John kept looking for help from Samantha as he navigated the weirdness of Chelsea confronting them over the breakfast table about why he was suddenly so chummy with her mom.

He wished it was earlier—when he’d risen an hour before her and had watched while she slept. After the chair rodeo, they’d gone to bed only to make love again deep in the night. Samantha was a generous lover who held nothing back. He found her joyful spirit intoxicating. Her desire to share his pleasure made his soul soar.

But now in the harsher light of day, they were facing a new reality. One where the rest of the world gained access to their private happiness. Starting with Chelsea.

His nerves were so tight, he worried something would snap.

At first, Samantha tried to make it seem as though him appearing for breakfast was an everyday thing. Chelsea regarded them with the curiosity he expected of a kid her age.

She was making him sweat bullets.

At the kitchen table, they went through a strange pantomime that began with Chelsea inspecting him like an on-the-case FBI agent. By reflex, he touched the knot of his tie as though it was a magic shield.

John sought Samantha’s eyes when it became apparent that seven-year-olds were immune to that sort of stuff.

“Um, sweetie. Did you remember to put the book you were reading last night in your backpack?”

Chelsea dropped the piece of bacon she’d been munching onto her plate and brushed her fingers with a napkin.

“Mom, relax. I’ve got this.”

He reached for his coffee in time to hide the smile that was dying for a home on his face. It sure did seem to him as though making her mom sweat a few bullets was also on Chelsea’s agenda. Thank god, the kid’s friendly fire wasn’t just directed at him.

That didn’t mean he was prepared when her head turned, and she met his gaze with wide-eyed skepticism.

“Oh, wait,” she mumbled. Then she brightened. “Are you picking Mom up for work? Is that why you’re here?”

Samantha almost knocked over a juice glass, and John was certain his eye was twitching.

“Um.” Yeah. That was all he had. Real eloquent, you dumb shit.

Reacting like she’d been caught with her hand in the cookie jar, Samantha cleared her throat and gave her daughter a smile.

“Actually, Chels. Mr. Lloyd, um, John ... is here as my friend.”

She was ramping up for a speech when the kid cut her off.

“Is this a sleepover? Jody’s mom has sleepovers all the time. Mrs. Porter has a lot of boyfriends.” Chelsea shrugged, but her obvious disapproval shook him up.

“What?” Samantha barked. “No. Most certainly not. Sleepovers? No.” She shook her head emphatically, but all her daughter did was put off an unconvinced vibe.

He weighed in rather glumly. “Your mother does not do sleepovers.”

Undeterred, the way-too-observant kid offered scenario number two.

“So … you’re hooking up? Is that it?”

Samantha reacted with both outrage and shock.

“Hook up? Sleepover? What are you talking about? And where the hell did you learn these things?”

Chelsea smirked and delivered a zinger before shutting them both down with her final words.

“No swearing at the breakfast table, remember?” Her head swiveled back and forth once between him and her mother, and then she said, “Jeez, Mom. I’m seven, not five.”

Then she shrugged like none of it was a big deal and attacked a piece of toast smeared with strawberry jam.

“It’s cool if you wanna hook up. You’re okay,” she said directly to him.

He chuckled. This was a new wrinkle! “Do you know what the word clarify means?” he asked.

“Sure,” Chelsea said with a giggle. “It means an adult thinks a kid is stupid.”

Samantha dropped her face into her hands and groaned. He wanted to high five the kid—but hesitated because he wasn’t sure if it was appropriate—and then figured, fuck it, and held up his palm.

Her little hand smacking his was the coolest thing ever.

He relaxed and sat back. The kid had every right to rake him and her mom over the coals. Draining his coffee, he looked at Sam and shrugged.

“Chels,” she stammered to begin. “I want to explain something about me and John.”

“Mom,” she grunted through a mouthful of crumbs and jam. “I’m not dumb. You talk about him all the time. Mr. Lloyd did this. Mr. Lloyd said that. And then you started calling him John.” She rolled one shoulder and giggled. “That’s how this stuff works, right?”

“Well,” Sam murmured. He watched as she touched her blazing red cheeks. “Yes, it is. I guess. I don’t know, really. But sweetie, I wanted you to know right away that I’m in love with him and …”

He jolted upright in his seat. “Hold up! What did you say?”

