“If it means I get to spend time with ye, I’m in. Now introduce me to your family, Annabelle.” The urge to touch her was overwhelming, and my hand rested against her lower back as she turned to face her family.
Every single set of eyes was on me.
“James! Pat! Get in here!” Milly called out the back door.
Usually this was when I’d crack a joke, but I knew it was important to Annabelle that I not act like...well, me.
Two men came in through the sliding glass door and removed their hats, which must have been Annabelle’s cue because she took a deep breath.
“Now that we’re all here, I’ll only have to do this once. Everyone, this is Connell MacDhuibh. Connell, this is...well, it’s everyone.”
They all waved.
“Pleasure to meet ye,” I said with a nod.
“Connell, we’ve heard so much about you!” A woman in her fifties smiled as she came over, and I couldn't help but echo it because it was Annabelle’s.
“Ye must be her mother.”
The woman startled with surprise, but quickly recovered. “Yes! I’m Tara. We’ve heard so much about you from our little Belly—Well, our Annabelle. Now let me take these off your hands, dearest.”
The cupcake box disappeared from Annabelle’s hands, and we were swept into a flurry of family. Names flew left and right, and I did my best to remember everyone, but that lass didn’t have a family, she had a clan.
It must have taken the better part of a half-hour to get through everyone, but Annabelle stuck to my side until it was dinner time, and then she took the seat next to mine.
“Now, the Clarkes have been in Sweet Water since about a decade after it was founded,” her father, Davis, told us as we passed the barbecued chicken around one of the long tables that had been constructed in Annabelle’s dining room. Good thing the lass kept folding tables in her storage room because I’d counted and there were twenty-two of us here.
“And we’ve lived here ever since,” Aunt Milly added as she passed another dish to the right.
“Not Uncle Grady,” Taylor, Annabelle’s eight-year-old niece, argued. “He moved to New York.”
“God save his soul,” Grandma Mary muttered at the end of the table.
“My brother works on Wall Street,” Annabelle whispered while the others were distracted.
“And that puts his soul at risk?” I asked, tilting my head toward hers only slightly. If I turned even an inch, my lips would graze her cheek.
“Anything above the Mason-Dixon line puts his soul at risk,” she whispered.
“Och. Well then, I guess that explains it.”
We grinned at each other until Tara cleared her throat from across the table. “So, Connell, tell us how you like our little town?”
“I quite like it,” I assured her. “It’s nice to live somewhere I don’t have to worry about the press or paparazzi. Miami was a wee bit too much for me.” I took the potato salad from Taylor, then held it so she could dish some for herself.
“Need help, darlin’?” Jackson, her dad, asked from her other side.
“Nope. I can do it myself.”
“I’m here!” a bright voice announced from the doorway. A woman with straight brown hair beamed as she walked in. Her sundress looked tailored, and her heels were high.
“It’s about time!” Tara answered with a bright smile. “I left a seat open next to me. Go put your things down and get over here, Savannah.”
I glanced at Annabelle in question only to find that she was already watching me. Appraising my reaction? And why had she gone all tense?
“You okay, lass?” I asked quietly.
“My older sister,” she said in way of explanation. “We’re about a year apart.”
“Good lord, Belle, who did you bring to dinner? He’s about as—My stars and garters! Are you Connell MacDhuibh?” Her eyes flew wide, and her hand rose to her throat.
“I am,” I answered with a smile. From what I knew about sisters, I needed to make a good impression on this one to stand a chance with Annabelle. “And you must be Annabelle’s sister.”
“Sure am.” She gave me a wide, polished smile and then tilted her head at Annabelle. “Why didn’t I know you were bringing a guest? I would have rescheduled the showing of the Carley place!”
“Your job is important,” Annabelle answered with a shrug, but I noticed her smile was real.
“Hardly,” Savannah countered. “I certainly don’t need to be showing houses on a Sunday if you have a friend over.” Her eyes narrowed slightly in a way that suggested Annabelle hadn’t heard the last of the question, but she deflected, anyway. “Jackson, pass the chicken.”
“So what is your family like, Connell?” Annabelle’s dad asked.
“Not quite as big as this one.” There was a rumble of laughter around us, and Annabelle’s lips lifted in a soft smile. “Growing up, it was just me and my mother, so it was quiet. Guess I made up for that by spending most of my time in a noisy hockey rink.”