Chapter 30
I don’t dream of Kitty.
My sleep is dreamless and deep.
When I awake in the morning, sun streaming through the windows, my only memories of the night before are of waking to Reeve—sometime in the early hours—kissing me softly while I slept.
Now I’m curled up beside him. A little spoon to his big one.
His arms tighten as I open my eyes, and I’m not sure if I’ve woken him or the other way around.
Then I hear it. A soft buzzing from Reeve’s nightstand, followed by silence.
“I think that’s your phone.” I try to turn over, but he holds me to his chest, nuzzling his nose into the nape of my neck.
“The only person I feel like talking to this morning is in my bed,” he grumbles into my skin.
The buzzing, however, continues. A rhythmic zzzz zzzz zzzz of metal vibrating on wood.
“It could be important,” I tell him, to which he groans, letting go of me just enough to roll onto his back so he can reach over and tip the screen toward us.
“It’s just my mom.” He clicks decline, sets the phone back down, then remains on his back but pulls me on top of his chest.
“How did you slee—” His question is cut off by another round of phone buzzing.
Reeve growls, pulling one of the pillows from behind his head and plopping it on top of his nightstand.
“What if it’s an emergency?” I ask, suddenly concerned about the need for two consecutive phone calls.
Reeve kisses the top of my head. “It’s not. Trust me.”
The buzzing happens a third time, its annoying persistence cutting through the pillow. I prop myself up onto my elbow and stare, my head filling with gruesome scenarios, car crashes and kitchen fires. “Maybe you should answer it. Just to be sure.”
Reeve snakes his arm under the pillow, clicks the phone, and brings it to his ear.
“Hey, Ma.”
I hear a female voice on the other end of the line. I can’t make out her words, but her tone is very nonemergency.
Reeve looks over at me. “You called me three times to invite me over to brunch?” he repeats, as if giving me a recap of their conversation.
“I can’t make it,” he says, rolling onto his back, bringing his other hand behind his head, and flexing his biceps, to my delight and pleasure.
“Why?” He stares up at the ceiling above. “Because my girlfriend is here for the weekend, and I haven’t yet mentally prepared her for you and Dad.”
My stomach bottoms out at the word and how he so casually tossed it out there, like it wasn’t the first time he’d thought it. To his mother, nonetheless.
I’m a girlfriend.
Reeve’s girlfriend.
With that idea still sinking in, I lose the plot of Reeve’s conversation until he rolls onto his side, saying, “Fine. I’ll ask her.” Then he presses the phone to his chest. “Do you want to go to my parents’ for brunch today?”
My previous elation is replaced with curiosity at the prospect of filling in yet another piece of the Reeve puzzle. “Yeah, kind of.”
He lowers one of his eyebrows. “Are you sure? I was planning on us staying in bed all day, ideally naked.”
As much as I love the sound of that plan, I’m even more curious to learn more about Reeve. “We would have to eat at some point, though. You know how I feel about breakfast.”
Reeve leans forward, kissing me softly on the lips before returning to his back and pressing the phone to his ear again.
“Okay. We’ll see you in an hour.” He lifts the phone away as if he’s about to hang up but quickly brings it back to his ear.
“Wait, is Brodie going to be there?” He pauses as his mom presumably answers his question. “Liam and Lorraine or just Liam?”
There’s another few seconds of indiscernible mom talk before he clicks off the phone and sets it on the nightstand.
“Does this mean I get to meet the brothers as well?” I ask, piecing together his half of the conversation.
“The whole fam, except my brother’s wife, Lorraine. She’s on call.” He rolls out of bed. “We should get dressed then. You’ll need a cup of coffee before you go, possibly a shot of tequila.”
“Are they really that bad?” I ask, following him out.
Reeve turns, and I notice the smile has slipped from his lips. “They’re something.”
—
We take Reeve’s car to his parents’ house. About halfway there, I get that now too familiar been here before feeling as I start to recognize a few of the homes before I realize it’s in the same neighborhood as Beau’s cousin Eleanor from my Kitty dream.
However, the house we pull up in front of is newer and more modern than Eleanor’s old Tudor-style mansion. Its exterior is covered with big gray stone slabs, huge arched windows, and an impressively tall entryway. I can feel Reeve watching me as we park in the driveway.
“Ready?” He holds out his hand, which I take, even though we’re still sitting in the front seat. He brings our entwined fingers to his lips and kisses the back of my hand before reaching for his door handle and stepping out.
It occurs to me as we walk up the front steps that I’ve never before met parents in such an official capacity.