She smiled at him and winked. His heart filled with happiness. She’d waited until Chelsea was present to say the words out loud. He felt nothing but admiration and respect for the mother and was overcome with love for the woman.

Chelsea perked up. She must have sensed the change in tone.

“So anyway, we, um, well, we thought we would get married and … “

“Married?” Chelsea squealed. “For real?”

John saw his opening, and he took it.

“Now, slow down,” he said to Sam. Reaching for the hand wearing his ring, he kissed her fingers and gave a little squeeze.

“I asked your mom to marry me last night, and I gave her a ring, but it’s not official. Not yet.”

“Why not?” Chelsea asked.

He sat back, slid a hand into his pocket, and took out his wallet. From a slot in the billfold, he pulled out a gold necklace with a tiny diamond-encrusted heart. Samantha looked like she might cry when he scooted the chair back so he could get on one knee.

“Chelsea, I love your mom very much. I think she’s the bravest and coolest chick ever!”

The awestruck seven-year-old giggled and nodded her agreement.

“And I told her that I wanted to be a part of your life so we can be a family. The three of us. Your mom and me and you.”

He held up the necklace. “With this little heart, I’m making a promise, Chelsea. To you as well as your mom. If you’ll have me, I want to take care of you both and”—he swallowed and took a deep breath—“be your dad.”

“Mom!” Chelsea screamed. “Really?”

“Yes, sweetie. For really real. A family. Mom, dad, and bratty kid.”

“Oh, Mr. Lloyd,” Chelsea said through unexpected tears.

He jumped in and said the words he had on his tongue. “If it’s too early for Dad, please call me John.”

Chelsea looked at him—looked at her mom—looked at the necklace—and then at her mom once more. She scrubbed a hand across her eyes to wipe away the tears and nodded.

“I’ve never had a dad. He’s dead and everything.”

“He was a great guy, Chelsea, and we’re never going to forget him, okay?”

The hesitation was killing him, but Sam appeared serene and calm, so he took his cues from her. “Shall we be a family?” she asked.

Chelsea surprised him by wiggling off her chair, hugging her mom, and then hugging him.

He clasped the necklace around her dainty throat. Then he kissed her on both cheeks and smiled broadly.

“Now it’s official!”

They whooped and hollered like mindless idiots exchanging lots of hugs and laughs. Quite a few promises too. He told Chelsea she was gaining a grandmother who liked shoes. Samantha explained she planned to stay home and be a full-time mom.

It was an overload of joyful exuberance.

When it was time, he and Sam walked hand in hand with Chelsea to the corner bus stop. After the yellow beast pulled up and the other kids clambered aboard, Chelsea hung back. When there was nothing left to do except board, she stopped on the first step, turned, and said, “Bye, Mom. Bye, Dad.” Then she giggled and scrambled onto the bus, leaving them standing there stunned.

* * *

A man who appeared no less than a mirror image of George Clooney adjusted his tie and chuckled. “I have to tell you, Ryan, that I think your dad would find this situation most amusing.”

“Which part?” he asked. “The suddenness or the undeniable fact that I’m marrying up?”

Jenna laughed at his jest and poked him in the ribs. “Scruffy rogue. I can’t believe you’re wearing that for our wedding.”

Judge Winborn’s broad smile made Ryan smile too. The guy had been besties with Greg Lloyd, so it seemed perfect to ask the man—who also happened to be his godfather—to invoke his judicial authority so he and Jen could be husband and wife. It was classic two targets and one stone as he was a dad substitute and the best man too.

“Afraid you’ll just have to get used to it, my dear,” the judge said to Jen. “Both of Greg’s sons inherited something from their dad. For John, it’s a brain that races a million miles an hour and his love of facts. In Ryan’s case,” he said with a chuckle, “he got the nature boy genes. And with it the sartorial habits of a Sherpa on vacation. He’s just like his dad. Never met a suit and tie he wouldn’t scowl at.”

“I suppose that explains this ... whatever,” Jen said with a smirk while her hands gestured at his outfit.

“Aw, come on,” Ryan groused. “It’s not that bad. This shirt was made specially for me.”

“Would it have killed you to shave?”

“She has you there, son.” The judge snickered.

