drop.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
A couple of hours later, the food was devoured, the few leftovers stored in the fridge. Liz kept the beverages coming, whether refilling wineglasses or distributing bottles of beer or brewing a pot of decaf coffee.
Most of the group had migrated to the connected family room, though Sierra was still camped out at the breakfast bar with Lexie and Miranda, deep into a conversation about Keith Urban’s music. Cole sat across the living room in an oversized armchair, one of two that flanked the fireplace, half listening to Logan, who was the VP of technology at North Brothers, go on to him and Gabe about the virtual reality rig he’d recently bought and keeping an eye on Sierra, wishing she were closer, near enough to touch.
That was a new experience for him, the wanting her close even while they were in the middle of a group of people. He wasn’t going to think too hard about the significance; in fact, he told himself it was just the result of being out of town for a few nights, being away from her, anticipating taking her to bed later.
“Cake time,” Geraldine called from the kitchen. “Cole, get your butt in here and look at this thing.”
He narrowed his eyes at his brother and cousin closest to him.
“You know this family doesn’t celebrate without cake,” Gabe said.
He did know that, but from here, it looked like someone had gone all out and ordered a professional one, because he could see layers. Tall layers. Multiple layers. Like a damn wedding cake.
“One layer of snickerdoodle caramel, one layer of chocolate, and one layer of white,” his mom said from the couch.
Snickerdoodles and caramel were two of his favorite things. “Guess I better eat some cake then,” he said, standing.
“We want to get your picture,” Geraldine said as he and everyone else headed back toward the breakfast bar, where, indeed, a miniature wedding-type cake towered. It had white icing with royal-blue ribbon, the North Brothers Sports colors. Scattered around it and on it were sports decorations—edible, it appeared—from footballs and baseballs and soccer balls to ice skates, lacrosse sticks, and hockey pucks. Sticking out of the top was a 3D sign, scoreboard-style, that said Congrats, Cole! Welcome to NBS!
“You guys outdid yourselves,” he said, his mouth watering at the smell of the sugary frosting. “No photos.”
“Have to,” Geraldine said. “A North brother comes home to the family business—that’s PR gold, honey.”
“Spoken like a true marketing maven,” Mason said.
“Aren’t you retired?” Cole asked, knowing full well she’d ended her career as the North Brothers Sports VP of marketing.
“Happily, yes I am, but after thirty-two years, it’s in my blood.” Geraldine cleared the counter of crumbs from dinner and then slid a champagne flute, two-thirds filled with bubbly pale gold liquid, in front of the cake, and fanned some custom-printed North Brothers napkins—there was always a stash somewhere—on the opposite side to make a picture-perfect scene.
“Just an impromptu idea,” Cole said dryly.
“Come around here. Mason, where’s your phone? You take the photo,” Geraldine barked, and they followed her orders. Cole knew it was easier to just get it done than to argue.
Once the shots were taken, Cole glanced around for Sierra while Geraldine and Liz disassembled the layers and cut into each of them so that all three flavors were up for grabs. Sierra was standing back, out of the way, next to Lexie, as if they didn’t want to intrude on the North family. He went over to her, because he’d rather be with her than anyone else in the room, even if he was coming around to not minding his family.
“Want some cake?” he asked her, unable to resist sliding his hand down her back and to the side of her waist.
“My sister has a saying…” Sierra said.
“Yeah?”
“Is a duck’s butt wet?”
“Only if the duck is in the water,” Cole pointed out.
“The duck is always in the water.”
Grinning, Cole asked, “Which flavor would you like? Or maybe you’d like one of each?”
“Then the duck’s wet butt would get too big. Just chocolate please.”
“Lexie?” Cole asked.
“Still trying to decide. I’ll get my own in a minute.”
“Guest of honor, get your ass over here and get your cake,” Drake said from the counter.
Cole grabbed the oversized piece of snickerdoodle caramel his aunt shoved at him and waited for Sierra’s chocolate, then got out of the overcrowded dining area, heading straight for the prettiest girl in the room. Hell, in the whole city.
Sierra led him to the couch and sat on the middle cushion, next to his mother, and something about her choosing to sit by his mom got him. “You need cake,” Sierra said to Faye, her tone sounding scandalized.
“Miranda’s bringing me some,” his mom answered.
“Which kind did you choose?” Sierra asked, setting her fork on her plate, as if waiting for Faye to be served.
With a sparkle in her eye, his mom answered, “I didn’t. I asked for a sample of all three.”
“You are a smart woman,” Sierra told her, grinning. “But then, I already knew that, even before I met you, because you have some great sons.”
“They’re pretty good boys, most days.”
Sierra laughed at the word boys to describe her sons, all of whom were well over six feet tall, good-looking, and dripping with testosterone.
Miranda delivered Faye’s cake, thin slices of all three flavors, and then walked to Cole’s other side and shoved at his legs. “Scoot over, Colester. I’m sitting by you.”
Sierra moved closer to Cole’s mom, and Cole squeezed right up next to Sierra, breathing in the scent of her hair and liking it even more than the cake smell.
Connor and Drake took up the love seat, and Gabe delivered a slice of cake to Lexie, who waited in the corner armchair, and then he parked himself on the arm of it next to her.
Sierra leaned toward Cole’s ear and asked, quietly, “Are Gabe and Lexie a thing?”
“No,” Cole answered, tossing a glance their way, understanding how she might think that, as the two were sharing a private conversation, with Lexie gazing up at his brother with a grin. “They’ve been best friends since kindergarten.”
“Are you sure that’s all?” Sierra asked, glancing over at them again.
“She’s got a serious boyfriend, last I knew.” Raleigh or Ryder or Roman or something like that. Cole could
n’t remember because he’d never met the guy, which was kind of odd, especially as much as Cole had been around the family lately. He wasn’t even sure his mother had met Lexie’s boyfriend.
“Okay then,” Sierra said, sounding like she still wasn’t sure she could believe him.
It didn’t take them long to demolish their cake, even Faye with her three flavors—declaring the white cake was the best—and then Gabe made his way around the room distributing champagne, thoughtfully handing his mother a flute of sparkling white grape juice.
“Wait for the toast,” Gabe said to the room in general. “See if you can make it all of ten minutes before you imbibe.”
“I thought the champagne was just for the PR pics,” Cole said, setting his flute on the coffee table.
“As if,” Miranda said. “If there’s champagne and an event worth celebrating, this family’s going to drink.”
“Amen,” Liz said, dragging a dining chair next to the couch. “We raised these children right.”
“Good thing I didn’t have my own, so I could help you,” Geraldine said, settling into another chair that Mason brought in for her. “These eight were a handful.”
“Has anyone talked to Zane lately?” Logan asked about the only one who was absent.
“Last week,” Drake said. “He’s still somewhere in the world doing something we can’t know about.”
“I still miss that boy like crazy,” Cole’s mom said, as she always did, ever since he’d left home years ago.
While everyone else had taken a spot in the armchairs or the love seat or the dining chairs or on the floor, Mason and Gabe sauntered over to stand in front of the gas fireplace, which wasn’t on today, as if they had something to say. Uneasiness bubbled up in Cole’s gut because chances were good they were going to make a big deal out of him joining North Brothers. Bigger than an obnoxious—but damn good—cake. He wasn’t a fan of being the center of attention and had told his family, when they’d initiated the celebration, that it better be casual and chill. He waited till Mason met his eyes and then mouthed fucker to him.