Most of the guys I’ve dated over the years are from West Lake, with parents I’ve known most of my life who had no clue when the line shifted from us just hanging out in their basement to making out in their basement.
The front foyer of the house is empty. It reminds me a little of Reeve’s condo with its white-and-gray marble floors and sleek, sharp lines.
We toss our shoes and coats in a large closet and walk the long hall to the back of the house toward the sounds of sizzling pans, cupboards being opened and closed, and the trickles of multiple conversations.
Reeve takes my hand again as we walk in.
A woman sits at a large kitchen island the same shade of marble as the floor.
Her chin-length blond bob is cut at a sharp angle that reminds me of her house.
She’s thin and fine-boned and bears little resemblance to Reeve until she looks up, and her eyes light up in surprise.
“They’re here!”
Standing at the stove, a man turns at the sound of her voice, flipping a tea towel over his shoulder.
He raises a spatula in greeting, and I instantly see where Reeve gets all of his features.
Both men sport the same broad shoulders and dark hair, although Reeve’s dad is a little rounder in the waist and has a little more salt and pepper at his temples.
“Mom. Dad. This is Jules.”
I wipe my hands as discreetly as I can on my jeans as Reeve’s mom comes around the island, but she ignores my outstretched palm and instead pulls me into a tight hug.
“So happy you could make it, Jules. I’m Cheryl, and that’s Reeve’s father, Bill. Reeve has told us all about you.”
My cheeks flush at the idea that his mother knows my name.
“Thank you for inviting me. It smells wonderful in here,” I say to Bill as Cheryl moves on to Reeve for a hug.
“We’re still a few minutes away from being ready,” Bill says, holding up a metal flipper. “Why don’t you grab some coffee and see what your brothers are up to?”
He goes back to tending a frying pan of bacon. Cheryl inclines her head toward a small living area off the kitchen where two men are sitting reading their phones.
The one lying on the couch looks up as we walk in. “Reevey Boy, nice of you to show up for once.” His tone is joking, and his smile is wide, yet I feel Reeve stiffen beside me.
“I don’t know why you’re giving me shit,” Reeve says, his eyes drifting to the guy still on his phone. “Liam’s the one who hasn’t been here since Christmas.”
The guy on the phone, presumably Liam, continues to type as he talks. “He pretended not to recognize me when he answered the door. It was all very hilarious,” he says dryly before looking up and realizing Reeve is not alone.
“Oh, hi. I’m Liam.” He extends his hand.
As we shake, the other brother waves at me, still lying on the couch. “Brodie.”
“Jules,” I reply, the formalities now complete.
We sit down on the love seat across from Brodie. His splayed form is a notable contrast to Liam, who’s straight-backed in the chair.
All three Baldwin brothers look like their father. Although Reeve got more of the height and broad shoulders, they all inherited the strong jaw and honey-hued skin.
I know Reeve is the middle child, but I can’t remember if he told me which of his brothers is the oldest. However, I can wager a decent guess. “So Liam, then Reeve, then you?” I say to Brodie.
He flashes back an all-too-familiar smile. “Only if you’re going in birth order. If you’re going by who’s the best-looking, it’s me, then probably Reeve and Liam way at the end.”
Liam doesn’t even look up from his phone as he says, “Let’s go by who makes the most bank. That would be me, then I guess Brodie. Reevey, are you even on the list?”
Brodie laughs. Reeve stares straight ahead, unimpressed.
Brodie sits up, swinging his feet to the ground. “Or we go by who has the biggest di—”
“Boys!” Cheryl yells in that universal mom-tone. “We have a guest. Now, go get your drinks. Breakfast will be ready in a moment.”
We fill our coffee mugs and settle around a kitchen table that is yet another shade of light marble. On top of it is a breakfast that looks like it came out of a ’90s-era sitcom: big plates of pancakes, scrambled eggs, and an entire platter piled high with crisp bacon.
Once plates are filled, Cheryl turns to me, her eyes kind as she says, “So, Jules, Reeve tells me you’re here this week for your medical school interview.”
I take a sip of coffee, swallowing down the half-chewed bite of pancake in my mouth. “Yes, it was yesterday.”
“And how are you feeling about it?” she asks.
“Good.” My answer isn’t even a canned response. I do feel good about it, even with twenty-four hours of perspective. “I guess I’ll find out what they think in the spring.”
Cheryl shakes her head, astonished. “I forgot they make you wait that long.”
Liam nods, taking a sip of his coffee. “Do you know what you want to specialize in yet?” he asks.
“If I go with the answer I gave yesterday, yes. General medicine with a focus on geriatrics.”