“I didn’t have time because someone”—he smirked with both pointer fingers directed at his bride—“rushed me out of the house so she could raid her closet for this dominatrix outfit.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my suit,” Jen snapped.

He enjoyed poking fun at her because she got so playfully salty about everything he said.

“How do you breathe in that thing?” he asked.

Ya just hadn’t really lived, he thought, until your bride flips you off while a judge stands there and laughs like hell.

“Listen up. I’m fine with shackling you two together, but give me the 411 on your mom and her crazy sister. Why aren’t they here? And John? I insist on full disclosure because, frankly, Connie scares the shit out of me. It’s bad enough she’s in cahoots with my wife all the damn time, so please don’t set me up for a Nelson twins smackdown.”

“Uncle Howie will have your back. I gave him a heads-up.”

Jen’s brows shot up. “Er, um, huh?”

“Insider info, babe.” Giving her a cheeky grin, he explained how things worked. “Nobody handles those two better than Howie Brewster. Sometimes, he’s the only one who can get his wife and my mom under control. John and I go to him whenever we need a mediator. Or a cleanup crew.”

The judge slipped on his suit coat and assumed a lofty air. “All true. Howie’s the master of disaster. But when are you telling your mom what you’ve done?”

“Tonight,” Jen explained. “She’s demanding her sons show and tell.”

Barking with laughter, the judge gave a thumbs-up. “Show and tell. Good one.”

He motioned to them and pointed at a spot next to a window seat. When he and Jen clasped hands and moved into position, Ryan felt the warm rays of the sun shining on them like a spotlight.

His bride’s face reflected her inner strength, and her eyes twinkled with happiness. He’d just been yanking her chain about the suit she wore. It was perfect.

In a hue she insisted was called bambino pink, the two-piece outfit had a feminine flair despite the rather formal cut.

Ryan thought bambino pink was just a clever way of describing a really, really pale suggestion of color. The outfit had a bridal vibe that accented her beautiful hair and chocolate eyes.

Yep. He was definitely marrying up.

“Okay,” the judge said. “Details. Are there rings?”

“Two,” Jen interjected.

“His and hers.” Ryan laughed. “The jeweler had a rehearsed sales pitch.”

“All right, kids. Last chance to stop this madness.”

Jen looked at him and smiled a little before the grin became a long-suffering and very playful sneer.

“Let’s just do this. The clock is ticking, Judge Winborn, and my parents can count.”

“Ah,” he groaned with real surprise. “Now, I get it. Explains the suddenness.”

Ryan had to laugh. “Don’t fall for her innocent act, Judge. And there is nothing sudden about this. After all, we’ve had a couple of years’ worth of foreplay.”

“Are you going to marry me or not, Ryan?”

“Definitely marry. Do your thing, Judge.”

Forty-five minutes later, they were fall down laughing on a city sidewalk, showing off their shiny new rings and tossing one-liners back and forth like old pros.

“Call John,” she insisted. “He’s probably wondering where the hell I am.”

He chuckled and whistled for a cab. “He’s with Samantha. I called earlier while you were changing. Tonight is going to be way interesting.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, Mrs. Lloyd, that you called out for today. We have a marriage to consummate. And don’t worry about my brother. If I’m reading the tea leaves correctly, he and Samantha have a little surprise of their own on the agenda for tonight.”

They got in a cab, and she gave the driver directions.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“To the Love Grotto.”

He stared a minute and then burst out laughing. “The what exactly?”

“It’s an adult store,” she whispered like a prim debutante. “They have a honeymoon special. A kit that their website says no newlywed should be without.”

He lowered his tone and aimed for serious. “I take it you did some research.”

“Yes, I did,” she told him. “And not only that, I downloaded a coupon. Twenty percent off any purchase.”

She downloaded a coupon? Dear sweet baby Buddha. She was fucking perfect.

* * *

“I think I might throw up.”

The smile he had going on his face deepened when he laughed.

“Don’t laugh,” his fiancée snarled.

John wiped the foolish grin from his face but hung onto it in his mind. Samantha was a jumble of nerves, and he’d laughed because, in a way, he understood how she was feeling.

His mother didn’t know it yet, but she was about to get a couple of shocking surprises from her sons. He might not feel like vomit threatened, but he was nervous. Ryan’s call a little while ago helped John’s nerves, though.

