Chapter 28
Iris
As Roman and I approach his group, his parents have their backs to us, but I can plainly see Harper’s wide grin and Maverick’s cherubic little face. Holy crap. Roman’s son is his miniature replica. The boy is Roman’s spitting image!
An intense feeling of déjà vu slams into me.
Have I seen this beautiful boy before, or does he remind me of Roman so much, my brain is feeding me false memories?
Before I settle on an answer, Roman’s parents turn to greet us, and I’m met with a face that’s instantly recognizable to me, despite the brevity of our prior encounter.
Roman’s mother! She’s the kind woman from the airport in Kauai. Consider my mind officially blown.
Of course, it’s wonderful to see this sweet, maternal woman again.
I’d love to properly thank her for the nurturing kindness she showered me with when I needed it most. But I’d rather eat rusty nails than thank his mother in this context, and in front of Roman, thereby reminding her and Roman of the pathetic, rock-bottom state I was in upon my arrival in Kauai.
It’s one thing for a kindhearted mother to offer comfort to a pitiable, distraught stranger at an airport, but quite another for that same mother to approve of a pitiable, distraught stranger as a romantic interest for her beloved son.
That’s got to be especially true when the son in question is a world-renowned athlete with his pick of romantic partners.
Not to mention, when the distraught stranger recently starred, against her will, in a mortifying viral video.
“Everyone,” Roman says, his tone brimming with excitement. He motions proudly to me as we come to a stop. “This is Iris Benedetto. Iris, these are my parents, Edward and Ava Maguire, and my son, Maverick.”
“Hi, everyone,” I squeak out, waving and averting my eyes from Roman’s mother. “It’s great to meet you.”
“This is Iris?” Roman’s mother gasps out. “Iris, we’ve met! Don’t you remember? It was at the airport in Kauai!”
Welp. The jig is up.
I meet Mrs. Maguire’s gaze with a smile. “Of course I remember you, Mrs. Maguire. I’ll never forget you. You were my guardian angel that day.”
“Please, call me Ava.” She pulls me into a warm hug, and I’m hit with a lovely floral scent. “You look wonderful, sweetheart. So much happier and healthier than when we met before.”
“I’m like new. Even better, actually. Time heals all wounds, as they say.”
“So glad to hear it.”
When we break apart, I exchange an incredulous look with my bestie, Harper.
One that screams, “Oh my fucking God.” When I arrived in Orchard Blossom almost two months ago, Harper came over, and I proceeded to tell my lifelong best friend everything that had happened to me in Hawaii over a bottle of wine.
I didn’t divulge Roman’s “new team” secret to Harper or anyone else, as promised—but I certainly did tell Harper the story of the lovely, elegant grandmother who’d comforted me at the airport and instructed me to indulge my every whim during my vacation.
At the time of that conversation with Harper, we both giggled and snickered to think that nice Airport Lady had given me a much-needed push to defy my inhibitions and have my first fling with a stranger.
And now it turns out the Airport Lady was unknowingly giving me to permission to bang her gorgeous son? What are the odds?
“Sorry to interrupt the lovefest,” Roman says with a chuckle. “But how did you two meet, exactly?”
My body seizes with preemptive embarrassment, but Ava’s bubbly, happy energy doesn’t shift in the least. With a smile, she links her arm in mine and breezily replies, “Iris dropped her sunglasses while waiting in line for a rental car, so I picked them up and brought them to her, and we wound up having a lovely, memorable conversation.” She looks at me sympathetically, her lips pursed.
“The poor baby had been through a rough time the day before, so we sat down together and she told me about it, in the most precious, darling way imaginable.” She pats my arm.
“I told Edward about our conversation when I got to the gate. I told him, ‘I just met the loveliest girl, Edward. I swear, I’ll never forget her, as long as I live.’”
“She did,” Edward confirms.
Gratitude floods me. Butterflies. Relief.
There were so many other ways Roman’s mother might have described our tear-filled encounter—descriptions that would have cast me in a horribly embarrassing light.
But she chose to treat me with kindness, once again.
Clearly, the moment we shared in Hawaii wasn’t a fluke—kindness is Ava Maguire’s default setting.
No wonder she reminded me of my own mother back at that airport—my mom was the exact same way. Kind and generous to her very core.
“That’s so you, Mom,” Roman says with a smirk. “Yet another Pop-Up Pal.” To me, Roman adds, “That’s what Mom calls the brief connections she always makes with people, everywhere she goes.”
“I love that.” I smile at Ava. “Being your Pop-Up Pal was a lucky thing for me. I needed your kind words and comfort, more than you possibly could have known.” Even if it causes me embarrassment, it’s only right to give the woman her due.
I look at Roman, and it suddenly occurs to me: Like mother, like son.
Indeed, I think it’s fair to say Roman did for me exactly what his mother had done at the airport, only on a much grander scale.
In the beginning, I figured Roman did that for sex—but after a while, that answer wasn’t good enough.
