his arms against his sides.
His eyes flew wide and locked with mine. I flat-out laughed.
“This is just…wonderful!” Mom stepped back and gave Nixon the same inspection. “Well, aren’t you handsome?” Mom looked back over her shoulder at me and raised her eyebrows.
“No, Mom—” I started.
“Did I hear you say something about— Zoe!” Dad exclaimed, barreling through the door and sweeping me into another hug. “Oh, Zoe.” He sighed and rocked me slightly, resting his chin on my head. Dad had the kind of hugs that simultaneously made me feel protected and invincible.
This right here was worth it. No matter what Nixon saw while he was here, or who he managed to scandalize, this moment was worth it.
“How long are you here for?” he asked, pulling back and glancing between Nixon and me.
“Uh…I’m not sure, actually. Dad, this is Nixon. Nixon, this is my dad, Thomas Shannon.” I repeated the introduction.
Dad’s perceptive gaze narrowed on me slightly, but his smile was warm as he shook Nixon’s hand. “Well, come on in.”
I tried to see my house through Nixon’s eyes. It was modest and clean, with a thick wooden bannister up the stairs at the entrance and dark hardwood floors. The furniture was traditional and the clutter scarce. The only pictures on the wall were the family photos Mom had either taken since the fire or had backed up online. Except that gem of me in the third grade with two missing teeth and unruly hair. That one had been in a fire safe with the rest of the school pictures, and hence survived.
Man, I wish that one had burned.
“You were a cute kid,” Nixon noted as we passed it.
“Shut up,” I muttered, leading him into the kitchen.
During the rebuild, Mom and Dad had made the kitchen open-concept, and the massive island that separated it from the living room was currently covered in dinner preparation.
“Jeremiah should be here any minute. You’ll stay for dinner,” Mom said. It was not a question. “We have more than enough.”
“Of course,” I responded, then motioned for Nixon to take a stool at the island.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” He sat, then shifted his hand from the counter to his lap and back again.
A corner of my mouth lifted. I’d never seen him in a situation where he wasn’t a hundred percent sure of his footing.
Mom softened. “You just sit there and prepare to answer about fourteen million questions. Zoe, get the potato peeler.”
“On it.” Second drawer down and there it was.
The kitchen door opened and shut, bringing in the crisp fall breeze. Jeremiah’s eyes bugged out when he saw me.
“Zoe!” He crossed the kitchen with my nephew in his arms, and I got double-hugged. “Levi, do you know who this is?”
“Aunt Zoe!” the three-year-old responded with a toothy grin.
“That’s right!” I clapped. “Hi, Levi!” God, I’d missed his chubby cheeks.
“Guess those weekly FaceTime calls are paying off.” Jeremiah smiled down at me.
“Nice beard.” It was the same shade of red as our hair.
“Naomi likes it.” He shrugged. “She’s running late, but she’s going to freak when she sees you.” He let me go, then froze as he looked over my shoulder toward the island.
“Jeremiah, this is—”
“Holy shit, you’re Nixon Winters!”
And so it begins.
“Holy shit!” Levi exclaimed, clapping his little hands.
“Levi!” Mom chided.
“Nixon!” I accused.
“I didn’t even say it!” Nixon countered, putting his hands up.
“Bad influence,” I muttered, then introduced Nixon to Jeremiah. My older brother had that starstruck look for all of thirty seconds before he let Levi down to go play in the living room.
“Okay, no offense, Zoe, but what the hell are you wearing?” Jeremiah asked.
“It’s a dress. This is a work trip, and I’m working.” I shot a look at Nixon, wondering if he’d put him up to it.
Nixon grinned and folded his arms across his chest. How was this even my life right now?
“She looks lovely.” Mom glared at Jeremiah. “But, Zoe, you must be uncomfortable, and I wouldn’t want you to get anything on it.”
“I’ve been trying to get her out of it all day,” Nixon agreed.
Every head snapped toward him, and my mouth fell open.
He read the temperature of the room in a heartbeat and grimaced. “Not that way. I swear. We are strictly professional.”
Dad cleared his throat and stood across the island from Nixon.
“Well, that’s nice. Zoe, why don’t you run up to your room and change? You still have an entire dresser of clothes here,” Mom suggested.
I nodded in agreement, and as I walked by