In one fell swoop, Lloyd Global lost a receptionist, and John gave up his PA. It was ironic on some level—both of them falling in love at the same time.

Mom is going to crap her pants.

Then it struck him. Comically. For a guy who had such a hard time catching nuance and deciphering inflection, he got a loud and clear blast from Sam’s icy tone. Progress. Huzzah! She probably didn’t want to hear his drivel about how Connie would love her, so he went with option two.

“You look beautiful, Sam.” He kissed her hand. “I like this color. It makes your eyes stand out.”

“Do you?” Her voice had a sweetly uncertain and breathy quality. “I wasn’t sure. Your mother and her sister are so stylish.”

They were in the back of his limo making the sometimes-slow trek out of the city to the quaint, old money enclave where he grew up. He didn’t know what Sam expected, but it certainly wasn’t Chesterfield Meadows—a picture-perfect 1950’s cluster of mini mansions and quirky homes.

“There’s this completely badass treehouse in the backyard over by my dad’s greenhouse.”

“Your dad had a greenhouse?”

“Yes. Two. You’ll love it, but my point concerned Chelsea. I’ll make sure the thing is in good condition, and then it’s hers.”

“Hers? Whatever do you mean?”

He brushed some of her hair away from her face and stared at her lips. Dammit. What was he saying?

“She’s the first grandchild, so the treehouse is hers to decorate.”

“I’m definitely going to need a barf bag.”

Her distress was real, so he did the only thing he could in the situation. He kissed her long and slow.

“No second guesses,” he growled.

She raised a shaky hand to her lips. “I’m not usually so nervous.”

“Would you like me to tell you something that is sure to wipe away your anxiety?”

“Is that even possible?” She chuckled. “I feel like you’re taking me to an audience with the queen. Being nervous is part of the deal. I’m glad we left Chelsea with her babysitter. I can only deal with one stressful thing at a time.”

“Well, lucky for you then because I guarantee we’re a five-minute wonder. Ten, tops.”

She didn’t appear easily convinced and asked, “How can you be so sure?”

“Because, my love, as shocking and unexpected as we are, my little brother is packing one hell of a surprise. The kind that knocks socks off.”

“Ryan? What’s he done?”

John enjoyed the glint of humor in her eyes and leaned in to drop a kiss on her shoulder.

“He’s gotten himself married. To my assistant.”

“That Ryan.” Sam chuckled. “He’s such a … what? Married? When?”

His mouth twitched with amusement. She was genuinely flabbergasted.

“This morning. He and Jen visited an old friend of the family. A judge. He officiated.”

“Wait. What? Jenna Carlton and Ryan Lloyd got married today? In a judge’s chambers? Are you sure he wasn’t pulling a fast one?”

“Positive. It seems we weren’t the only frisky couple. They got, uh, carried away, and let’s just say there wasn’t any protection involved.”

“Oh, my god,” Sam growled. “That dick! And Jen agreed to this?”

John had a good laugh while Sam looked on with a bemused expression.

“Ryan’s always been a direct route type of a guy. First, he draws the straight line between A and B. If detours or roundabouts are necessary, he deals with it. I gather that he made the marriage suggestion based on them each finally admitting what was obvious for years. They were meant to be together. Not only did Jen agree, but she proceeded to force the issue. Something about her mom being a pediatrician and how much her life would suck if a kid and a wedding band didn’t go hand in hand.”

“Wowza.”

“Right?” He sniggered.

“So what you’re saying is maybe more grandchildren.”

“Yes. A cousin for Chelsea.”

“Do you want to have a baby, John?”

He wasn’t entirely sure how to answer.

“Being Chelsea’s dad is more than I ever dreamed of, Sam. A baby? Just saying the words makes me emotional.”

She hugged his arm and put her head on his shoulder. “I was so alone when I had Chelsea. It still hurts thinking about it. You’re going to be an amazing father, John. I trust you with my little girl, and that’s saying a lot. So having a baby together seems like part of our destiny. Don’t you think?”

“You have to stop,” he grunted.

“Stop what? Oh, darling. Have I upset you?”

“You have to stop being so wonderful. If you don’t, there are only two options available to me.”

Samantha raised a brow. “Options?”

