Which is how I found myself maneuvering the large SUV, I had unwillingly borrowed from a woman I had never met, down a dirt lane for about ten minutes before the road finally opened up and the large two-story farmhouse Owen had grown up in came into view. There is a large wraparound porch that’s littered with overflowing pots of flowers and rocking chairs, along with two separate porch swings.
As per the instructions I was given, I drive down the small dirt lane, past the house and toward the second barn I come across. This barn, that isn’t really a barn, is just barely visible beyond the edge of the house. Owen said that years ago his mother had his father build a separate barn that she was able to hold large gatherings in. She loved to have picnics and barn dances—though I wasn’t sure exactly what those were, and invited everyone. As is evident today.
Off to the side of the barn, there’s a large field, which probably sits empty most of the time, but is currently lined with cars. On the opposite side of the makeshift car lot, is the actual picnic. Several large grills are set up, smoking already with whatever they are currently cooking. Tables are lined up and overflowing with various dishes. No one told me I had to bring food. I stopped and picked up some flowers from the local florist, who knew where I was going, and who the flowers were for, and assured me that sunflowers were the way to go for Maureen Gallahanger.
A large number of tables have been set up and are currently overflowing with people—some who have plates of food in front of them, and others who appear just to be socializing. Children of various ages zip in and around the tables and the people. They have bubble guns, waters guns, Nerf guns, and a variety of other items in their hands that they chase each other with. Still, others are practically spilling out of the two, large bounce houses that have been set up just beyond the barn.
I park Maureen’s car in line with all the others and slide out. Stella has, blessedly, fallen asleep on the ride over. She has been up and raring to go since five this morning. She obviously doesn’t understand the point of Saturday mornings, and she hadn’t let me enjoy sleeping in this morning. No, I’d woken up to twenty-five pounds of little girl bouncing and giggling on my bed. She hasn’t slowed down since, but the crankiness started to slide in about an hour ago. So while it would probably be short, this nap has come at a perfect time.
I’m just starting to open her door, when Owen comes jogging through the line of cars. “Mo chuisle, you made it. I was starting to think you’d gotten lost or decided not to come at all. My family can be a little daunting.”
I arch one brow. “This is all your family?”
He shrugs his broad shoulders. “In Broward, we’re all family. Here, let me get her.” He nudges me out of the way, and with an expertise I didn’t know he possessed, unbuckles Stella’s car seat and lifts her up into his arms. She mumbles under her breath but doesn’t open her eyes as she settles her head down onto his shoulder. She squeezes Phant tighter against her body, wiggling until Owen’s arm is under her butt, her favorite way to be held when sleeping.
So I’m not ashamed at all to say, that while I might have been able to admit to being madly in lust with Owen Gallahanger, that it was in this particular moment that lust started its slippery slide into love. Watching him hold my daughter in his strong arms, his eyes soft with an emotion I couldn’t quite identify but knew I liked seeing, was the moment that it all started to fall into place for me. Whatever happened from this moment on, I know that Owen has irrecoverably changed the course of mine and Stella’s life. I’ve been so busy creating a life for just the two of us, that I haven’t allowed myself the opportunity to imagine someone else being a part of our family. Owen is quickly showing me how important it is, not only imagine it, but to let it actually happen.
“Mama doesn’t know how to do anything in half measures,” he practically whispers the words while maneuvering me to the side he’s not carrying Stella on. His free hand wraps around my waist, pulling me against him as we start to make our way to the party, which I now refuse to call a picnic. Picnics are blankets spread out on the ground while you battle ants for your sandwiches. Not bounce houses and four separate grills, and what looks suspiciously like an ice cream truck.
“Obviously,” I mutter, attempting to unwrap myself from his arm. He isn’t having it, of course, but tugs me closer. I cringe when I spot Lesa in the crowd, still unsure of rubbing whatever this is between Owen and me, in my boss’s daughter’s face. How in the hell do I find myself in these situations?
Luckily for me, Lesa doesn’t appear to be bothered too much at the sight of the two of us together. She’s standing with Bash and Cameron, easily flirting with both. It’s apparent that this type of banter between the three of them isn’t new, and doesn’t appear to be anything more than a bit of harmless fun.
“Tristan, you made it! It’s so good to see you outside of work. I love that necklace!” My fingers instantly wrap around the long, silver chain Trevor once gave me. Lesa herself is wearing a cute, little, blue-and-white gingham sundress, and a pair of wedges I would not have attempted knowing I was going to a farm. Her hair lies in a braid over one shoulder, and a brown woven hat is pulled down low over her forehead. Without even trying, she looks chic and sexy all at the same time and makes me feel frumpy in my tank top and shorts.
“Thank you,” I reply softly. “I love your dress.” Then, after giving another cursory look around, I add, “This is quite the picnic.”
“Mama G throws these four or five times a year.” Lesa smiles. “She loves hosting everyone. I swear it gets bigger and bigger every time. There’s an entire course set up for the Nerf gun war behind the barn. It’s crazy.” She shakes her head before lifting up a red Solo cup to sip from whatever is inside. “Is this your little girl? She’s so precious, Tristan. She looks just like you. A mini Tristan for sure. Did her father mind you moving her all the way to Georgia?” Lesa’s eyes widen the minute the words finish escaping her mouth, and a blush steals up her cheeks. “Oh, my, Tristan. I am so sorry! That isn’t any of my business.”
“It’s fine.” I smile thinly. “Trevor was killed in action several years ago.” The words never get any easier to say. “Unfortunately, he never got to meet Stella.”
“Oh, Tristan.” Lesa’s hand lands warmly on my arm, squeezing softly in what I’m sure she thinks is support. “I’m sorry. I’m such an idiot. I swear half the time words come out of my mouth before they’ve fully even formed in my head.”
“It’s really not a big deal; it was a long time ago.” This is a situation I often find myself in. It always strikes me as weird that even though I’m the one that lost Trevor, I find myself having to soothe other people who bumble their way into finding out Stella’s father was killed in action.
At my waist, I feel the reassuring warmth of Owen’s hands as his fingers squeeze softly to let me know he’s here.
“Still it was incredibly insensitive of me.”
I shift uncomfortably on my feet, unsure of how to get Lesa off this particular topic. “Baby, let’s go get you something to drink, and find some shade for Stella.” Owen drops his arm from around my waist, grabbing my hand in his as he tugs me along behind him. It’s the first time he’s called me anything other than mo chuisle or mo chuisle mo chori, and a little part of me is disappointed that he’s calling me something so mundane. And a small part of me is embarrassed that he’s calling me a pet name that everyone can understand. Every time I ask him what it is we’re doing, he changes the topic without really answering, but it’s clear that we’re working our way into some sort of relationship.