This wasn’t what he was expecting. At all. Number Five, Florida Place wasn’t a restaurant. It was a well-loved home set in line with other well-loved family homes. A double driveway led to a double garage. Both garage and driveway were filled with cars. At least eight of them. So many in fact, that there was no room for him to park except out on the street.

It was a white picket affair with a cut lawn, flowering rose bushes beneath the front windows, and welcoming steps leading to a freshly painted front porch. There was even a double swing seat beneath the roof of the porch.

David paused at the front gate, soaking it all in. He hadn’t been to the suburbs for a long, long time. He’d almost forgotten homes like this existed. So far from the helter-skelter of central New York.

He’d forgotten he wanted a home just like this when he was younger.

Funny how things slipped the mind when you weren’t paying attention to them. Like having a home. Wife. Children. Love.

He’d been focusing so hard on not having those things, he’d forgotten that once, as a young starry-eyed young man, he’d thought that something like this was exactly what he’d eventually have.

“Hi. You must be David.” A heavy Australian accent drew his attention to the front door. A matronly woman with the same red hair as Marlowe gestured for him to come inside.

He trod up the steps and onto the porch, “Yes. That’s me. Nice to meet you.” He offered his hand. It was engulfed in two of the woman’s before he could blink. “So polite. Come inside. Marlowe’s elbow deep in coleslaw. She thought since you were coming tonight, to treat you to some Aussie fare. I'm Janice, by the way. Marlowe’s Mum.”

“Uh. Hello. I hope I’m not intruding,” David said.

"Dan. Jason. Stop jumping on the couch or I'll get your father to come and talk to you." Janice pointed a direct finger at two children under the age of five as far as David could tell, laughing and jumping on the couch in the front room as they passed.

“Ok, Nana.” Two innocent voices yelled before they collapsed into a fit of giggles.

“They’re my youngest grandkids. Little terrors,” Janice smiled over her shoulder at him. “I have six of them so far. Grandkids that is. Five sons and one daughter, who you’ve met.”

David remembered Marlowe had mentioned her brothers. She’d said nothing about nieces and nephews, a gingerbread house, a friendly mother and a loud household. Nor the fact she’d obviously asked him to a family dinner he knew nothing about.

Janice led him into a light-filled kitchen. Marlowe stood beside the bench and time stood still. He knew she was beautiful, but today she wore a floral dress that outlined her curves. She didn't wear the chef's hat, or a beanie to hide her hair. A riot of soft copper curls danced about her face. She wore a light cover of makeup that helped define her eyes and made her lips shimmer. She was absolutely breathtaking.

"You made it!" Her smile broadened. She came to the bench and kissed his cheek. She wore a light perfume of some sort of a dusky aroma that entirely suited her. He loved her cinnamon smell, but he liked the perfume too. "I see you've met Mum. I'd like you to meet my father, Gary."

A large, sure hand was thrust into his as an older man pumped his hand, "Good to meet you, mate. Hope we're not too noisy for you. Being brought into the fold can be overwhelming to people who aren't used to it." Marlowe's father was as tall as he was, but a few sizes larger. He was balding and wore a full beard streaked with grey, which suited him. He had the same engaging smile Marlowe had.

“We’re having a good ol’ fashioned Aussie barbeque for dinner. I hope you like meat,” Gary said.

“And chicken and sausages and prawns.” A man about Marlowe’s age came into the kitchen, followed by a smiling woman. “Hey. Name’s Brad. This is Shirley, my wife.”

Brad held out his hand and shook it in a sure grip the way Gary had.

"Don't forget the salads. Coleslaw, potato salad, bean salad," Shirley laughed as she placed a bowl on the bench.

“As long as Marlowe made the Pav,” Brad said.

Marlowe smiled and nodded, “I’ve made the Pav and the trifle.”

“Great. Emergency dodged. Can’t have a barbeque without the Pav. Hey, you tasted Marlowe’s Pav yet?” Brad turned to David.

David shook his head, holding his hands out palm side out, “I’m not sure what a ‘Pav’ is.”

The kitchen filled with more people. David edged into the corner of the bench as children squealed and dodged between everyone’s legs. Hers was a large family. There was clear affection between them. They laughed, smiled, chatted all at once all over each other.

“Did I hear someone say Marlowe’s Pav? Can we start with that?” A man, probably another brother, yelled over the din as he squeezed into the room.

"Okay, everyone. Let's eat!" A male voice shouted over everyone else. There was a bit of a cheer and the room started thinning.

A warm hand took his, “Come on. Come with me.”

David let Marlowe steer him from the rowdy kitchen into an equally rowdy dining room. The room contained three table arranged in a u-shape. Tablecloths of different colours dressed their table, and seating had been set. The children were settled at one end together so they could talk, and, as far as David could tell, there was no order to the rest of the seating.

It was a vast cry to the quietness of his condo when he came home at the end of the day, more often than not with one of Marlowe’s soup kitchen meals for dinner.

He looked about the large family interacting with each other. He saw where Marlowe got her innate warmth from. This was how she grew up, with supportive and loving people surrounding her, a vast difference to his sullen father and a house so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Half the time, he didn’t know if his father knew he was home. It would go days before his father might talk to him.

Marlowe tugged his arm, “Come over here. We’ll sit at the quieter end of the table. We can talk about the costings while we eat if you like.”

David settled into his chair after Marlowe had sat, “There’s a quiet end of the table?”

She nodded and indicated one end where the children were at their highest sound setting and another where her brothers enjoyed an exuberant discussion. She was right.

“Help yourself, David,” Marlowe indicated the plates piled high with delicious looking food.

“I can’t remember when I’ve had a meal like this,” he said.

“You never had family meals like this?” Marlowe asked.

He shook his head, “Never. It was only myself and my father. We hardly ate dinner together.”

Marlowe offered him a plate of chicken thighs. “Really?”

“I guess having a family as big as yours, it’s hard to imagine there was only the two of us.”

“No cousins. Aunts. Grandparents?”

‘No one.” It was a lonely childhood, compared to hers and he wondered how much he'd missed out on. He'd barely taken a friend home. His father wouldn't have welcomed them anyway.

A warm hand caressed his, “I’m so sorry, David.”

That simple gesture showed him how much she understood. He barely was able to glance in her direction as a wave of unbidden emotion surfaced. The hurt. Anger. Loneliness. Just being here, showed him how cold his childhood actually was. He’d managed to forget about it. Until now, that was.

He thought he was over it. Had left it all behind, but it seemed he’d only been kidding himself.