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  Artie slid back. “I’m just going to order in,” she said.

  “Nonsense!” my mom declared. “I’m cooking my world-famous meatloaf and biscuits, and there will be enough to feed an army. You should come. I’m dying to hear about your latest project. How was Zane Potter to work with?”

  Panic in Artie’s expression.

  “Mom.”

  “What?”

  I shot her a look that had any further protests dying on her lips. “Artie’s tired.”

  My mom’s expression fell, which made me feel like shit, but also, unfortunately, I knew it had to be done. She came on too strong, didn’t realize it, and was making Artemis uncomfortable.

  “Oh,” my mom said, voice dropping. “Of course, she’s tired. I’m sorry.” A forced smile. “Some other time.”

  She bent and began fussing with the bags.

  Aw. Fuck.

  Stifling a sigh, because there was nothing to be done for it right then, I turned to Artie, “I’ll talk to you late—”

  “Actually, meatloaf sounds amazing.”

  I blinked, jaw falling open.

  My mom’s head jerked up. “Really?”

  Artie nodded. “What time are you eating?”

  “With this horrible L.A. traffic, maybe six?”

  “I feel you on the traffic,” Artie said with a smile. “Six sounds great. What can I bring?”

  “Artie—” I began.

  Neither of them acknowledged me.

  “Nothing, dear. Just yourself.”

  “Nonsense. I can’t show up empty-handed.”

  “Mom—”

  Still ignoring me.

  “Fine,” my mom said with a happy smile. She loved nothing more than a polite guest, and showing up with a hostess gift was a surefire way to start on the correct foot with her. “How about a bottle of that wine you were speaking of earlier?”

  Artie grinned. “I can do that. Red or white?”

  “Yes.”

  Artie burst out laughing. “Okay, so both.” Her phone beeped in her hand, and she glanced down at the screen before announcing, “My car’s here. I’ll see you two later.”

  She waved and headed toward the doors.

  “Be right back,” I said to my mom, hurrying after Artie. “Hey”—I caught her arm just outside the doors—“you don’t have to—”

  A smile that didn’t completely reach her eyes. “I wasn’t joking, Pierce, meatloaf sounds awesome.”

  “You’re lying.”

  She sighed. “No one can make me do something I don’t want to.”

  “But—”

  “I know we had a . . . an odd moment in Scotland. But I’m fine now. And I mean it. If I didn’t want to come meet your family, I would be heading home, pajamas bound right at this moment.”

  “There will be kids there.”

  “I saw him. He’s adorable.”

  “Five more. None older than six.”

  Her eyes widened, but she nodded. “Okay, great. I love kids.”

  “You say that now.”

  She patted my cheek, smiling again though this time it was finally real, that warmth seeping into her blue eyes. “I can’t wait to get all of the embarrassing stories from your sisters. Starting with how exactly they taught you to braid.”

  I groaned.

  “It’ll be great,” she said. “You’ll see.”

  Why did I feel like those were famous last words?

  Nine

  Artie

  Okay, so I had a minor freak out on the 405.

  But it was gone by the time I drove through the meandering roads of Brentwood. Pierce’s house was smaller than some of the neighbors', but I thought its location couldn’t be beat. Positioned at the end of a cul-de-sac, he only had neighbors on one side, and because of the way the lots matched up, even that house was set far away.

  Space was often at a premium in L.A., but Pierce had made a smart call with this purchase.

  Plus, the view was insane.

  Rolling hills, green oak trees dotting their tops, the city in the distance. He’d even avoided a good portion of the smog.

  Smart man.

  And that was right about the point I remembered I was meeting his family.

  Seriously. What the absolute fuck was I doing?

  First, I’d had a meltdown in Scotland, freaking out about something that was clearly an accident, then telling him things I never should have confided, then I’d gotten drunk, after which I’d done the equivalent of a walk of shame, except it was a calling-in-a-private-plane-so-I-could-get-the-fuck-out of shame, leaving him with work I should have been doing.

  It was a clusterfuck.

