I straightened before I was knocked over by the wave of children. Brock shifted closer and his arm went around me again.
Julio’s wife came through, carrying the youngest on her hip, and miraculously she didn’t look pregnant. “I told you Brock was here,” Heather yelled over her shoulder. “That was his car out front.”
“I know that’s his car,” my uncle shouted back.
“And Jilly is with him!” Heather drew up short, her gaze moving from my face to his and then to the arm around my shoulder. “And Brock has his arm around her!”
My brows rose.
Brock chuckled under his breath.
Beside me, Mom practically buzzed with eagerness to explain. “Oh Heather, dear, Brock and my baby girl are together.”
“What?” yelled Julio. “Woman, they haven’t . . .” His voice faded off, and I heard a childish, girlish squeal.
“Together?” Heather cocked her head to the side, and the small child, a boy or a girl, I had no idea, tugged on her long, blonde hair.
“We’re seeing each other,” Brock explained while I stood there like an idiot.
Mom let out a little squeak that sounded like Beaker from the Muppet Babies, and then Heather was hollering, “Brock and Jilly are seeing each other!”
“Oh my God,” I murmured.
Brock squeezed my shoulders.
A second later, what I guessed was the last of their kids came running through the open doors. It was Hannah—I think—and she made a beeline for Rhage’s carrier, cooing as she dropped onto the floor, sticking her little fingers toward the cage.
“I wouldn’t do that—” I reached for the child.
“Don’t let that damn cat out,” Julio griped, and my gaze flew to the open door. “You remember what happened last time, Hannah-Banana. Nearly took off your finger and the cat got out. Took us half a day to catch him.”
“That’s an exaggeration,” I said dryly.
Julio looked like he had the last time I’d seen him—a younger version of Dad. Still no graying hairs or skin creasing in the corners. He was a little taller, a few inches above me, and he was dressed like he always was, in black track pants and a Lima shirt. That was all. It was forty degrees outside and windy as hell, and that was all he’d wear.
“Look at you two.” My uncle grinned as he strode across the foyer, managing to navigate the children as they appeared to be climbing all over everything—furniture, Mom, Dad, the walls. Julio stopped in front of Brock and patted his chest. “Name your first kid after me.”
“Oh my God,” I said again.
“I’m sure they’ll name their first kid after me,” Dad chimed in, grinning as his dark eyes sparkled.
“But what if it’s a girl?” Mom asked quite seriously as Heather shuffled forward, giving Brock and me a one-armed hug. The kid on her hip ended up in my hair and it took four seconds to untangle the poor child.
“Can we not talk about having babies?” I asked, wrangling the last strand of hair free from the small child’s death grip. “We really aren’t at that stage.”
“I want kids,” Brock announced, glancing down at me, and the air stalled in my lungs. “Maybe not an entire soccer team like some.”
“But you’ll have fun making that soccer team.” Julio grinned.
Heather turned her head to me. “But you will not have fun delivering said soccer team.”
“Okay,” I said, stepping away from Brock. My face was on fire. “I need to get—”
The child at the carrier fell back and Rhage flew out of the cage in a flurry of brown and white fur. Claws rapped off the wood floor as he shot into the living room. Mom shouted. Kids squealed and ran off.
“Damn it,” I muttered, exhaling heavily as something somewhere in the living room crashed to the floor. “Not again.”
Dad laughed as he walked up to my side and kissed my temple. “Welcome home, Jilly.”
* * *
Later, after Brock caught the damn cat hiding in a bushy fern in the sunroom and brought him up to my bedroom, I sat on the corner of my old bed and waited for Brock. He was in his old room, getting ready for the evening.
We all had an early dinner and then Julio and Heather packed up the kids. They’d be back tomorrow with everyone else, and I was sure that would prove interesting. Or overwhelming. Brock and I planned on discussing the option of converting the space either Thursday evening or Friday.
I’d showered and curled my hair so it fell in loose waves down to the center of my back. I hadn’t parted it like I normally would; instead I let it part naturally, straight down the middle.
I wore a thin V-neck sweater in deep red, because I knew it would be warm in Mona’s, and a pair of dark jeans tucked inside the same boots I’d wore the night I’d first saw Brock in Martinsburg.
Getting ready had reminded me of that night so long ago, but as I sat on this narrow bed that would barely fit two people and gazed around my room, I couldn’t help but think about how so much had changed since that night—how much I’d changed. Sometimes it felt like I was still that same girl who got dressed up one Saturday night, full of girlish hope, and other times I didn’t even recognize her.
Though as my gaze roamed over the hundreds of books lining my bookcase, I didn’t feel like I wanted to be far from this room. There was no slicing pain in my stomach or pressure in my chest. There were memories, but they didn’t haunt me.
One side of my lips tilted up as I thought about tonight. A flutter started in my belly and spread upward. I was nervous, but in a . . . a good way. I was going out tonight.