“Yes. Option one is I start to cry. Option two is we make love in my limo on the way to my childhood home where my mother waits to greet us at the door.”

“Okay.” She snickered. “But did you think both options through?”

“Meaning?”

“I know this is a limo and all, but there’s no place to recline and anything remotely cowgirlish will leave messy evidence.”

“So option two it is,” he said with a husky laugh. “See that seat on over there? Well, you’re going to get on your knees and lean on it. Then I’m going to pull your dress up and bang the shit out of you from behind. A no-mess guarantee.”

“Lower the lighting, you romantic beast, and help me wiggle out of these panties. Got any Luther Vandross on the sound system?”

Oh, my god! He had to laugh.

“Assume the position, love. And leave the panties to me.”

She got on her knees. He shoved his pants down, stroked his cock as he got into position, and went on instinct after that.

Throwing her dress up to reveal her panties, he shoved them aside, and put his fingers to work. When she was beautifully wet and begging, he did as promised and banged the shit out of her as the limo sped along.

* * *

“John!” Constance Lloyd exclaimed as he helped his thoroughly fucked fiancée from the car. Samantha’s rosy blush had everything to do with the powerful orgasm he’d given her.

He hugged his mom with one arm and kept hold of Sam’s hand.

“I have a surprise for you,” he told her as he turned to introduce Sam. “Do you remember Samantha Matthews? I believe you’ve met a few times.”

Samantha extended her hand. “Mrs. Lloyd. Thank you for inviting me.”

He saw the merry, troublemaking twinkle in his mom’s eyes and wondered what was up.

“Of course, I remember you, Samantha! I’d never forget someone who makes my son’s smile so bright. How’s your daughter, my dear?”

“Growing up too fast,” Sam muttered. “Something we found out this morning. Kids think they know everything these days.”

His mom pointedly looked at him. “This morning, was it?”

Was that a blush moving onto his face? The sudden tightening of his collar and the heat on the back of his neck assured him it was. It didn’t help that his parent arched a brow when he coughed to hide his embarrassment.

Conversation pivot. Yes. That’s what he should do.

“Are Grace and Howie here?”

“Are you asking because of the eyesore at the end of my driveway?” his mom asked with an infectious laugh.

He and Sam turned and looked at the same time. She tried to suppress her snigger, but he let loose, asking, “What the hell is that?”

His mother’s expressive face suggested irritation, but her voice was brimming with humor.

“That, children,” she declared with a pithy snort, “is a 1967 VW Bus. Completely restored. Damn thing looks like it just drove in from Haight-Ashbury. Uncle Howie paid a fortune for it.”

John couldn’t believe what he was seeing and continued to laugh. “Was the paint job optional?”

“Ah, so you noticed,” was his mother’s dry retort.

He snickered. “Sort of hard not to, Mom. I mean, psychedelic swirls aren’t something you see every day.”

Sam chimed in. Her teasing laughter made his heart sing. “I think it’s wonderful.”

“Grace wants to murder him, of course. Or so she says.”

Constance Nelson Lloyd’s signature sniff and the way she crossed her arms said so much about the insane, crazy relationship she had with her twin. It also did nothing to diminish the love.

“Howie will talk your ear off, my dear,” she said to Samantha, “if he thinks you’ll be on board with his baby boomer nonsense.”

Sam laughed gently. “I’ve always thought the sixties were fabulous.” She looked at him, and he started to drown in her eyes.

“Let’s move inside. Your aunt wants to give you shit, and who am I to interfere.”

John took Samantha’s hand. She searched his face, so he eye rolled and winked. They followed his mom, and after closing the front door behind them, he murmured, “Welcome to the Lloyd homestead. Prepare to be amazed.”

He ushered her into what they jokingly called the front parlor—a long, useless room with a fireplace and a row of arched windows. Mismatched chairs, loveseats, lamps, and tables filled the odd room.

John loved it because it was as quirky as his family.

They found Grace Nelson Brewster holding court right in the center—standing, of course—while Uncle Howie lounged at her side, wearing his signature good-natured smirks.

“Johnny! Stumble your skinny butt over here and give your old auntie a kiss hello.” She fixed her gaze on Samantha as he slowly weaved through the furniture to reach her.

