By Magic Alone (16 page)

“Well, if you change your mind, I’m happy to lend a hand.” I shifted from one foot to the other, waiting for someone to
step in and smooth the awkwardness. No one did. Maybe it was all in my mind? I glanced at Scot, who had a mile-wide grin stretched across his face—a grin filled with approval and smug satisfaction all rolled into one. And it was directed at Alice.

Acid flew up from my stomach, burning my esophagus. He was pleased his sister didn’t like me? Anxiety gave way to a quick burst of anger. Screw this. I wasn’t going to sit around and be miserable for the next who-knew-how-many hours.

“You know what?” I said in a low, evenly modulated tone. “If this is too last-minute, or if there isn’t enough food, or whatever, I can call a cab to take me back to my car.” It would cost a fortune, but some things—like my self-respect—were worth a hell of a lot more than money.

Alice’s eyes softened a tiny amount. “Absolutely not. We have plenty of food. It’s silly for you to leave now.” She expelled a sigh. “Ethan’s right. Any friend of Scot’s is welcome here.”

Well. I didn’t believe her for a second, but I appreciated the effort.

“Come on. We’re holding them up,” Scot said, resting his hand on the small of my back. “We’ll go play with my niece.”

I hesitated for a millisecond. Scot’s you-go-girl smile had ticked me off. And yeah, it shouldn’t have. Scot’s whole point of asking me to date was to fend off his supposedly manipulative relatives. But for a reason I refused to contemplate, I
wanted
his family to like me.

Pride. That’s all it was.

“Julia? Are you staying or leaving?” Scot’s voice filtered through my haze. He applied the teeniest bit of pressure to my back. “If you’re leaving, let me grab you a newspaper to read while you wait for that taxi. I hear there are some terrific ads in today’s edition.”

Being the intelligent woman I am, reading between those lines wasn’t difficult at all. That was all it took to regain my footing. I was here for a purpose that had nothing to do with Scot’s family liking me.

“Staying, of course,” I said in a voice dripping with enough honey I should’ve had bumblebees buzzing around my tongue. I stepped away from his hand but crooked my arm through his. “Lead on, handsome.”

A wheezy sound emerged from Alice. Maybe a sigh. Maybe a gasp. Maybe smothered laughter. I didn’t know her well enough to speculate. But Chloe and Elizabeth both dipped their chins in slight nods. Of approval? Perhaps.

Verda’s mouth quirked in humor. She gave me a wink. I returned it and tugged on Scot’s arm. “Well, what are we waiting for? I thought we were holding them up.”

He grumbled under his breath, but guided me down the hallway and into the living room. There, folks were sprawled in various positions: Ethan, Joe, and Nate were on the floor with Rose, playing with bright-colored blocks. Ben and Vinny were seated on the leather sofa, engaged in a conversation about the stock market. Marty was reading the paper—ha, Scot would’ve had to steal it from his dad—and Isobel was off to the side, watching her family with a contented expression.

Scot dropped my arm and joined the group on the floor. He expected me to follow, I’m sure, but I stood still, transfixed by the scene in front of me.

I had family. Not only my parents, but grandparents and a few cousins. I’d been to many a family occasion over the years. Who hasn’t? But my family events tended to be stiff, formal affairs always focused more on social protocol than simply enjoying each other’s company. These people, this scene, reminded me of television—those made-up families who, while they had their ongoing struggles that were neatly
resolved in a thirty-to-sixty-minute episode, truly loved to be together. I blinked my heavy eyelids. I’d heard of families like this, naturally. But I’d heard of Santa Claus, too. Didn’t mean either actually existed.

“Up!” A little hand grabbed my knee, waking me from my trance. I looked down and saw Rose. Her dark brown eyes were lit with excitement. Chubby arms rose toward the sky. “Up, up, up!”

“My daughter likes you, Julia,” Ethan said from across the room. “She doesn’t normally take to new people so quickly.”

“Oh . . . I don’t have a lot of experience with kids.” I knelt down so I was roughly the same height as Rose. “Hello,” I said. “I’m Julia.”

Smooth, baby-soft hands touched my cheeks before moving to my hair. “Up!”

“She wants you to pick her up.” Scot offered the information easily enough, but I had the suspicion that he didn’t like the idea all that well. I wasn’t so sure I did, either. Kids scared the crap out of me. At least kids this small.

