spa treatments on me for an entire day while you and Zola are at the game. Please just call the salon back and cancel. It’s too much. Way, way too much!”
Brandon’s face screwed up with frustration while he ripped a mangy Red Sox cap from his head and shoved it back on again. “Girls like that kind of crap, Red.”
“That’s a massive generalization,” Skylar snapped back. “Just because I have a vagina doesn’t mean I’m genetically predisposed to cosmetic pampering. Are you trying to say I need a little work done? Is that it?”
“Jesus Christ, Skylar, no! I just—fuck!”
“Can you tell she’s a lawyer?” Matthew said into my ear. “Better than Brandon was, and that’s saying something.”
I chuckled. “If I couldn’t before, I would now.”
“He hasn’t even gotten started,” Matthew replied. “It’s pretty funny once they get going.”
I peered at him sideways. “It takes one to know one, I suppose.”
For that, I received a generous wink that made warmth pool in my belly.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Skylar,” Brandon grumbled. “It’s nice. Jane likes this stuff. Eric told me.”
“Jane likes the black nail polish she gets at CVS, not the medieval caste system exemplified by the modern nail boutique.”
“I do like CVS,” Jane said, only to receive a blue-eyed glare from Brandon. “What? I do. But, Sky, there are plenty of salons where—”
“And I don’t want to have to negotiate an entire day around a bunch of weird staff who are forced to be nice to us because of your big wallet, Brandon,” Skylar rattled on like Jane hadn’t even spoken. “Seriously. It’s really nice, but I just want some alone time with my friends. It’s not that complicated!”
“Am I missing something?” I asked Matthew. “Is she angry because he surprised her with some estheticians?”
A knowing half-smile reappeared. “Skylar’s got issues with money. It drives her crazy when Brandon does extravagant shit for her. And it drives him crazy when she won’t take it.”
I frowned. “Aren’t they married? Or was there a very strict prenuptial agreement?”
“Oh, there was a prenup, all right. And a postnup too after she got her firm started and his lab took off. Skylar wrote them both.” He chuckled. “Brandon keeps tearing them up, and she keeps writing them all over again.”
“Maybe that’s the secret to longevity,” I joked.
“What, never finishing the damn thing?”
“No,” I said. “Never taking each other for granted.”
“Fine!” Brandon shouted, a thick Boston accent emerging along with the rising volume. “Stubborn woman, fine. You wanna stay here and write briefs and babysit instead of having your nails done with your girls, be my guest. But Mattie and I are not leaving if it goes to extra innings this time, Red. I mean it.” He took a deep breath to rearrange his features, then turned to face us. “Hi. Sorry about that. I love my wife, but she is damn near impossible sometimes.”
“Brandon!”
“Red.”
I couldn’t see the look he gave her over his shoulder, but Skylar suddenly turned as scarlet as her nickname and resolutely shut her mouth. Jane started giggling where she stood next to her friend.
When Brandon turned back to smile at me, Matthew, and Olivia, I couldn’t help but smile back. The man actually could have fit right in with my family—he was very tall, with wavy blond hair that flopped over his ears and a pair of the most penetrating blue eyes I’d ever seen. But unlike my icy family, his expression was open, kind, and full of humility and humor.
“Nina, right?”
I accepted a kiss on the cheek, ignoring the way Matthew watched the entire exchange carefully.
“Yes,” I said. “Lovely to see you again, Brandon.”
“You too. Welcome.”
“Daddy?”
A little red-haired girl who couldn’t have been more than four or five appeared at the door holding some kind of stuffed creature with a large horn sticking out of its nose.
“Hey, Pea,” Brandon said. “Come on down and meet our guests.”
“Yeah,” Matthew said as the girl skipped down the steps. “I’m a guest this weekend, Jenny. Did you hear that? Tell your narwhal there.”
As all children, the little girl seemed to fall almost immediately under Matthew’s spell as she skipped down the steps and immediately into his arms.
“You’re not a guest,” she said as he swung her up for a bear hug. “You’re just Uncle Zola.”
“Dang, I guess you’re right. I better pay the piper. Put her there, slugger.”
Matthew offered his chin to the tiny girl, who giggled, then touched her fist lightly to his stubbled jaw. He promptly stumbled backward as if punched,