Cynthia could barely breathe as she led Noah into the house. Everyone else was probably already eating—her mother would’ve made sure she wasn’t disturbed. She hadn’t meant to talk to Noah for so long on the porch, but his insistence that his feelings were genuine, plus his truth bombs about his past, had kept her riveted. And hopeful.

Now, she didn’t know what to think about the rumors she’d heard back in the day. And honestly, she really didn’t care. That was in the past. If people held her accountable for all the crazy things she’d done in college, she’d likely be single forever. The important thing was what was happening right now. And right now, Noah was coming to Thanksgiving dinner with her nutso family. He was asking to date her. To be exclusive.

He’s asking you to go back to Sacramento with him!

She felt queasy from all the emotions rolling through her. Excitement, joy, anticipation of feeling his body again, fear of what was in front of them, worry about basically living with a man so soon after re-meeting him, and the certainty of Ellen’s wrath.

Somehow, it was the last that was the worst. Ellen would be so pissed. No, beyond pissed—she’d be incredulous. Noah, Mr. Silver Spoon, Mr. Popular Jock, who all the girls had wanted and couldn’t land, was going for the weirdo black sheep in the family? The sister who wandered around in superhero shirts and occasionally decided not to bother brushing her hair? The girl who could spill someone else’s ketchup on her white shirt? Who looked poor even though she came from this neighborhood? That sister had landed Noah?

Cynthia could actually hear Ellen’s voice in her head.

Schooling her features into flat nothingness—an expression she’d mastered to hide her daydreaming during long, boring meetings—she entered the loud dining room. Two spots stood open at the end of the table, as far from Ellen as possible. That had been by design, and for once, Cynthia and her mom had been working together to make that happen.

“You have to sit next to me, I’m afraid,” Cynthia murmured as the conversation, which in this group entailed everyone nearly shouting in order to talk over each other, started to die down.

“That’s it. I’m out. This isn’t what I signed up for,” Noah teased, and rubbed his hand down her back.

Goosebumps covered her skin and her stomach did somersaults. “I’m the least of your problems, as you’ve probably gathered.”

“Noah!” Uncle Art, sitting at the head of the table on the opposite side, raised his fork in hello. A glob of cranberry sauce went flying, landing on the cream-colored table cloth.

“Art!” Tamie’s eyes had followed the offending piece of food to its final resting place. Even though she was in the middle of the table, she half stood and pushed forward, reaching over Ellen to dab the spot with her napkin. Her arm hit a serving fork resting in the bowl of salad, and it catapulted toward the stuffing.

“Mother,” Tera said through her teeth, grabbing the salad fork and looking suspiciously at the stuffing. Despite being completely grown up, she didn’t like her foods touching each other.

“Everyone is so jumpy at this table.” Uncle Art boomed out laughter. “It’s just fabric, Tamie.”

“Noah, hello.” Rick, Cynthia’s dad, was sitting at the head of the table next to one of the empty chairs. His salt-and-pepper hair was perfectly styled, even after a morning on the golf course.

“Let me introduce you to everyone you haven’t met,” Tamie said, resuming her seat. “You know Art and the girls, of course.” Tera smiled. Ellen glowered. “That is Tera’s husband, Aaron, seated next to her.” Tamie gestured down the table at the blond man with a large nose and thin face. She apparently thought it necessary to help Noah find the only guy between Tera and Art. “Across from Aaron is Ellen’s husband Larry. And you know Aunt Bessie, of course. She insisted on sitting in that exact seat.” Meaning the one directly across from the empty seats.

“I wanted to be near the sane people,” Aunt Bessie mumbled, picking at her ambrosia salad. “Who could possibly call something a salad when it has marshmallows in it?”

“Hi, everyone,” Noah said, thankfully ignoring Aunt Bessie and smiling around the table. “Thank you for having me.”

“Of course. Our pleasure!” Tamie beamed. Everyone else muttered a welcome, and Cynthia and Noah finally sat down—Noah taking the seat next to her dad’s. “Noah is Dan’s son from down the street. He was nice enough to join us today.”

“Can you please pass the turkey this way?” Cynthia said as she looked over the options. She knew what they all were, of course. She was the one who’d set them up earlier. After she took off her dress and put on sweats so she couldn’t spill anything on herself—her mother’s orders.