But going back to the “If it irritates Scot, I’m going to do it” plan, I pushed my misgivings aside and pulled Rose into my arms. Standing, I tried to hold her on my hip the same way Alice had. But Rose wasn’t having any of that. She twisted her entire body toward me, and I had to work really fast to alter my hold so she didn’t go crashing to the floor.

Her hands found my cheeks again. She patted them twice, gave a hearty eye-stinging yank to my hair, and then nestled her head against my chest with a satisfied sigh. I am not a corny person. I do not cry at movies, no matter how sad. But this—the simple trust that this little girl placed in me—wrapped a thick, fuzzy blanket around my heart.

I settled my chin on top of her head. “Aren’t you sweet,” I whispered.

“Sweet,” Rose burbled, as if in agreement.

I made the mistake of looking at Scot. He had the hard-edged, egg-cracking jaw thing going on again. His eyes, though, weren’t hard. Or cold. Or condescending. They were soft. Misty, even. As if he was seeing me for the first time in his life. And—here’s the real kicker—as if he liked what he saw.

Oh, bloody hell.

I grimaced at the bowl set before me. “Potato soup?”

“Irish
potato soup,” Verda clarified. “Alice used Ethan’s grandmother’s recipe. In fact, tonight’s entire dinner is Irish. Isn’t that marvelous?”

“Oh, yes,” I murmured even as my stomach cramped. “Marvelous.”

“Something wrong?” Scot shoveled a spoonful of flu-inducing soup in his mouth. Okay, that wasn’t fair. But damn, of all the soups in the world to be served, Alice had chosen the only one that made me sick. If I believed in signs, I’d take this as a bad one.

“No. Nothing wrong at all.” I sat between Scot and Joe at an incredibly large mahogany dining room table. Antique, probably old English. With both leaves inserted, the thing was easily fourteen feet long. While it held all of us, there wasn’t much elbow room. “Smells delicious!” I lied.

The chatter in the room died as folks got to the business of eating. I tried on three separate occasions to take a bite, but my gag reflex kicked in before the spoon even got close to my lips. Deciding it was far better to appear rude than to spurt a mouthful of soup out on the table, I eventually gave up and waited for the next course.

Joe tapped my shoulder. “If you’re saving room for the rest of dinner, I’ll finish that off for you.” He tossed me a lopsided grin and winked conspiratorially.

Wow. I wouldn’t have been more relieved if a real, honest-to-God prince in shining armor had swept in to save me from the growling, hungry dragon. “Oh! Sure, Joe,” I said, pushing my bowl over. “That’s exactly what I’m doing.”

“Figured.” His blue-eyed gaze held a twinkle that reminded me of Verda.

“So, Julia, tell us a little about yourself.” This came from Isobel, who was seated across from me. Uh-oh. For a while, I’d thought that maybe I was going to get off without being peppered with questions. Apparently not.

“Um. Not much to tell. I work, have dinner with my parents every Wednesday, and hang out with my friends. That’s about it.”

“You meet your parents for dinner every week?” Isobel asked.

Scot squeezed my knee. I brushed his hand away. “Uh-huh. It’s a long standing tradition.” Ha. More like a long standing order. Well, I suppose that’s a sort of tradition.

“What a wonderful daughter you are! I wish I could have a weekly dinner with my children.” Isobel sent The Look to each of her kids. Anyone who has a mother knows this look. “But they never seem to have the time.”

Elizabeth, rather than responding to her mother’s guilt tactic, asked, “What line of work are you in, Julia?”

“Customer service,” I responded. Thank goodness I’d gone through Verda’s paperwork. “I . . . ah . . . help people figure things out.”

“Just think, dinner once a week with the kids. Wouldn’t that be nice, Marty?” Isobel asked her husband, obviously determined not to be diverted. “Wednesdays won’t work, but Tuesdays or Thursdays would.”

Alice’s laughter drifted down the table. “Mom! You’re becoming more like Grandma Verda every day. If you want to
see us more often, just say so. You don’t have to beat around the bush and trick us into anything.”

“But once a week might be asking a bit much of the kids, Isobel. They have busy lives.” Marty patted his wife’s hand. “And Tuesdays are not good.”

“Oh, hush. You just don’t want anything to interfere with your shows.” Isobel squared her shoulders. “All I’m saying is how nice it is that Julia cares enough about her family to make an effort to fit them into
her
busy life.”

“She’s not that busy.” Scot squeezed my knee again. This time I kicked his shin.

