Crashed Out (Made in Jersey, #1)(24)

After looking up at River for permission, Marcy took a few steps closer, snatched the box, and retreated just as fast. He expected a little girl’s prerogative to be to rip off the paper as fast as possible and ask questions later, but she turned it over in her hands, inspecting it like a diamond appraiser. Sarge felt Jasmine watching him and turned to catch her eye, but she snapped her attention back to Marcy before he got a fix. The wrapping paper hit the floor a moment later, and after a small struggle, Marcy pried open the box with River’s help.

Oh Lord. I’m a goner. Marcy beamed up at him through a gap in her wispy strands of straw-colored hair, and regret that he’d missed the first three years of her life smacked him in the face. Had anything he’d done on the road been worth it?

Marcy tried to fit the necklace over her head without unfastening it, grunting when it got stuck above her nose. “You’re better than Celia’s brother, I think.”

When River nudged him in the shoulder, Sarge realized he was smiling like a goofball, but it vanished when he saw tears in his sister’s eyes. “Come on, you necklace-giving jerk.” She sniffed, taking his elbow and leading him out of the entryway. “Dinner’s ready.”

For Sarge, meals were usually unceremonious. Grab a sandwich between recording sessions, stealing a slice of pizza from whoever had taken the trouble to order food. Old News had an unspoken rule that food was a communal entity. Unless it came to James’s ever-present box of Triscuits, then God help the poor soul whose hand breached the opening. Sarge had learned that lesson the hard way.

Dinner with three women—okay, two and a half—was an entirely different affair. They took their time, actually breathing between bites, not even arguing over the last dinner roll. Sarge started to protest when River dumped a third helping of mashed potatoes onto his plate, but stopped himself. The more he ate, the happier his sister seemed to get, so he kept packing it away. Until he saw River and Jasmine exchange a covert glance, their amusement obvious.

“Oh, I see. This is some kind of conspiracy.” He dropped his fork with a clatter onto the plate and collapsed back in the chair. “I guess there are worse ways to go than overdosing on mashed potatoes.”

River burst out laughing. “It wasn’t premeditated, but you just kept going.”

“Who are we to question that kind of dedication?” Jasmine said, smiling into her Diet Coke. “It was like you were competing in a contest against yourself. We hereby declare you the winner.”

“You even got Marcy to sit still for a whole meal.” River nodded at her giggling daughter. “I think she’s in shock.”

“Marcy,” Sarge groaned. “Tell them to stop teasing me.”

The little phenom responded by sliding off her chair and rounding the table to climb onto Sarge’s knee. Her elbow dug into his stomach, upsetting the food mountain residing there, but the discomfort was worth it. River brought out dessert a few minutes later. Sarge only managed a bite before tapping out, content to watch Marcy get more chocolate cake on her face than into her stomach. By the time she was finished, her eyes were half closed, head lolling to the side in obvious exhaustion. It was the best dinner Sarge ever had.

“Jas, can you get Marcy’s teeth brushed and put her in bed?” River stood and began clearing the table. “I’m going to get these into the dishwasher.”

“You got it.” When Jasmine stood beside Sarge’s chair, he handed over the sleepy child, his throat aching when they had to pry her fingers from around his shirt collar. Something passed between him and Jasmine when their eyes met, but he had no idea what it was. Or what it meant. He only knew everything about the moment felt good. Felt right. And he wanted to do it all over again tomorrow.

There was no stopping his watching every step Jasmine took up the stairs, carrying his niece on her hip, but as soon as she disappeared upstairs, Sarge went to help River in the kitchen.

“So listen…” she started, covering leftovers and storing them in the fridge. “I know it’s short notice and probably a lot to ask—”

“What is it?”

River leaned back against the counter. “There’s a church service at Holy Cross on Christmas Eve. I helped organize the potluck dinner afterward at the school gymnasium across the street, and…” She tucked a stray hair behind her ear. “Would you bring your guitar and play a song or two?”

Sarge’s eyebrows damn near hit the ceiling. “My songs aren’t exactly church-friendly, Riv.”

“I know.” Pink stained her cheeks. “You could sing a Christmas song, though. You know. Instead of a sex one.”

“A sex one.” He shook his head. “I thought I knew the meaning of weird. Until tonight.”

His sister snapped the dish towel and caught him in the thigh. “Just think about it, okay? You’re one of the lucky ones that made it out of Hook. It makes you kind of a big deal.” She turned back to the sink. “Now, go kiss your newest admirer good-night. And I’m not talking about Jasmine.”

“Right.” Rubbing the back of his neck, Sarge pushed through the swinging door of the kitchen and ascended the stairs. He reached the landing just in time to catch Jasmine walking out of Marcy’s room, index finger over her lips with a warning to stay quiet. His flare of disappointment over missing his chance to say good-night to Marcy was eclipsed by a righteous punch of hunger when Jasmine hesitated in front of him. As if she wanted to head back downstairs where it was safe, but couldn’t quite ignore their being alone again. Not about to let that hesitation go unrewarded, Sarge nudged her back against the hallway wall, gratified as hell when her mouth fell open in a husky pant.