“Yes, of course. Now, Noah,” Tamie said, gesturing for Ellen, who was sitting in front of the turkey platter, to hop to it. “Eat your fill. We have more than plenty to go around.”

“So what are you doing these days, Noah?” Cynthia’s dad asked as the various food items started heading their way.

Noah took the potatoes from Aunt Bessie, who’d thrust them at him, as if encouraging him to get the show on the road, even though they’d been directly in front of him. “Currently, I’m a fitness model with a sponsorship,” he said.

Ellen huffed. Loudly.

“A fitness model?” Uncle Art roared down the table, leaning forward and almost dipping his blazer into his heaping plate. He laughed, putting pressure on his shirt’s buttons as his large stomach heaved in protest. “That’s a girl’s career, son.”

“Whatever happened to law?” Cynthia’s dad asked, cutting a slice of turkey.

Murmuring down the table indicated Aaron and Larry didn’t care what Noah did now, what happened with law, or whatever recent thing Tamie was worried about on her new tablecloth. Cynthia was actually surprised they’d paid attention for long enough to get Noah’s name. They weren’t often interested in anyone but themselves or, when necessary, each other.

“The branch of law I’d chosen wasn’t working for me,” Noah said with a level voice, taking the turkey platter from Cynthia.

“Hmm.” Cynthia’s dad nodded thoughtfully. “Shame. Although taking a break after college is always a good idea. You probably jumped into law school too soon. You know…” He shifted in his seat and rested his forearms against the edge of the table. “An acquaintance of mine is having great success with his own practice. He opened it a few years ago, and it’s grown every year. That’s always an option. Then you can pick and choose which cases you take. You’re in the driver’s seat. Then again, it takes a certain type of individual to run a business. It’s hard work.”

Noah nodded thoughtfully. “That’s something to think about. I was thinking about switching professions soon—”

“Would you two shut up? I can’t hear a blasted thing going on at the other end of the table,” Uncle Art yelled at Larry and Aaron. “Say, Noah, did you hear the one about—”

“No.” Cynthia’s mom raised her hand. “No jokes, remember?”

“This one is child friendly,” Uncle Art said.

“Speaking of the kids, where are they?” Noah asked.

“They’re with the nanny Tera and Ellen hired,” Cynthia answered.

“My daughters are under the impression that having kids doesn’t mean you actually need to raise them.” Rick raised his eyebrows in silent judgment while scooping up a forkful of peas. They didn’t stay on long before scattering around his plate. He sighed quietly. “Why did she order peas? They are a nuisance to eat.”

“Just like all the men here have been raising their kids these last few days…while on the golf course?” Cynthia muttered, shaking her head.

“What’s that, Cynthia?” her dad asked, abandoning the peas in favor of the mashed potatoes.

“Food looks great.” She smiled at him as she started eating.

“Oh.” Her dad nodded before putting a forkful of potatoes into his mouth.

Dinner passed in a strange mismatch of conversation. Cynthia’s dad didn’t have much to say, Aunt Bessie was amazingly quiet, and Uncle Art roared constantly. By the time everyone was ready for dessert, Cynthia was desperate to pack her bag and set off for Sacramento right then.

“Cynthia, dear, sit down and entertain your guest,” her mom said as she rose and grabbed a few dirty plates.

“Nice,” Cynthia muttered, beaming at Noah. “You should come to all these things.”

“The special treatment only lasts while it’s new,” Tera muttered as she walked by, carrying plates.

Aaron rose and stretched, adjusting his pants over his stomach. “Great dinner.” He looked at the dirty plate in front of him, glanced off toward the kitchen, then stepped away. “I’m just going to hit the restroom.”

“Yeah…” Larry pushed his chair back. “I’ll…”

Cynthia didn’t hear his muttered excuse as he followed Larry out of the dining room.

“The men don’t usually clean up at my house, either,” Noah said quietly, turning toward her and putting his hand on the back of her chair. “Tia absolutely froths at the mouth because of it, but she deals with it because they aren’t her parents.”

“My dad usually puts his own dish by the sink,” Cynthia whispered. “Then he wanders off.”

“Mine doesn’t. My mom grabs it for him. They’ve always been like that. Stuck in their ways.”