“I have a very full life!” Endless nights of watching television and reading magazines. Hm. “I think family is very, very important.” Hey, I did. Otherwise, I’d simply ignore my parents’ orders.

Isobel sighed. “Yes, your parents are very lucky.”

Scot, with his freaking hand on my knee again, squeezed even harder. “Julia, tell us more about your job,” he said. “What do you do all day?”

When I got him alone, he was so in trouble. “I suppose you could say I’m sort of a counselor, even though that isn’t my job title.”

“Really?” Scot drawled. “I didn’t realize you counseled people. That must be a very gratifying line of work. Did you go to school for that?”

“Who cares about her job?” Joe cut in, deftly saving me from yet another uncomfortable moment and the murder of his big brother. I pretty much adored Joe by this point. “I’d rather hear about how you two lovebirds met.”

“At Magical Matchups,” Verda said. “I matched them up! And they’re perfect for each other. They’re going to have beautiful children some day. Three boys.”

Joe’s spoon clanked against his bowl. Alice choked on her
water. Ethan rubbed her back while Elizabeth handed her a napkin.

Isobel narrowed her gaze at Verda. “You can’t know that, Mother. Don’t start in on your mystical mumbo-jumbo stuff again. Not now.”

Verda pumped her head up and down. “It isn’t mumbo jumbo, Isobel, and I do know it! Three boys. They’re going to be very important boys, too.”

“Julia, can you help me bring the rest of the dishes out?” Alice interrupted in a high-pitched voice. She surprised everyone, not just me, as the noise level in the room dropped instantly. “I think everyone is done with their soup.”

I nodded, happy to stop this conversation in its tracks. Three boys? Yeah, right. I’d be lucky if I had one child someday, and three was pushing the limits. Think about it: I was currently thirty-three. Even if I met the man I’d eventually marry tomorrow, there would be a minimum of two years from first date to walking down the aisle, likely more.

One year to date. One year to plan the huge shindig of a wedding my parents would insist on. Possibly eighteen months, depending on the season and the venues that were available for the ceremony and reception. Add in a year of marriage before conceiving—assuming neither of us had any fertility issues—and I’d be around thirty-seven before my first child was born. And that all hinged on meeting the “right” guy within twenty-fours of now. So not likely.

I followed Alice to the kitchen, but right before stepping through the swinging door I heard Isobel say, “I like her. Don’t you dare scare her off, Mother.”

“I’m only telling the truth, Isobel. Why can’t you accept this? You’ve met Miranda . . .”

Unfortunately, the door swung shut before I heard the rest of Verda’s statement. Again I wondered who Miranda was. A
friend of Verda’s? But what did she have to do with anything? I shook off the questions and smiled at Alice. “What needs to go out?”

Tucking her long, dark hair behind one ear, she frowned. “Let’s just give my mother and grandmother a few minutes to chill out, okay?”

“Sure. If you think that’s best.”

Alice busied herself with putting the finishing touches on her dinner. She’d prepared beef brisket with cabbage, another potato dish—not soup, though, so I’d be able to eat it—and a few other side dishes that seemed to be a mix of different vegetables.

“You’ve gone to a lot of work,” I said, hoping to ease the suffocating silence.

“Last time we were in Ireland, Ethan’s grandmother prepared this same meal. It made him happy, so I wanted to try to re-create it.” Again, Alice spoke in a low, calm manner, but that same chilly undercurrent remained from earlier.

Normally, I don’t really care if random people like me, but Alice’s behavior was an irritant. I pressed my lips together, smothering the question burning to be asked, and gave myself a minute to consider the reasons I was so bothered. Her family impressed me. I was quickly coming to admire Verda. And Rose . . . well, that little girl had carved herself right into my heart. But none of that should explain why Alice’s like or dislike of me meant a damn.

Finally, deciding that the past two days were to blame—and yes, I blamed pretty much everything on that—I said, “Okay. You don’t like me. How come?”

In a Verda-like move, she settled her hands on her hips. “It isn’t you. I promise this has nothing to do with you or with who you are as a person.” Exhaling a noisy sigh, she shrugged. “I’m sure you’re a very nice woman . . .”

“But?”

“I shouldn’t say anything.” Again I heard the
but
she didn’t say. I didn’t fill it in for her though.

Alice turned to pull a few large serving spoons out of a drawer. Then, as if making her decision, she faced me again. “My grandmother believes that if she doesn’t set Scot up with the right woman—”