  And now I was going to his house to meet his family.

  Of all the idiotic things I’d done in my life, I seemed to just be continuing to add to the pile this week.

  Brilliant.

  But his mom’s face had dropped after Pierce had stepped in. Though I gave the man credit, he’d seen I was uncomfortable, had taken measures to stop it from happening. That took a backbone and even more so when the person that required the halting was a parent, most especially a mother.

  Still, her expression had morphed. She was lovely and energetic and sweet . . . and disappointed because of me.

  I was a lot of things, but I couldn’t stand hurting someone like that.

  No matter that this was probably going to be a disaster.

  No matter that this was about as far from keeping my professional distance as possible.

  No matter that part of me wanted to say yes the moment the offer had been made. I’d seen the way Pierce’s cute little nephew had stared up at him, beyond taken with his uncle—a similar feeling I’d experienced, having gotten to know him fairly well over the last few years (I deliberately ignored the biblical type of knowing) and wanted to learn more about his family. I’d witnessed how excited his mom was to be in L.A. celebrating Christmas early, not because she wouldn’t miss her son on the actual day, but because she was thrilled that he was living his dream.

  I knew this because my mom had been like that.

  Thrilled and proud and gentle and sweet. And pushy and wonderful and—

  I couldn’t disappoint Pierce’s.

  Read into that what I wanted.

  “Stupidity, that’s what,” I muttered, turning into his driveway and winding my way up to his house. Two large minivans were parked in front of the garage, and I blocked one in, hoping that wouldn’t create any issues later, then I reached for the bag I’d filled with six bottles of wine—three red, two white, one sparkling—and maneuvered my way out of the driver’s seat.

  I heard them before I saw them.

  Screaming—which I assumed was of the child-based variety because of the high-pitched tone. It was interspersed with laughter, punctuated by deeper adult voices. None of the noise sounded worried and so I didn’t immediately grab my cell and dial 9-1-1, which I might have done had I come across the commotion on a street corner.

  Instead, I slung the bag over my shoulder, bent to pick up my purse with my other hand, and sucked in a breath.

  Shoring myself for the chaos inside.

  Hell, who was I kidding?

  I was shoring myself against Pierce.

  I might have only allowed myself one night with him, but that had been enough to devastate my defenses.

  He’d wiggled his way in like a fox tail, sly and persistent, burrowing his way under my skin until I couldn’t stop myself from rushing over to see him at events, from thinking about projects he might like, from . . . coming to dinner tonight.

  Because I’d be kidding myself if I thought it was only about disappointing his mom.

  It was about disappointing Pierce’s mom.

  And yet, I was here.

  “Idiot,” I muttered.

  “Idiot’s a bad word.”

  I jumped, whipping around, the bag swinging forward and almost flying off my arm, trying to locate the voice that had said that.

  Th
ey were below my line of sight, so it took me a few heartbeats to see the cute little blond boy who’d been clutching Pierce’s leg at the airport.

  “Hi, tiny person,” I said, crouching down and meeting curious blue eyes. “I’m Artie.”

  He wrinkled his nose. “Artie’s a boy’s name.”

  I grinned, having heard the sentiment many times over my life. “There isn’t really such a thing as a boy’s name or a girl’s name. They’re all just names.”

  He stopped, head tilting as he considered that.

  After a few seconds, he nodded. “That makes sense.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Thomas.”

  “Nice to meet you, Thomas,” I said, standing and reaching up to fix the heavy bag. Maybe six bottles of wine was too much, but I hadn’t wanted to bring too few, especially when Pierce had mentioned the Daniels hoard at the airport.

  Hoard equated to six bottles in my mind.

  “You, too,” he said.

  “So, want to show me—”

  He ran off.

  My words trailed away as he disappeared around the corner of the house. “I guess it’s this way,” I said, starting to follow him.

  “You’d guess right.”

  Heat shooting down my middle, arrowing between my thighs.

  Which meant that even if I hadn’t recognized his voice, I would have known Pierce was standing very close. Fingers slipped under the strap of the bag, relieving me of the heavy burden. “Hey,” he murmured. “You sure you’re ready for this?”

