Chapter 17 #3
The Storm house was just as chaotic as she’d imagined, loud voices reaching them before they even made it to the front porch.
As they walked inside, she realized it was just as warm and inviting as she’d imagined too.
And oh my God, the smell of butter and garlic and freshly baked bread had her mouth watering instantly.
Grayson took a quick whiff as well, and rubbed his hands together gleefully. “Smells like my mom’s stuffed garlic chicken. I swear this is the greatest thing you’ll ever taste.”
“It’s already the best thing I’ve ever smelled.”
His grin widened as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders.
Remi greeted them before they made it more than a handful of steps inside, handing her and Grayson bottles of Rain or Shine IPA, claiming she’d seen them pulling in.
“Welcome to the Thunderdome,” Remi proclaimed with a laugh, as the sound of raised voices reached them. It sounded like someone was fighting, though given the squeals of laughter and…was that bets being placed?…Wren assumed no one was really arguing.
“Levi and Sam,” Remi explained. “The Iron Man debate rages once more.”
Grayson rolled his eyes, then explained for Wren.
“My big brothers have had this same damn argument since they were in middle school, both of them insisting they’re the strongest guy in the family.
Ultimately, the debate rages until it reaches a head and they decide to resolve the issue through some sort of competition.
Tonight, it’s going to be settled by…” He looked toward Remi, waiting for her to fill in the blank.
“Arm wrestling,” Remi replied. “Standard bet. Five bucks. We were waiting for you two to get here. Who do you want?” she asked, looking at Wren.
Wren shrugged, glancing at Grayson, who was already pulling out his wallet. Withdrawing a ten, he placed it in Remi’s hand. “Put down five on Levi for Wren, and five on Sam for me.” He winked at her. “Hedging out bets. Either way, we win.”
She tried to pretend she didn’t love the way he called them a “we.”
Grayson grasped her hand, tugging her toward the kitchen. “Come on. We can go say hi to Mom.”
She pulled up short for a moment. “We’re not going to watch the contest?”
“We can if you want, but it’s only going to get—” Before he could even finish his sentence, a loud roar erupted from the living room. “Louder,” he finished, as the din continued. Most of the Storm family was probably crowded into that one room.
“The kitchen sounds great,” she said, suddenly concerned about sitting down to dinner. Her claustrophobia was no joke.
Grayson gave her a quick kiss on the cheek.
“What was that for?” she asked, smiling.
“I missed the hell out of you the last three days. We’re never going to be apart that long again.”
Wren, despite all the bad shit whirling in her head, laughed. This man was perfect. So. Fucking. Perfect.
They walked into the kitchen together, and Mrs. Storm spotted them instantly. She quickly wiped her hands on her apron, then walked over, folding Wren into a warm, motherly hug.
“It’s about time you got up here for Sunday dinner, Wren,” Mrs. Storm said, pulling away but keeping her hands on her upper arms as she took a closer look at her. “Oh my. You’re a beauty, just like your sister Lark.”
Grayson chuckled. “That’s the weird thing about identical twins, Mom. They look, you know…identical.”
Mrs. Storm swatted at her son playfully, then turned back to her. “I raised a brood of smart-asses,” she said. “Though it was bound to happen, considering who their father is.”
As if summoned, Mr. Storm walked through the back door with a platter full of vegetables—zucchini, squash, and peppers—that he’d grilled outside. “What am I getting blamed for now?”
“Your sons being smart-asses,” Grayson replied.
Mr. Storm lit up as he set the platter on the large center island. “Oh, I’ll take all the credit for that.”
Mrs. Storm immediately whipped out a roll of aluminum foil, covering the veggies to keep them warm, as her husband placed a kiss on her cheek. Very similar to the one their son had just given Wren.
Mr. Storm looped his arms around his wife’s waist, standing behind her. Obviously, Grayson also got his size from his dad, because the man was just as tall and broad, while Mrs. Storm was at least a couple inches shorter than Wren’s five-foot-six height.
“From my wife, they all got their good looks,” Mr. Storm added.
Mrs. Storm playfully elbowed her husband, obviously touched by the compliment. “My husband is quite the charmer.”
“Another thing Grayson seems to have inherited from his dad,” Wren said. Then instantly blushed over her candid, revealing comment.
Grayson, like his mother, enjoyed the compliment. He loosely wrapped his arm around her waist, nuzzling his nose against the side of her head. “Glad you think so,” he murmured, loud enough his parents overheard.
