O Come, All Ye Kellys (Love & Luck #7) - Isla Olsen Page 0,4

Da’s, I hand Baxter over to my mom, who seems beyond relieved to see him arrived safely.

“Oh, thank goodness!” she cries, her hand going to her chest. “Mark said he thought he saw him leaving with you, but you know he’s got that wonky vision and he’s had a few of your father’s wines so I couldn’t be sure…”

I shake my head in wry amusement. I’m not sure my mother, who can barely read a thing without her glasses, is in any position to criticize someone else’s vision. My sister Bridie’s husband, Mark, sees perfectly fine except for being colorblind. “I’m sure there were other people who saw him leave with us, Mom. It’s not like we covertly whisked him away in a black van.”

“Well, you can never be too sure.”

Says the woman who forgot Brendan at the mall for three hours when he was nine. Actually, that might help explain a few things… I give Mom a reassuring pat on the shoulder and continue through the house into the living room, where I see Shay is already almost done setting up the karaoke machine.

We do Christmas karaoke every year, but this year someone’s made a rule that the songs have to be performed as a duet. I’m guessing it was to prevent Liam and Brendan from hogging the mic like they usually do, but considering neither are here it seems a little unnecessary. It does, nevertheless, make for some incredibly entertaining numbers.

The best performance of the night is obviously Ben and me doing “Jingle Bell Rock.” But Heath and Alannah’s “All I Want for Christmas is You” is definitely a crowd-pleaser, and has everyone up dancing and singing along. Although, to be fair, as drunk as everyone is they’d probably sing and dance to just about anything right now…

And that theory is proven correct when Jamie and Aidan get up to perform a truly horrendous version of “Mistletoe” by Justin Bieber. As if that song didn’t already suck enough…

4

Blake

* * *

When I wake up with my head throbbing and my eyes feeling crusted shut, the last thing I expect to see through my blurry vision once I finally manage to crack them open is a six-year-old in green reindeer pajamas hovering at the side of my bed. It’s Baxter, one of my many nephews.

For a long moment I search my muddled brain trying to reason out how Bax could be in my house. But then I realize I’m not actually in my house. This is my husband’s childhood bedroom.

“Did you know babies come from sex?” Baxter asks.

I blink a few times at the question; it sounds a little random but I guess his world is pretty focused on his new sister and how she got here right now. “I did know that.” I decide not to clarify that not all children are conceived through intercourse; that seems like a conversation for his fathers to handle.

“That’s where Daddy and BeeBee got my sister from,” he says.

“From where?”

He looks at me like I’m a few cents shy of a dollar. “From Sex. It’s where all the babies come from.”

With great effort, I manage to hold in my burst of laughter as I realize he’s made the assumption ‘sex’ is a physical place. Damn, this kid is cute. “Oh, right. Of course.”

“Are you and Uncle Owen going to go to Sex to get a baby?” he asks, curiosity plastered all over his little face.

“Uh…”

“Grandma says you should get a baby soon because you’re not getting any younger.”

I give up. I just can’t help letting out a sputtering laugh at that. I feel Owen’s arm come around my waist as he snuggles in closer behind me, his nose nuzzling against the back of my neck.

“What’s going on?” he asks sleepily.

“Apparently your mom thinks I’m old,” I tell him wryly.

He chuckles against my neck. “You are old, daddy.”

Baxter’s face screws up in confusion. “I thought Pop was Uncle Owen’s daddy?”

Obviously registering Baxter’s presence, Owen springs up, his eyes wide and cheeks flaming adorably pink. “Oh my god—Baxter!”

“Baxter!” My mother-in-law, Aileen, calls from the hallway. “Come and leave your uncles alone, love. They’re a touch worse for wear this morning.”

Baxter turns on his heel and trots off into the hallway. “What does that mean?” he asks Aileen.

“It means they drank too much eggnog last night. Now, come on, love. We’ll make some pancakes.”

Baxter lets out a whoop of excitement and their footsteps disappear down the stairs.

“Well, that was mortifying,” Owen groans, collapsing onto my chest.

I