  “Is your mom’s meatloaf really world-famous?”

  “Maybe family famous?” Pierce said, lips twitching. “It’s not as good as your pasta, but it is delicious.”

  “Then yes,” I said. “I am so ready for this.”

  “It’s your death wish,” he said with a shrug.

  “And your confidence in me is overwhelming.”

  “Not you,” he said, tugging at my ponytail, “it’s my family that’s the trouble.”

  “Trouble, as in they’re a family of ax murderers?” I teased. “I can just picture this brood of little ones with child-sized axes.”

  His hand dropped from my ponytail down to my shoulder. “Sometimes I really worry about you.”

  I laughed. “I worry about me on a daily basis.”

  “I worry about Pierce”—we turned to see a pretty blonde emerging from behind the house, holding Thomas’s hand—“on a daily basis.” She grinned. “You seem quite normal at first glance.”

  “I’m hoping that’s a compliment?” I asked. I hadn’t been sure what to wear, so I’d gone for something that fit in with what Pierce and his mom had been wearing at the airport—jeans, sneakers, a simple cowl-necked sweater. So far, that seemed like a good call, considering Pierce was in a T-shirt and his sister was in a similar outfit as mine, though she’d swapped the jeans for leggings.

  “Definitely a compliment,” she said.

  I walked forward, stuck out my hand. “Hi, I’m Artie.”

  “It’s not a boy’s name,” Thomas interjected, rather helpfully, I thought.

  Bending, I stuck out a fist. He bumped it with his. “Thanks, bud.”

  “Hi, Artie, not a boy’s name. I’m Kate.”

  We shook hands. “Nice to meet you,” I said. “And thanks for letting me crash your family dinner.”

  “From what I heard, it’s more like you were waylaid into it.”

  I shrugged. “So perhaps, that’s more the truth of it.”

  Kate grinned. “Thus is the powers of moms. Well, let me just invite you to come on into a house that isn’t mine.” She swept a hand down the path. “We’re all in the backyard.”

  Thomas let go of his mom’s hand and snagged mine. “Want to see my dinosaurs, Artie?”

  I glanced at Kate, who nodded her okay. “Heck, yeah, I do. Which is your favorite?”

  “T-rex!” he said. “But have you heard of a velociraptor?”

  “I’m not sure,” I said, tapping my chin. “Can you tell me about it?”

  And off he went, talking about four-inch claws and excellent eyesight and did I know that some dinosaurs had feathers?

  By the time he’d finished his explanation, we’d made it into the backyard, and I glanced up from the gorgeous blue-eyed cherub to see a sea of people staring her me. “Um, hi?” I said and waved.

  Pierce’s mom came out of a door, a huge grin on her face. “I’m so happy you made it to dinner!” She crossed over to me, arms extended, and I found myself swept into one of those quintessential mom hugs—warm and tight that felt like she would hold on to me for as long as I needed to be held.

  There was nothing like mom hugs.

  “Hi,” she said, dropping her arms when I leaned back slightly.

  “Hi,” I murmured, clearing my tight throat. “I don’t know your name.”

  She laughed. “Dorinne. But my friends call me Dory.”

  “Are we friends?” I asked, stepping back.

  Another laugh. “I hope so.”

  “Me, too,” I said, and though I’d been reticent to accept the invite in the first place, I couldn’t say I disliked the thought that I might have made a friend in Dory.

  “I’m Dave,” a man said as Dorinne shifted to the side. He stuck out a hand. “I’m—”

  “Pierce’s dad,” I exclaimed, looking between him and Pierce. The resemblance was uncanny—same blue-gray eyes, same nose, same jaw, same broad shoulders and lean hips. The only difference was that his brown hair had a few gray strands mixed in.

  Smiles erupted all around, including on Pierce’s face.

  “I’m definitely a Daniels,” he said. “That’s for sure.”

