Dream Chaser (Dream Team, #2)(103)

My guy.

Such a great guy.

I looked up at him.

He smiled down at me.

Okay, now I was better.

“I’m gone. Have fun. Tell your folks I said hi,” Mag bid.

“Will do. Later,” Boone replied, took my hand, and asked, “Ready?”

Nope.

I nodded.

He squeezed my hand, his eyes sparkled, thus I knew he totally knew I wasn’t ready.

Then he led me to his parents.

I nearly fell flat on my face when he did.

Not because Boone’s dad was folding out of his seat, smiling a friendly smile that seemed so genuine, if it wasn’t, he would give Robert De Niro a run for his money in the acting stakes.

And also, he was a tall, lean, very attractive man.

No.

Because Boone’s mom looked like Ralph Lauren’s wife, younger, but no less gorgeous.

I’d seen a documentary about Ralph, and his wife was in her seventies, but looked like an aging-gently forty-five-year-old woman who looked more like thirty-five.

Mrs. Lauren was soft-spoken, sweet and openly adored her husband.

I’d marked that as goals (when I found a guy) and had totally forgotten about it until just then.

Now I remembered.

And I might never be soft-spoken (nor would I want to be, that just wasn’t me), but I hoped I was sweet (just my version), able to openly adore my man and had Boone’s mother’s timeless beauty until the day I died.

I mean, she had to be in her fifties and looked like an aging-gently thirty-five-year-old woman who looked twenty-five.

I reminded Mag of her?

How sweet was that?

“Dad, this is Ryn,” Boone introduced when we made the table. “Rynnie, this is my dad, Porter.”

“Ryn, really pleased to meet you,” Porter Sadler said, taking my hand in a warm grip.

Okay, the emphasis on “really” felt good.

“You too,” I replied.

His mom was up and also smiling at me, hand extended.

“Ryn,” she said when I took it. “I’m Anne-Marie. Lovely to meet you.”

“And you,” I replied.

She let me go.

Boone and his dad bumped into each other as they both tried to pull out my chair.

Like father, like son.

They shared a grin and Porter backed off.

I sat at the square table, boy, girl, boy, girl, which meant I was facing Anne-Marie.

Boone tucked me under, and I did another quick scan of both his parents just to make sure I was seeing what I was seeing, and noted right off Boone got his father’s body, and his mother’s hair and eyes.

For the first time, I wondered what his brothers looked like.

“Was that Mag at the door?” his mom asked.

“Yeah, he couldn’t stay. He says hi,” Boone answered.

“Evie was in the car, my friend, his girlfriend,” I explained. “We’d been shopping. I think he was ready to get home.”

“Ah,” Anne-Marie murmured, clearly having experience with men and shopping. Then, “Your friend, Mag’s girlfriend?”

I didn’t want to get into the whole Lottie-matchmaking thing, considering it might lead to the whole I’m-a-stripper thing.

Fortunately, Boone had a ready response.

“We got mutual friends,” he said.

“Ah,” Anne-Marie repeated her murmur.

“So, Boone tells us you’re flipping a house,” Porter launched in.

“Yeah,” I confirmed, picking up the menu in front of me for something to do with my hands, but I didn’t study it.

“We’d love to see it while we’re here,” Anne-Marie noted.

I smiled at her. “That’d be great.”

She smiled back.

The server appeared and asked if I’d like a drink.

“Gin gimlet,” I ordered. “Hendrick’s please.”

“A girl who knows her gin,” Porter stated approvingly.

“I don’t know my gin, really,” I admitted. “I just know I like Hendrick’s better than Bombay, Tanqueray or Beefeater.”

“What he means is, a girl who likes gin, so he’ll have someone to drink it with,” Anne-Marie shared, which meant that martini in front of her was vodka.

“And if she likes Hendrick’s better than all those, she knows her gin,” Porter asserted.

Anne-Marie shook her head in a men and their pretentious ideas about booze gesture.

I grinned at her.

“After I put this drink order in, would you like me to get some appetizers going for you?” the server upsold.

I looked at my menu.

The Sadlers ordered oysters.

I figured out what I wanted for my meal, and oysters had no part in it since I tried one once, it moved in my mouth, and I was done with oysters forever.

I then set my menu aside.

“That’s a very pretty top,” Anne-Marie noted.

“Thanks, and you’re just very pretty,” I replied. “You remind me of Ralph Lauren’s wife. Though obviously younger.”

Her brows went up. “Ricky Lauren?”

“Have you seen her?”

Her face warmed and she was even more stunning. “Yes, and that’s quite a compliment, thank you.”