Orla #2
A knock rattled the door, followed by a booming voice. “Anybody seen Mr. and Mrs. Reed?”
Tyler grinned. “Kitchen, Trav!”
In strode another taller version of him with sharper, slicker, Wall Street edges where Tyler’s were all wild, rogue charm. At his side was an elegant blonde dressed head to toe in beige who looked like she’d stepped out of a magazine spread. Eve.
Warm hugs and introductions flew around the kitchen, the air filling with the scent of expensive perfume and the easy noise of a family that actually liked each other. But it was Eve who pulled me in last, her eyes bright and searching.
“I’m so excited to finally meet you,” she murmured, her voice soft. “You’re all he talks about.”
Heat rushed up my neck, leaving me slightly shy and definitely dizzy. It was one thing to feel the weight of Tyler's attention when we were alone, but hearing it echoed by his family made it feel permanent.
Tyler lifted the bottle, the glass catching the light. “Drink?”
Travis and Eve glanced at each other, sharing a pause that felt almost loaded. Then Eve smiled. “Not for me, thank you. Not for at least another eight months.”
The words hung in the air. My mouth fell open. Across the room, Sarah let out a sharp, audible gasp.
Travis’s grin broke first, wide and unbelievably smug.
“No way!” Tyler whooped, rounding the counter in three long strides. He wrapped them both up in a hug so fierce I thought he might break their ribs. “You serious? You’re gonna be parents?”
Eve laughed through a squeal. “We are.”
The kitchen erupted, Sarah teary-eyed, Eddie booming with laughter. Travis looking like he’d just won the lottery. But it was Tyler’s face that floored me. Pure joy and unfiltered pride. The man the tabloids painted as a selfish rogue was standing there glowing at the thought of being an uncle.
And I couldn’t help thinking, if he lit up like that for someone else’s baby, what would it be like when it was our turn? Heat rose through my body at the possibility.
We lingered over dinner, laughter spilling as freely as the wine. I barely recognised him like this. He seemed relaxed, easy, his arm draped behind my chair. Like he was home. Like he belonged.
Until Eddie cut in with a tone that was gruff but loaded. “You told your mom yet, Trav?”
The atmosphere at the table shifted. Tyler’s shoulders went rigid, jaw clenched. Trav let out a long breath. “We’re going tomorrow morning. Thought maybe you’d want to come, too.” His gaze flicked to both of us. Tyler suddenly looked like a deer caught in headlights.
“I haven’t spoken to her since she left rehab,” Tyler said flatly. “Is she even sober?”
“She seems to be,” Sarah offered gently. “I think she’s really trying this time.” She appeared convinced but I could tell Tyler wasn’t. I could see that pain in his eyes that he often tried to push down when the subject of his mother was brought up.
The silence that followed pressed heavy against my ribs. Of everyone, Tyler was the most reluctant to speak about her, maybe because he’d caught the worst of it. But the thought of him not seeing her on Christmas, of that distance never closing didn’t sit right with me.
“That sounds like a good plan,” I said softly.
His eyes cut to mine, with an unreadable look. I gave him a small smile, sliding my hand onto his under the table.
After a long pause, he nodded. “Sure. We’ll come.”
The whole table seemed to exhale at once.
Later, when the goodbyes were said and Travis promised to pick us up in the morning, Christmas morning, Tyler’s hand found mine again, his grip tight. And I knew. For him, Christmas had never been about celebration. It was about survival.
After everyone left, we collapsed onto the sofa, completely content after an evening full of good wine and laughter. I stretched out, legs draped across his lap, another glass of Merlot balanced in my hand.
“That was nice,” I murmured lazily, sinking into the plush sofa.
“Yeah.” His head tipped back against the cushions, eyes half-closed. “Didn’t realise how much I’d missed everyone. I’m glad you finally got to meet them.”
“Good news about the baby?” I asked softly.
His lips curved excitedly. “Yeah. Been a long time coming for them. It’s good. I’ll actually be an uncle.”
The warmth in his eyes as he said it made my chest squeeze. There was such a softness to Tyler that I still wasn’t used to being let in on.
“Kind of made me think about when we get to tell them about our own someday?”
“Ha—woah there, Reed.” I laughed, nudging his ribs with my toes. “We’ve got the big Irish wedding first.”
“I know.” He turned his head, leaning down and brushing his lips against my jaw in a feather-light kiss. “But after that? We’re making all the cute-ass babies.”
“Deal,” I whispered, fingertips grazing over the scruff of his stubble, lingering at the mouth that had already ruined me more times than I could count.
A wicked and familiar grin spread across his face. “In the meantime, I promised we’d practice in every damn room of this house.”
I arched a brow, tilting my glass toward him. “How about we start right here?”
He slid his hand higher on my thigh, took the glass clean from my grip and set it aside, eyes locked on mine.
“Buckle up, Mrs. Reed. Couch is just the beginning.”