He hurriedly kissed his aunt on both cheeks, shook Uncle Howie’s proffered hand, and then reached for Sam.

“Guys, this is Samantha Matthews.” He was about to say more, but she shook him off and finished the introduction with friendly hellos and handshakes.

No bells were going off, but he sensed he was missing something obvious. Concerned, John carefully looked his fiancée over. Nothing stood out and then he noticed how awkwardly she clutched her small purse.

She was deliberately hiding her engagement ring.

He bristled and was about to say something when a bolt of common sense stopped him.

“Excuse us,” he barked at his aunt and uncle. Grabbing Sam’s hand, she got roughly jerked when he started off in search of his mom.

“Hey,” she yelped. “Slow down.”

“Mom,” he hollered. “Where are you?”

“Kitchen,” he heard her reply.

Stomping off in that direction, he pulled Samantha along as he hurried to make things right. It wasn’t until they reached the kitchen and became the center of attention that he realized Grace and Howie had followed close behind.

In front of the stove island, stirring a large pot of something, his mom looked up when he stormed the room.

He took Sam’s purse from her hands and tossed it on a table.

“Mom. Samantha and I. We’re engaged.” He showed his mom the gorgeous diamond sparkling on Sam’s hand. “Wanted you to be the first to know.”

Sam wore a stunned but pleased expression. When his mom and aunt started shrieking like groupies at a concert, he had to quickly move out of the way when all three women joined hands and danced in a circle as laughter and squeals of joy filled the air.

“I’m a grandmother,” his mom screamed with absolute delight.

Tears twinkled in Sam’s eyes when she smiled at him.

Uncle Howie thumped him on the shoulder and murmured, “Well done, son.”

“Did I do all right?”

“You did the right thing, and that’s what matters.”

John chuckled and shook his head. “Didn’t mean to bark it like that, but it had to be said.”

He was mildly surprised when the women moved away from them to gather at the kitchen table. The words wedding and Chelsea could be heard.

Howie sniggered. “You’ll get used to it. When women engage the planning mode, us gentlemen can pretty much pound sand. Let’s open the bar, shall we?”

That was where they were—drink in hand—a half an hour later when Ryan and Jen arrived.

* * *

Before it drove away, Jen clamored from the big Town Car, pointed at her horny husband, and snarled, “Stay away, you. Arm’s length.”

She was frantically trying to right her outfit and fix the hair she knew had to look as if she’d been mauled.

Ryan half skipped around her and made things worse with his attempt to help. Smacking his hands away, she sniped at him like a shrew.

“I can’t believe you just did that. Look at me! I’m a mess.”

His mocking leer ignited yet another lust-fueled bonfire inside her.

“If you wanted me to behave, you shouldn’t have said anything about your panties. Men hear the word and instantly revert to a caveman.”

“All I said was that they’re new. It wasn’t an invitation to …”

“To what?” he drawled. “Get you off with my fingers in a Town Car with a driver only feet away?”

Stomping her foot despite never remembering having ever done so before, she fought to keep hold of her fragile control. “Unfair,” was all she growled.

Her new husband grabbed her around the waist and hauled her against his hard body. “I can’t help it, so there will be no apology. You need to be made love to around the clock, and I’m the man who accepted the challenge.”

She softened and sank into him. “All you did was make it worse, you know.”

A slow, sexy smile started in his eyes and spread across his handsome face. “Good. Then every word and gesture from now till we get home will be foreplay. A public seduction. It’s not always about naked bodies and the bump and grind.”

In a breathless whisper, she confessed, “I’ve never known anyone like you.”

He caressed her face and ran his thumb back and forth on her bottom lip. “It’s mutual, baby. I’ve never felt this connected to anyone, and all I want to do is lavish you with love.”

Jen wrapped a hand around his neck and pulled him in for a sweet kiss.

“Don’t forget we have to call my folks. Okay?”

“Don’t worry. I’ve got this. Your parents will love me.”

She laugh-snorted in response.

The sound of the front door opening shot into her awareness.

“Showtime,” Ryan murmured.

Running up the stone steps to the door, she followed him and mentally chanted, Just smile. Just smile.

Engulfing his mom in a tremendous hug, he called her Mama Lloyd and got her laughing.

“Jenna!” Connie exclaimed when the hug ended. “This is a surprise!”

