The Accidental Honeymoon (Wildflower Lane #1)

Chapter 40

forty

CALLA

THE EPILOGUE

Has anywhere ever smelled as good as my mother’s kitchen on a Sunday afternoon?

The aroma of freshly baked bread and roasted lamb wafts from the oven and radiates out, making hungry stomachs growl. My mother, still in a tizzy over me getting married again, insisted on throwing an impromptu second wedding feast.

Jay is in the other room with Wren. I can see them both on the couch; Jay is trying to shield his little sister from the persistent questioning of my nosy family. Questions about whether she is seeing someone, no doubt. I warned them both ahead of time to expect some Greek matchmaking for her. My family literally just loves love. And you know that, because they never shut up about it.

"Calla, chop the parsley.” Mom thrusts a cutting board into my hands. I comply, though my mind is a thousand miles away. My eyes driftback to Jay. And I can’t help but smile .

He’s mine .

My father trundles in the kitchen, eyeing the food. “No lamb?”

“It’s still in the oven,” I reply.

"Calla mou.” He comes over to where I’m standing and puts an arm around my shoulder. His eyes twinkle with mischief. "Now that you married him twice, you should know that we expect twice as many grandchildren. Your mother and I would’ve had seven or eight of you if God had willed it."

My mom makes a face and mouths, “absolutely not.”

Typical Greek family. My parents are close as any two people could be. But they have some differing ideas about child rearing.

I flush, a mix of embarrassment and amusement heating my cheeks. "We’ll have kids. Someday ."

He chuckles, patting my shoulder. "As long as you're happy, that's all that matters. Though I do wonder..."

Before he can finish, Jay strides into the kitchen, and all eyes shift to him. My sisters, who have been whispering in the corner of the living room all afternoon, catch up with their new brother-in-law.

“So, Jay,” Iris asks. “How do you get started being an influencer? How many hours would you say you put in per week? Do you ever do conventions or anything?”

Cora flashes him a broad smile. “She’s trying to fish out how much you make a year.”

“Cora!” Iris turns red. “Jeez, have some class.”

Jay handles their curiosity with the grace of a seasoned diplomat, weaving in just enough humor to keep things light.

“Well, ladies, the answer is a little complicated…” he starts .

I occupy myself with the parsley, stealing glances at Jay as he works his magic. It's like watching a master craftsman at work, someone who makes the impossible seem effortless. I didn't even realize that I needed a partner who could blend into my family in this way. Easy, gracious, even-keeled.

My family is a lot of things, but cool under pressure is not one of them. They all have hot Mediterranean blood and count squabbling as a past time.

But Jay? He knocks my family off their feet as easily as he did me. They’re putty in his oversized hands.

"Calla, taste this," my mother says.

My reverie pops like a bubble. She holds out a spoonful of lemon rice. I take a bite, the familiar flavors grounding me. It's perfect, as always.

“You know that this rice is perfect.” I give her a brief hug. “Come on. I’ll help you carry dishes out to the table.”

There are extra chairs and even a stool drawn up to fit eighteen people around the dining table. We all pack in, elbow to elbow. Yiayia sits at one end of the table, my great uncle Dimitri at the other.

I make sure to sit Wren between me and Jay hoping to give her a break from the onslaught of questions. Also, frankly, I have to make a special effort to make sure that her plate is full of slices of lamb, Greek salad, and lemon rice. Normally Yiayia would insist on doing it, but I begged her to let me take care of Jay’s baby sister. Wren is pretty quiet and I’m afraid that she’ll get lost under all these boisterous shouts.

“Got what you need?” I ask Wren.

She nods and gives me a quiet smile. “Thanks, Calla.”

My mother, cheeks flushed from both the cooking and the emotional occasion, stands and raises her glass. The room falls silent. All eyes turn to her. When Mom talks, everybody listens like she’s Moses handing down the Ten Commandments.

"To the newlyweds," she declares. She looks around the crowded table. "May your life together be as full and rich as this feast we've prepared for you. I love you so much."

“Yiamas!” my father cries. We all clink glasses.

I lean over to Wren. “He said cheers.”

“I figured that.” She grins and gives me a look. “But thanks for translating.”

I take a small sip of wine, letting it wash over my palate, and try to absorb the reality of the situation. This is what I’ve always imagined for myself.

A loving family gathered to celebrate a milestone in my life. It’s happening.

“So Calla, I heard you went to New Orleans to be a fricking TV chef!” my cousin Christopher asks. “How was it?”

“Absolutely amazing.” I glance at Jay and he grins. “Jay came with me and we spent every minute I wasn’t filming eating amazing food. The gumbo and trout almondine were to die for .”

Jay adds, “And the pastries. They made these fresh beignets that were so good. I definitely gained five pounds.”

“That’s not so bad. You’re so skinny!” my aunt Chloe chimes in. “Somebody better pass the rice over here. Jay needs another helping.”

“I’m still stuffed from the trip!” Jay catches my eye and gives me a small, reassuring smile. It’s the kind of smile that says, "We’ve got this.”

"Jay," my grandmother calls from the far end of the table. "When am I going to get great-grandchildren?”

The entire table falls silent, all eyes shifting to Jay. It’s not the first time he’s been asked about babies. In fact, I’m sure it’s not the first time today . There are no boundaries in my family.

“Yiayia,” I reply sweetly. “Please. Give us a few years before you start demanding children.”

“What if I don’t have a few years?” my grandmother asks archly.

Cora cuts in. “Are you kidding? The women in our family live to be well over a hundred. We have time.”

Jay holds up a hand. “Actually…” He looks at me, raising a brow. I feel my cheeks heat. “We’re planning to start trying sometime in the next six months.”

The table erupts in joyful exclamations and congratulations. My mother clasps her hands to her chest. My father beams. Even my usually cynical older sister looks pleased.

"We haven't even talked about a timeline," I say to him, low enough so it seems private.

He leans back from the table, beckons to me behind Wren’s back, and then whispers in my ear. "I'm not worried about it. I just wanted your family to know that I'm all in. As soon as you're ready, you can go off your birth control and we can start trying. In the meantime? Plenty of practice."

I blush, the heat rushing to my cheeks, and kiss him softly. The gesture feels more natural than I expect, like slipping into a familiar routine. My entire family catcalls us, which makes me blush even deeper.

I search his eyes for some indication of what he's really thinking. But all I see is the same calm confidence he always projects.

As the night wears on, the meal is cleared away. My father gets out the Tavli board and he and my uncle get a game going. While Wren and I wash dishes and joke about know-it-all men, my father starts a low conversation with my husband. I watch from my spot in the kitchen, my curiosity piqued as I wonder what advice or warnings Dad might be imparting. Is he telling Jay about the time he proposed to my mother? Or is he cautioning Jay about the challenges of being married to someone as stubborn as me?

Jay laughs, the sound rich and beautiful as the rosewood Tavli board.

It’s amazing to me how seamlessly he has fit into my world. The way he interacts with my family, the stories he tells, even the affectionate touches. Now I’m actually Mrs. Rustin.

Don’t tell my family that – they still believe in the woman’s keeping her own surname. But I’m beyond excited. A new last name to go with my new life.