Defender (Seattle Sharks 9)

I went board stiff for a second, totally shocked by the open show of affection, and for a complete stranger no less. My family rarely hugged each other, unless you counted Ally. I eyed Nathan over his mother’s shoulder, panicking.

Nathan smiled and shrugged—my call, then.

I released a breath and wrapped my arms around her small frame, lightly patting her back. “Nice to meet you.”

There, I wasn’t a total robot.

Just totally out of my element, but Nathan had a way of introducing me to things I never knew I’d been missing.

“You too,” she said, releasing me. “Come on in out of the cold.” She hurried us inside the house.

“I’ll go stash these in our room,” Nathan whispered in my ear, motioning to the two bags he had in his hands. “You okay, here?”

I nodded.

“Well, of course, she’s okay here,” his mom chided. “What on earth did you tell this girl about me? That I’d bite her?”

Nathan rolled his eyes. “Of course not, Ma.” He planted a kiss on her forehead. “You’re an angel. Nixon on the other hand—”

His mom smacked his chest again. “You cut that out,” she said playfully. “I forbid fighting between you two today. You hear me? It’s Christmas.”

“Yes, Ma,” he said, then hefted the bags up a set of gorgeous wooden stairs off to our right. Normally I’d insist I carry my own bag upstairs, but I didn’t want to offend Nathan’s mom by bolting.

I peeled off my gloves and shoved them in my pockets, taking in the interior of the house.

It was a home.

Filled with lush furniture atop rich hardwood floors, family pictures spanning decades decorating the walls, and wide bay windows edged in glittering frost. A roaring fire crackled in the two-way fireplace that separated the main room and the formal dining room and the place smelled like a mixture of pine, cinnamon, and ginger.

No wonder Nathan smells like pine—it’s in his blood.

A warm shiver ran down my spine, and I smiled. “Your home is lovely, Mrs. Noble,” I said.

“Please call me Joanne,” she said, waving me to follow her as she walked down a long hallway and turned into the massive kitchen. The cabinets matched the same rich wood color of the floors and the granite countertops had every manner of ingredients and kitchen tools spread atop it. “I’m still wrapping up dinner and dessert,” she said, pointing toward a barstool on the other side of the kitchen island. “Chat with me while I finish up.”

“Can I help you?” I asked. “I’m not the best cook in the world, but I’m great at following directions.” I was a better baker since that was closer to chemistry than most realized.

“Nonsense,” she said, washing her hands at the sink. “You’re our guest.” She leaned forward, eyeing the hallway before lowering her voice. “The first girl he’s ever brought home, too.”

A flush crept over my cheeks, but she smiled and buzzed around the kitchen in a flurry of movements. It was easy to see who Nathan inherited his graceful balance from. “Your family missing you?”

I shook my head. “We’re not exactly traditional,” I said. “We get together for holidays, but there isn’t a significance to it really, just a visit. They won’t even notice I’m missing.”

Joanne huffed, sprinkling some sugar on a tray of rolled cookie dough. “Now I don’t believe that for a second,” she said. “Parents always miss their kids.” She paused for a moment, swallowing hard as if some unwanted thought had stolen her composure. I silently waited, understanding where she might’ve gone. “Anyway,” she continued. “I sure am pleased we’re able to have you. Nathan has talked about you non-stop on our weekly calls.”

“Weekly calls?” I tilted my head. I hadn’t noticed, but then again, we hadn’t been with each other twenty-four-seven, just close to that.

“Yes, he’s so good about it. His brother, on the other hand…” She flicked her eyes up and over my head, a loving glare in them. “…deems it fine to not call his mother for weeks on end.”

“We can’t all be the perfect son, Ma.”

I turned around, watching as a tall, almost identical version of Nathan walked around the island and kissed Joanne on the cheek. He had a thick layer of scruff on his chin where Nathan mostly liked to be clean-shaven, and his eyes were much, much darker. Closer to coffee grounds than brandy.

Joanne patted his arm, smacking away his hand when he tried to sneak a cookie from the tray she’d pulled out of the oven moments ago. “You’ll ruin your appetite,” she chided, smiling at him. “Are you going to introduce yourself, son, or do you need another lesson in manners?”

He straightened like her tone still had the ability to whip him into action. His dark eyes fell on me, and I smiled. “I’m—”

“I know who you are,” he cut me off. “Nixon.”