“Mom.” Ryan chuckled. “You have no idea.”

She stepped up with her hand out, but Connie pushed it aside and drew her in for a hug. When they stepped back, Ryan’s mother slapped her thigh and laughed. “Why, I can’t remember the last time I was this happy.”

“Is that VW Bus for me?” Ryan asked with an amused bark. He was pointing at what one could only describe as a magical mystery tour looking blast from the past.

“I’m sure you can take it out for a spin, but you’ll have to ask Uncle Howie. It’s his.”

Ryan perked up and looked past his mom into the house. “Uncle Howie’s here? Great! I want to talk to him about doing some renovations.”

“Renovations?” Connie asked.

Jen discreetly touched her husband and hoped he read the signal. She was relieved when he moved the conversation to another subject—only this subject turned her anxiety dials to turbo.

“Mom, we have something to tell you. Wait till you hear.”

Out of nowhere, his mom stopped, turned, and looked at Ryan. Then at Jen.

“Has Jenna met Goober yet?”

On a scale of one to five for weird moments, this one hit five and bounced off the scale. Huh?

Laughing with such natural good humor that Jen chuckled too, Ryan painted Connie a vivid depiction of the big, shaggy wolf dog acting like a quivering purse puppy and trying to fit on Jen’s lap.

“Well, everything is working out lovely,” Connie declared and then forcefully shooed them inside the house.

“Family’s in the front parlor.”

“Do I look all right?” she whispered.

She was hella relieved when Ryan scooped up her hand and held on tight. “You’re beautiful. Don’t be so worried. You already know all the players.”

Before they left the foyer, Jen noted a round table on which sat a shallow bowl that held an orchid bloom. They rounded the corner and found everyone spread out around a long, rectangular room that resembled a living history of furniture styles. The unexpected mish-mash instantly charmed her.

“Gang’s all here!” Connie happily chirped. “My boys.”

She saw John first. He had a happy glow that made Jen’s heart fill. Good for him, she thought. Then she spied Samantha at his side wearing an enormous sparkler and a shit-eating grin. Jen’s inner cupid took a bow, blew a kiss, and flew off. Mission accomplished.

Connie’s twin—the irrepressible Grace Brewster—and her husband waved but remained in the background like witnesses waiting their turn.

When everyone gathered in a cluster, Jen grimaced slightly from the panic rioting inside her gut.

Would they think them nuts? What if Connie disapproved of their rash behavior?

“Now, what were you saying, sweetie? You have news?”

Jen didn’t shy away when Ryan reached for her hand. She stepped closer to his shoulder and nervously smiled.

Her bridegroom cleared his throat and focused solely on Connie. “This isn’t as sudden as it may seem,” he began gravely. “Mom, Jenna and I got married this morning.”

There was a long, very quiet moment when she thought she might have an asthma attack from apprehension.

Grace’s booming voice rang out. “Nailed it!” She and her husband smacked their raised palms.

Mr. Brewster grumbled, “Dammit. This one cost me a thousand bucks.”

Connie was chortling, and she kept clicking the heels of her shoes together. Then she and her sister broke into a goofy tribal dance.

Jen glanced at Samantha. They both had similar brow-raising expressions.

John and Ryan appeared dumbfounded but amused.

“Someone want to share?” John asked. “Uncle Howie?”

After a smooth routine of fist bumps, handshakes, and gestures with his wife, the heartily laughing older gentleman slung an arm around Connie’s shoulder and grinned.

“This bet was between me and your mom. She insisted she could bring you both to the altar before the end of the year. I thought she was crazy. Knowing my nephews as I do, it seemed farfetched to think either of you would settle down. But I forgot something.”

“Forgot what?” Ryan asked.

“It might be a family trait, but sudden marriages seem to be our thing.”

Grace laughed and threw her hands up. “Hallelujah.”

“I met a cute surfer chick in 1973. It was a Tuesday. Malibu Beach. We got married three weeks later at a wedding chapel in Reno.”

“Your mom and dad did the same thing,” Grace continued. “How’s the legend go, Connie?” she asked. “They met while working on an environmental project in Africa. Greg was the serious-minded philosopher out to change the world while my sister was a free spirit getting her fancy university work project groove on.”