  “No milkman’s babies in this family,” another tall, statuesque blonde said, this one with a baby on her hip. “I’m Marie, by the way. Four of the terrors are mine, along with that male terror”—a man with brown hair and eyes waved, said “I’m Joe.”—“I’m Pierce’s sister.”

  “Much older,” Pierce chimed in.

  I plunked my hands onto my hips. “That’s rude.”

  “Marie, meet Artie. She’s also much older than me,” he teased. “I still think she’s okay.”

  “Seriously?” My foot started tapping. “Let’s not forget the fact that I’m fifteen years older than you.”

  “And don’t look a day over fourteen.”

  I glared.

  He grinned, totally unremorseful. “Remember what I said about teasing in this family?”

  “Remember what I said about my talent for sticking cameras up into places they don’t belong?”

  “Remember when I said I like it when you threaten me?”

  I lifted a brow. “I don’t recall that particular conversation.”

  “Hmm.” His lips twitched. “Well, I guess I was remiss in telling you.”

  I shook my head.

  Dorinne cleared her throat, drawing my attention back to her, and I tried not to notice the knowing expression on her face. The distance thing was getting harder to remember when it was just so much damn fun talking to Pierce.

  His family wasn’t bad either.

  “What’s in the bag?” Marie asked.

  “Wine,” Pierce answered, opening the bag enough to reveal the contents.

  “Oh, yes,” Marie said, clapping her hands together. “You’re now officially my favorite person in the history of all people.”

  My lips curved. “Well, you’re my kind of person.”

  “Cheap date?” Marie said with a smirk.

  “She means, an alcoholic,” Pierce quipped.

  Marie huffed, and I poked him in the ribs. “I meant smart,” I announced. “Knows a good thing when she sees it.”

  “I’d just like it stated for the record that that’s a Daniels family trait,” Pierce murmured, close enough to my ear that I shivered. “We see good things and we go for them.”

  I remembered.

  Too freaking well.

  “Holster the smolder,”
I muttered.

  He chuckled but stepped away, taking the wine with him. “Be right back.”

  “Chill the champagne!” I called.

  “On it.”

  “Champagne?” Marie asked.

  “Seemed like maybe you guys might want to celebrate everyone being together,” I said with a shrug. “If no one’s a fan, I’ll take it home with me.”

  “Oh, we’re fans,” Kate told her. “And I concur with Marie. You’re good people, Artemis.”

  “Artie,” I corrected. “Artemis is just . . .” I shook my head. “A little to extra, even for me.”

  “Artie’s not a boy’s name,” Thomas announced, running over with a dinosaur in his hand. He held it up to me for an examination, which I dutifully completed, making sure to take the task seriously.

  “I see those long claws you were talking about,” I said, carefully handing it back.

  Thomas grinned and ran off.

  “Come on.” Marie slipped her arm through mine, leading me over to a large table that was set up on the back porch. It provided a bird’s eye view of the kids running around on the lawn. “They’re a little pent-up after the flight.”

  “I can imagine,” I said, sitting down in a chair and surveying them. “Those Daniels genes are strong, huh?” I don’t think I’d ever seen a group of kids and adults who looked so similar, even despite Pierce and his dad having brown hair and gray eyes as opposed to the blond hair and blues of the rest of the bunch, they were still obviously Daniels. The only oddballs were me and the husbands. But it seemed that their DNA had been overcome by the pure dominance of the Daniels’.

  Kate laughed. “You could say that.” She pointed at a little blonde girl toddling after the rest. “She’s the only one without blue eyes. Hank likes to joke that I messed up with her.”

  “Either that,” a man said, coming over and kissing the top of her head, “or my DNA finally prevailed. Hi”—he waved—“I’m the previously mentioned Hank.”

  I laughed. “Hi, previously mentioned Hank.”

  Kate rolled her eyes. “Sit, Hank. Plus, it’s not dominance if fate is just finally throwing us a bone.”

  “Dominance or fate,” Joe said, “I’m still waiting for my bone.”

  “There’s a comment there,” Marie chimed in. “But because Artie is new, I’m going to give her a break.”