They turned as Kasi and Mila entered the kitchen.
Kasi had married Grayson’s oldest brother, Levi, and, according to Lark, was currently five months pregnant.
The family was calling it a honeymoon baby, but Lark and Remi seemed convinced the baby preceded the vows by a few weeks.
Not that it made a difference. Remi swore the second Levi set his sights on Kasi, even a tsunami couldn’t have kept her cousin from marrying her best friend.
Mila was also in a committed relationship, currently living with the farm’s vineyard manager, Boone, and his tween daughter, Sadie.
Wren knew Mila the same way she knew most of the Storm family—in a neighborly fashion.
They were the “say hello, how are you” in passing kind of acquaintances, though Mila did come to the library every few weeks or so.
However, while there, her conversations with the woman were limited to books rather than anything personal.
Everything Wren knew about the Storm family, she’d learned through Lark and, more recently, Grayson.
“Who won?” Grayson asked.
“Levi,” Kasi said, grinning widely, pleased her husband had been crowned the champion.
“Though it was close. Honestly, I sort of think Sam threw it at the end, simply because Remi started threatening that we were all going to eat dinner without them. Sam would rather eat crow than miss Aunt Claire’s chicken casserole,” Mila added.
“You’re not wrong about that,” Grayson said.
“Do you need any help?” Wren offered, though her kitchen skills were limited. And given what Grayson had told her during their nights spent whipping up dinners together, his mom, Kasi, and Mila were practically James Beard award-winning chefs.
“No,” Mrs. Storm replied, just as a timer went off.
“That’s what I was waiting for. Grayson, do me a favor.
Help your dad open a few bottles of that Chardonnay of yours, while Kasi, Mila, and I put the food on the table.
Wren, sweetheart, do you mind going to the living room to let the troops know dinner is ready? ”
She nodded, heading back in the direction of the earlier noise.
Peering into the living room, she realized she’d been right.
The place was packed to the rafters with Storms. Unfortunately, Lark had already made plans with a girlfriend to go shopping in Leesburg and out to dinner, so she didn’t have her twin for support.
“Wren!” Nora called out, rising from the couch to greet her. “I didn’t know you were here.”
“Grayson and I swung by the kitchen first to say hello to his parents. Mrs. Storm wanted me to let everyone know dinner is ready.”
Nora grinned. “I’m going to warn you right now, that ‘Mrs. Storm’ thing won’t fly with Aunt Claire. She’ll insist you call her by her first name.”
Wren nodded, even though that was going to feel strange after so many years of calling her Mrs. Storm.
“Soup’s on!” Nora called out to the room, the two words having the same effect as a starter pistol at the beginning of a race. Everyone rose practically as one, gunning for position.
Wren stepped out of the path of the crush, laughing at the way Grayson’s brothers jostled each other, fighting to get there first.
She followed behind the last of them, stepping into the large dining room. She gasped when she saw the enormous table. Given the size of the family, she’d honestly expected several tables would be necessary to accommodate them all.
Grayson waved her over, pointing to a chair next to the one he was standing behind. “Saved you a spot, little bird.”
Several heads popped up at the term of endearment, and she swallowed hard when his mother took in the two of them as if she was already planning their wedding.
She really shouldn’t have come here before talking to Grayson. But cowardice had ruled the day.
Wren forced a smile when he held the chair out for her, pushing it in before seating himself. He leaned toward her, their shoulders bumping familiarly. There was no denying just how happy he was to have her here.
That truth felt amazing…and horrible.
She’d been nervous the entire day as the time crept closer for Grayson to pick her up, but she could see now, all that anxiety had been wasted.
The Storms were fun and funny, and she didn’t feel at all like she was under a microscope, her every word and action being observed and analyzed, as she’d feared.
Well, except for with Grayson, but she was getting used to his constant gaze. In fact, she craved it; no one had ever looked at her like he did. Like she was chocolate and red wine and Christmas all rolled into one.
And because he was always watching, he saw the exact moment she took her first bite of Mrs. Storm’s chicken. Flavor exploded in her mouth, and her reaction was instinctual as she closed her eyes and moaned in bliss.
Grayson leaned closer, whispering in her ear, “Told you so.”
“I’ve literally never eaten anything that good in my life.”
While she’d spoken softly, and directly to Grayson, his dad—who was sitting next to him—overheard.
“You’ve got yourself another fan, Claire.”
“Seriously, Mrs. Storm,” Wren said, forgetting Nora’s warning. “This is delicious.”