Well, now I know: he was doing what he’d witnessed his own mother doing his entire life.
Being kind. Going out on a limb to help someone in need.
Not to mention, like Harper figured out at the bar the other day, I’m sure Roman recognized some of his own struggles in me.
“What a crazy coincidence,” Roman’s father says. “To think you two met at a tiny airport on an island in the Pacific, and now you’re meeting again in a tiny town three thousand miles away.”
“There are no coincidences,” Roman’s mom says ominously, her index finger raised. “Only signs.”
“Yep,” Roman agrees, with a visible squeeze of his son’s little hand.
Throughout this conversation, little Maverick has been quietly holding his father’s hand and shyly pressing his cheek against Roman’s thick thigh. But now that my eyes have locked with his, he slides slightly behind his daddy’s leg.
“Hey, Maverick,” I say softly. “Your daddy told me you might like to ride a horse today. Is that true?”
Maverick gasps and looks up at his father, his little eyebrows raised to his scalp.
“You have to reply to Iris if you want to go, buddy,” Roman coos. “She’s the person who can make it happen for you, not me.”
Maverick blushes a deep shade of crimson and his tiny body heaves with his intake of air.
“You don’t have to feel shy with Iris,” Roman persists, his large palm resting on Maverick’s dark mop of hair. “She’s the nicest person I’ve ever met. She’s Daddy’s really, really good friend, and I know you’ll like her, too, if you give her a chance to be your friend.”
My heart flutters at Roman’s amazing words. Also, Roman’s tone and body language with his son are so damned gentle and sweet, my ovaries suddenly feel like tiny pitching machines at a batting cage. Pop, pop, pop.
When Maverick still remains silent and blushing, I crouch down in front of him with a soft smile, the same way I do with all of my shiest students.
Well, the same way I did with them, back when I was still an employed teacher.
“I’m thinking you’d really enjoy riding a pony named Tornado.
She loves taking first-timers. If you feed her some baby carrots before climbing aboard, she’ll fall madly in love with you and make sure you have a wonderful first ride. ”
Maverick wiggles his little body with excitement and looks up at his towering father again. “Can I, Daddy?”
“It’s up to Iris. Muster the courage to look at her and say, ‘Yes, please. I’d love that. Thank you, Iris,’ and see what happens next.”
Maverick takes a deep breath and turns his dark, Roman-esque gaze on me. “Yes, Irish. Tank you, pwease.”
We all melt and chuckle at his cuteness—and thankfully, nobody corrects his precious pronunciation of my name.
“Good job,” I say. I put my hand up for a high five, and he gives it to me. “Let’s go find Tornado and get her saddled up.”
I suddenly realize Harper isn’t standing with the group.
Apparently, my best friend drifted away at some point without me realizing it.
Probably, knowing her, to give me some privacy with our unexpected guests.
That would make perfect sense, actually, given how many times Harper’s had to listen to me babbling about Roman and my aching heart since my arrival in Orchard Blossom almost two months ago.
After leading the group around a corner, I easily find my best friend talking to one of the ranch hands. “Hey, baby,” I chirp. “Is Tornado in the north pasture? I’ve got a first-time cowboy who’d love to feed her some baby carrots and ride her like the wind.”
Harper giggles at my sarcasm. Our beloved Tornado has only one gear: walking very, very slowly. And everyone at this ranch knows it.
“Yep,” Harper confirms brightly. “North pasture. But I’ll grab her for you, while you show everyone around.” To Maverick, Harper adds, “There’s a bunch of horses in stalls over there who’d love to snack on carrots, if you’re willing to feed them.”
As Maverick whoops with excitement, I flash Harper a grateful smile. She’s playing Cupid, obviously—allowing me to spend as much time as possible with Roman and his family. Otherwise, she’d surely let me run hither and yon, looking for that damned pony myself.
“Thanks, Harper. We’ll meet you over at the stable.”
I turn to make sure Roman and his parents are following Maverick and me, and when my eyes lock with Roman’s a few feet away, my body jolts like I’ve gripped an electric fence.
He’s on fire as he stares at me. Indeed, his gaze is so intense and sexual, so damned heated, it instantly sends a throbbing ache between my legs.
I force my attention back to the sweet little boy clutching my hand. “When Harper brings Tornado to the stable, you can help me saddle her up, if you’d like.”
Maverick makes a gargled sound of glee that bears no resemblance to the English language, and everyone who loves him—which I’m pretty sure already includes me—laughs uproariously at his exuberance.
“Is that a ‘Yes, please, Iris’?” Roman asks from behind me, eliciting a chuckle from his parents and a swoon from me.
“Yes, please, Irish.”
My chest constricts. My heart throbs. God help me, just this fast, I think I’m already in danger of falling in love with Maverick Maguire, every bit as much as I’m stupidly in danger of falling madly in love with his gorgeous, look-alike, football god of a father.