Jen let out a gurgle of laughter at the description.

“They fell in lurve,” Grace teased. “But Greg, he knew that because of who he was, they’d have to play the game.”

“He wouldn’t have it,” Connie told them all with a wistful smile.

“So they snuck off and got hitched overseas and played the a fait accompli card.”

Connie looked at her and Ryan with a sly smile. “Howie and I made the bet last year after I saw the way the four of you acted with each other at the annual holiday party.”

Ryan kissed Jen’s hand. “Oh, you mean how this one managed to somehow,” he said with air quotes, “dump a glass of ice water in my lap.”

She snickered and shrugged. “It’s true,” she admitted. “I guess you could say all that sniping and poking at each other was our courtship.”

Connie blew them a kiss.

“And let’s not forget the Lloyd CEO,” Jen playfully teased. “A big gathering where everyone wanted to talk to him but all he did was stalk poor Samantha.”

The matriarch weighed in. “He also handwrote her Christmas card. I knew when he spent an hour writing out a holiday card that my son was falling in love for the first time.”

Connie wiped away a tear of emotion and went to John. He kissed her cheek and hugged her tight. She looked around at all of them.

“Thank you, Samantha. Thank you, Jenna. I can’t remember the last time we were all so happy. Before Daddy died, for sure.”

Thinking she’d ease the sudden emotion that overcame everyone, Jen tugged on her suit’s jacket and said, “I’m claiming this one.”

Connie and Grace zeroed in on her. “What?” they said in unison.

“John and Samantha.” She sniggered. “I played cupid. Winning!” she declared with a victory wave.

The twins cracked up with laughter.

Samantha asked, “What are we missing?”

The ladies composed themselves, and then Connie explained.

Clicking the heels of her expensive looking shoes together, she looked a little like Dorothy in her ruby slippers.

“Matchmaking is my thing.”

Grace added, “Cupid is her spirit animal.”

Connie shushed her sister and continued. “I was lucky to share being in love with someone as wonderful as Greg Lloyd. Once he was gone, I showered my sons with all that love. I also did what I could when I saw two people who obviously belonged together. That’s why Howie took my bet. He was wagering with Cupid.”

“Cupid in heels,” Howie called out as Connie clicked her shoes.

“You have to teach me that move.” Jen chuckled.

“Me too!” Samantha added.

An emotionally charged, clumsy group hug ensued.

Connie instantly scolded her sons when she straightened.

“You bring me my granddaughter,” she berated John.

Scolding Ryan, she sniffed, “Fur grandbabies count too.”

Jen saw him hesitate and wondered if his mother had too. He was thinking about the odds of them making a baby right out of the gate.

“Shit,” John grumbled. “Now I have to find a new assistant.”

“Pardon my French, Mr. Lloyd,” she bit out, “but fuck that. I’m not quitting just because we got married.”

John’s relief was endearingly palpable. “Really?”

“We might have to discuss her hours, though, bro.”

Samantha wrapped her arm through John’s. “Well, about that. We’ve decided that his schedule needs to change, so he can spend time with his family.”

John surprised the holy hell out of her when he agreed. “I’m going to work remotely at least one day a week. And maybe a half day too. We’ll see.”

“Isn’t this perfect?” Connie muttered in a voice crackling with emotion.

Grace put an arm around her sister. “You know what this means, right?”

“Oh, hush,” Connie snapped.

Jen and Samantha looked at each other. Something new was in the air.

“What are you talking about?” John asked.

“It’s simple, really,” his aunt declared. “Once the boys were happy and married, there’d be no more reason for this one to stay single.”

Connie pushed her away. “I’m not dating. Case closed.”

Ryan said, “Wait a minute. Wait a minute. Mom, come on. Aunt Grace has a point. Am I right?” he asked everyone.

John chuckled and smacked his hands together. “This has possibilities, guys. We need to find her a man.”

“John!” Connie shrieked.

“What?” He laughed.

Samantha clapped her hands gleefully and waggled her brows at Jen. “We need to talk.”

They giggled, linked their pinky fingers, and then hugged their men.

Clicking their heels, though not quite as perfectly as Connie Lloyd had done, she and her soon-to-be sister-in-law hooted gleefully.

“Cupid in Heels, version two-point-oh. At your service!”