Until Now by Rebecca Phillips Read Free Book Online Page B

ripe tomatoes.
    “Everyone, this is Robin Calvert,” she told the assemblage, then proceeded to introduce me to each of them. “My husband, Graham,” she said, pointing to a tall burly guy with wavy brown hair. “My youngest, Nicole.” (Blond, tattooed, early twenties) “My oldest daughter, Alicia, her husband Kenji, and their daughter Ellie.” (Attractive dark-haired couple, late twenties, beautiful pudgy baby) “My oldest son Garrett, his wife Maggie, and their boy, Isaac.” (Handsome blond man who looked vaguely familiar, petite red-haired woman, school-aged son).
    My head whirled. Remembering all these names and faces would require several hours and possibly a cheat sheet. The adults watched me curiously, as if waiting to see if I’d bolt. I kind of wanted to. In this warm, bustling house, surrounded by all this family, I felt like a mutant stray that had wandered in off the street.
    Jane’s grandson Mason appeared in the kitchen then and wrapped himself around his grandmother’s legs. Seeing him reminded me of Drake and Lila, and I had to swallow back a lump in my throat. “Where’s Daddy?” he asked over the clamour of voices and beeping appliances.
    “At the store, angelface,” Jane replied, absently patting his curls as she stirred something on the stove. “He’ll be here very soon.”
    Two seconds after she said this, the thump of the front door closing filtered into the kitchen and Mason took off running. And less than a minute after that, Mason reappeared in the kitchen, this time draped across the broad shoulders of a tall, lean man with dirty-blond hair and pale blue eyes.
    The universe had to be messing with me. My cheeks blazed, and suddenly I wished more than anything that I was back in my sad, desolate house, alone, with a lit cigarette in one hand and nice chilled beer in the other.
    No food or beverages allowed , he’d told me. It was him. The irritating guy from the bookstore.

Chapter 6
     
     
    His name was Ryan, and he obviously recognized me too. I could tell by the way his eyebrows shot up when he saw me.
    “God, Ryan,” the youngest daughter, Nicole, exclaimed over the kitchen chaos. “I know she’s, like, obscenely pretty and everything, but you can at least stop gawking at her long enough to say hello.”
    I shot her a one-sided smile that said, You and I are going to get along just fine .
    “Shut up, Nic,” Ryan said lightly. He unwound Mason from his neck, set him down on the floor, and nodded once in my direction. “Hello.”
    “Hi,” I replied, still flabbergasted by this coincidence. What were the odds that the annoying guy who’d intruded on my alone time at Margins last week would be the son of the woman who’d witnessed yesterday’s meltdown at gymnastics? Then again, crazier things had happened in my life.
    Jane’s husband, Graham, stepped up beside me then and said with mock formality, “Allow me escort you to the dining room, my dear.”
    I took his arm, smiling again. This family seemed a little intense so far, but I liked it. I bet they played board games on Saturday nights and took summer vacations together and decorated a gigantic, live tree at Christmas while listening to holiday music and drinking eggnog. A TV sitcom household, loving and well-adjusted.
    In the dining room, I stood off to the side while Jane and a couple of others filled the long, ten-seat table with food. I’d never seen a spread like this outside a buffet. Potatoes, rolls, salads, several kinds of vegetables, and a football-sized glazed ham topped with pineapple slices. My stomach growled so loudly that Mason—who sat at the collapsible “kids’ table” next to me—turned to stare at my middle. His eyes were a pretty light blue, like Ryan’s. In fact, now that I knew they were father and son, their similarities seemed obvious. Aside from the brown hair, Mason was his father’s miniature clone. I wondered what his mother looked like and if she was as useless as Jane had