“Why don’t you help break the mold?” she asked, tentatively reaching forward and bracing her hand on his thigh.

His small smile and the spark of lust in his eyes made her clench her lady bits. “The same reason you aren’t helping out now,” he said softly, clearly so her father, who was now getting up to take his one dish into the kitchen, wouldn’t overhear. She had a feeling he’d retire to his study—and a cognac—rather than come back.

“Good point. I don’t even feel guilty. Then again, I’ve been Cinderella for the last couple weeks, so I’m over it. But in real life, you help?”

His smile broadened. “In real life, I cook and clean, because I’m a bachelor that lives alone, and don’t have anyone to do it for me.”

Her mood darkened, and she pulled away from him. She wasn’t moving into his house to be his servant. And if this ever went further, there was no way she’d cook for him, serve him, and clean up after him. No way in hell.

He laughed. “I was teasing. I realize that even if you lived there, I still wouldn’t have anyone to do those things for me,” he said. “I’m not like our fathers, don’t worry.”

“If she lived where?” her mother asked as she bustled in from the kitchen. “Cynthia, are you moving?” she said a moment later, headed the other way with a couple of picked-over trays.

“Am I telling them?” Cynthia mumbled to Noah.

“Cynthia?” Tamie said, back for more dirty dishes. Ellen and Tera had to be on rinsing and dishwasher duty.

“If you’d like.” Noah took her hand under the table and entwined his fingers with hers.

“Noah has asked—” Cynthia watched her mother disappear around the corner. “Right.”

“I’ll probably have to go home after this and put in some time,” Noah said, his thumb stroking hers. “Because I was thinking about changing my plans and leaving tomorrow. My dad’s really pissed, so I’d rather not spend the weekend with him.”

“Oh.” Cynthia dodged the uncertainty that always plagued her with new romantic interests. “Sure. When, ah…”

“Now what was that, Cynthia?” her mom said, picking up the last of the dirty dishes.

“Do you have any more wine?” Uncle Art, who was still sitting at the table like a king waiting for his next course, said much too loudly.

“It’s there, on the sideboard. In that nook over there.” Tamie waved her finger. “Honestly, Art, how many times have you been here? Turn your head—”

“Ah! Yes.” Uncle Art hefted his girth out of chair.

“Cynthia—”

“Mother, are all these desserts going?” Ellen yelled from around the corner.

Cynthia’s mom twisted and headed back into the kitchen.

“I don’t blame you,” Aunt Bessie said from across the table as a dramatic show of flatulence made the two husbands at the end of the table jump. They’d only just returned from their chore-avoidance routine. Both turned incredulously to Uncle Art, who grunted and poured his wine.

“I would leave at the first available opportunity,” Aunt Bessie continued. “This place is a nut house. But when you get married, remember that I’m a good cleaner. And I love children. I’m great at watching them. Just park me in an in-law suite or the attic, if you can find a house in California that has one, and you’ll have free labor. I’m signing myself up.”

Cynthia stared at her great-aunt for a moment. There was so much to unpack in that outburst that she didn’t know where to start. She went for the most obvious. “How would you possibly get up the stairs to an attic?”

Aunt Bessie grinned and patted her wheelchair. “This is just for show. If I looked healthy, I’d have to help serve and clean up.”

Cynthia’s mouth dropped open as Noah started laughing.

“Now, Cynthia,” her mother said as she came back into the room. Despite all her running around, she still looked fresh and vibrant. Her mother had a gift. “What was that you were saying? Where are you going?”

“She’ll probably follow him around like a lost puppy before she catches on that he’s just using her,” Ellen groused as she walked by with a pumpkin pie. Ellen’s husband seemed completely oblivious that Ellen was upset.

“Oh, my favorite. Gives me horrible heartburn, though.” Uncle Art followed the pie with his gaze.

“At least you can’t force your heartburn on the rest of us, stinky,” Aunt Bessie yelled down at him.

Cynthia laughed when she noticed her mom’s nose twitch, followed by a sour look. Her laughter stopped as soon as the smell reached her.

“Why did you have to invite him, and when is he going to pass out so we can have some peace?” Cynthia said with a groan.

“Cynthia, don’t be rude. You know he has no other family.” Tamie scowled at Aunt Bessie, clearly including her in that command. “Now, for the final time, what is this about moving?”