Kiss My Cupcake(67)

When we reach the front door, I have a moment of panic. “Oh no! I’m showing up empty-handed. Maybe we should stop somewhere and grab a bottle of wine? There has to be a convenience store open somewhere that sells wine, right?”

“Don’t worry about it, Blaire. There’s going to be more food and booze than an army can consume. And even if we found an open store, all they’re going to have is cheap wine that tastes like tomorrow’s headache. Trust me when I say it’s okay that we’re coming empty-handed. Plus I dropped stuff off a few days ago for this occasion, and my brew shed is out back, so we’re all set.”

He doesn’t knock on the door, just lets himself in, ushering me ahead of him. I’m greeted by the most delicious combination of scents. I breathe in cinnamon and cloves along with hints of citrus and cranberry. But more pungent is the aroma of something fried and sweet. “Oh, wow, what is that smell?”

“New Year’s cookies, but they’re more like donuts and they’re the perfect cure for a post–New Year’s Eve hangover.”

“I’m not hungover, though.”

“Well, we’re about to start drinking again, so these should help prevent one.” He helps me out of my coat and groans. “Ah hell, Blaire.”

“What? Is everything okay?” I’m about to spin around to see what’s going on, but he grabs me by the hips.

He pulls me back into him, dropping his head so his lips are at my ear. “These jeans are going to kill me. Now I have a perfect visual of all those curves you keep hidden under those skirts. It’s going to be a long, uncomfortable afternoon for me.”

I grin. Unlike Maddy and Skylar, I have curves. I learned very early on to embrace those curves and love the hell out of them.

One Halloween—around the time the parent swap happened—I dressed as June Cleaver. And surprisingly, I felt the most comfortable in my skin. Maybe because my conventional family unit had been obliterated. Maybe because I liked the idea of an uncomplicated life. Of pot roasts, family dinners, and parents who worked normal jobs.

While I might not fit the entire June Cleaver mold, considering I have my own business, it’s the style I adopted so I could hold on to that comforting idea of family values and morals. Plus I love dresses, but I don’t mind sliding into a pair of jeans once in a while, possibly more often if this is the kind of reaction I get.

“I thought I heard the door. Oh, Miss Cupcake! When Ronan said he was bringing a friend I didn’t realize it would be you.” Ronan’s grandfather ambles slowly toward us. “What a pleasant surprise.” He grins, and his eyes almost disappear under his bushy brows. I would guess he’s somewhere around eighty. He’s a few inches shorter than Ronan, although I’m sure he was closer to the same height in his younger years, before his shoulders rounded.

“Hi, Mr. Knight. I hope it’s not an imposition.” I’ve met Ronan’s grandfather a couple of times in passing, and we’ve exchanged hellos and an introduction, but I’ve always been busy during the day and he’s never been around by the end of the evening.

“Not at all, dearie. And you can call me Henry; no mister anything is necessary, or Gramps works if yer comfortable with that.” He winks and clasps my hand between his gnarled fingers. “I wondered when my grandson would finally find his balls and ask ya out on a date.”

“Really, Gramps?” I can practically feel Ronan’s embarrassment.

“What? She’s been all you can talk about for months, riles you right up and puts a smile on yer face. It was bound to happen when ya got yer head outta yer ass.”

“Okay, Gramps, you’re killin’ my game.”

“Is that Ronan?” Another man appears in an adjacent doorway. Based on his facial features, he’s definitely one of Ronan’s brothers. He’s shorter than Ronan, but just as broad and athletic, with the same hair and eye coloring, except he has a little gray flirting at the temples. “’Bout time you got here!” He pulls his brother into a hug, and they exchange firm back pats. He lowers his voice, keeping Ronan close. “Celia’s still got freaking morning sickness, so she can’t help with shit. And Leslie thinks every single cookie needs to be uniform in shape, so we’ve only managed one damn batch. All I want to do is drink scotch and eat cookies. Help a brother out.”

“I’m on it, don’t worry.” Ronan pulls me into his side. “And I brought reinforcements. Daniel, this is Blaire, and she can bake every single person here under the table.”

“Hi, Blaire.” He extends his hand. His palms are soft, like the most strenuous thing he does is swing a golf club. “Ronan didn’t mention having a girlfriend at Christmas.”

“Oh, I’m not his girlfriend.” I glance at Ronan.

His gaze meets mine and he shrugs with a questioning expression. “Well, I mean…”

“Am I your girlfriend?” It’s an actual question, because riding his metaphorical bologna pony doesn’t necessarily mean we’re a thing.

“I brought you to a family function, so that generally means I wouldn’t have a problem introducing you as my girlfriend.”

Daniel snorts, and Gramps’s smile widens.

“I invited you to a family function when you and I were barely civil to each other.” I’m not sure why I feel the need to bring this up, because all it’s doing is making this awkward situation even more awkward, since Daniel and Gramps are ping-ponging between us, watching this go down with something like gleeful amusement.