The Do-Over (The Miles High Club #4)(106)

“Come on, Mom.” Christopher sighs. “We just got here. Can we leave the fifty questions until Hayden is drunk, please?”

Everyone chuckles, and I sip my wine. Not a drill. For real.

A boy comes running through the restaurant. “Grandma,” he yells as he grabs her in a headlock from behind.

She laughs out loud. “Hello, my sweet Patrick.”

He dives to sit beside her, and she wipes the hair back from his forehead as they talk between themselves. I would say he’s around ten years of age.

“Hello, Patrick.” Everyone smiles.

“This is Patrick, my brother Tristan’s son,” Christopher says. He gestures to me. “This is Hayden.”

Patrick looks over at me in surprise and then back to Christopher. “Where have you been?”

“I went on a trip.”

“Why so long?”

Everyone chuckles.

“Sorry we’re late,” a woman says as she takes off her coat. She’s pretty, with dark hair, and heavily pregnant. “I’m Claire.” She smiles as she shakes my hand. Christopher stands and laughs and takes her into his arms. It’s obvious the two of them are close.

“What have you done with my brother?” he teases.

“He’s coming.” She rolls her eyes.

I turn to see a large boy, a teenager, walking toward us, and behind him is a man who is Christopher’s double. My mouth nearly falls open. The resemblance is uncanny.

“Hi,” he says. “Sorry we’re late.” He smiles and comes straight over to me. “You must be Hayden?”

“Yes.”

He pulls me out of the chair and into his arms for a hug. He’s tall and good looking like the other two brothers. Talk about a gene pool.

Oh . . . he smells good.

“I’m Tristan.”

“Hello.”

“This is my son, Harry.” He introduces me to the large boy. God . . . he must have had this kid when he was ten.

“Hello.” The boy smiles as he shakes my hand.

Tristan pulls the chair out, directing Harry where to sit. “What do you want to drink, babe?”

Claire exhales, clearly sick of being pregnant. “You know what I want to drink.”

He raises a cheeky eyebrow. “Lemonade?”

“Can’t wait,” she mutters dryly.

Claire smiles over at me. “How long have you got to go?” I ask.

“I’m eight months. Hopefully a few weeks.”

Tristan reaches over and puts his hand protectively on her pregnant stomach. “You stay in there and behave yourself,” he says casually. He turns back to talking to Jameson.

Claire rolls her eyes. “Tristan is obsessed with babies. This is our third in four years.”

Emily and I laugh.

“He’ll annoy the poor thing to death.” Claire rolls her eyes again.

I look to the older boys sitting at the table in confusion.

“These are my sons,” she explains. “Tristan’s now too. He adopted them when we got married. Their biological father died.”

“Oh.” I smile as I connect the dots. “I see.”

I look to Tristan with love hearts in my eyes. He took on her children: not at all what I would expect. He’s a good guy.

Harry is watching something on his phone with the volume turned up so loud that everyone can hear it. Tristan gestures to his neck as if saying, Cut it out.

Harry rolls his eyes, and Tristan looks at him deadpan. Harry exhales and turns it down, and I bite my lip to hide my smile.

Patrick is chatting away to his grandmother, and she is laughing and talking to him like she has all the time in the world as he fiddles with her hair. He’s telling her some in-depth story about what happened at baseball practice as she listens to his story intently.

I like her.

I turn my attention to Emily. She has dark hair and is pretty. “How far along are you?”

“Five months.”

Oh, I would have thought further along than that.

“I’m huge.” She exhales. “Baby number four. My stomach is stretched to the shit. It’s like a fucking tent in there.”

Claire hushes her. “It will bounce back.”

Jeez.

Jameson stretches out and puts his arm across the back of Emily’s chair as he talks to the boys. His finger traces a circle on her shoulder.

“Everyone’s babies are so close.” I smile.

“Too close.” Emily rolls her eyes. “Jameson wants the diaper stage over as quick as possible.”

“Makes sense.”

“How do you like New York?” Claire smiles warmly.

“It’s . . .” I shrug.

“It’s a lot to take on,” she whispers.

Emily reaches over and takes my hand in hers. “We were the same.”

They know.

“Tell me this gets easier.”

They exchange looks and laughs. “Oh, sweetie,” Claire says. “It doesn’t, but you do get used to it.”

I force a smile.

“Dad,” Patrick says across the table.

Tristan keeps talking to Jameson and Christopher.

“Dad.”

He still doesn’t hear him.