From Good Guy To Groom. Tracy Madison
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that would have to wait for tomorrow.
Sighing, Andi stared in the closet and tried to decide what to wear. Shorts would make the most sense, as the day ahead promised to be a warm one, but between the scars and the loss of muscle tone in her right leg, she would just feel self-conscious. And if she wanted to avoid too many questions, showing off her injuries seemed foolhardy at best.
One of her sundresses, then. Flipping through the half dozen or so she’d brought, she selected the turquoise-and-white tie-dyed dress her mother had bought her last week. The skirt was long—the hem hovering right above her ankles—and the color suited her pale skin and auburn hair. After getting dressed, she slipped on a pair of white sandals, brushed through her hair one last time and touched up her makeup. There. Done.
The slam of a car door outside, followed quickly by another, told her that her family was arriving. Nervous tension turned her stomach upside down, and her palms grew sweaty. Andi closed her eyes, breathed in deeply and reminded herself that these people were here to welcome her, not give her the third degree. They weren’t her enemies.
Right. Somewhat sturdier, she grasped her cane and exited the bedroom, hoping that the day would pass quickly and with ease. That some unknown something—a sound, a question, a memory—wouldn’t send her into a panic attack in front of her cousins, their spouses and their kids. In front of Ryan, mostly. She should’ve told him no when he’d invited himself. Had meant to, right on the spot, and again yesterday before their session was over.
Instead, she’d agreed and given him the address. Why, exactly, she wasn’t sure, other than his offer had given her a small amount of comfort. Maybe because he was more a known entity at this point in time than any of her cousins and, therefore, increased her overall sense of security. Or maybe it was as simple as he’d said—his presence would decrease the number of questions she’d have to answer—and really, that wasn’t nothing. It was a huge something.
Voices from the kitchen emanated down the hallway as Andi slowly made her way. She heard Margaret and Paul talking to another male and female—likely one of their sons and his wife—along with the chatter of a little boy asking about...root beer? She’d made it almost to the threshold when another pair of voices were added to the mix, but this time she recognized her cousin Haley as being one of them. They’d actually spoken on the phone several times recently.
Andi liked Haley. Her comfort level increased tenfold just knowing her female cousin was already here. Even so, she still had to fight the urge to run back to her room and lock the door and burrow herself under the bedcovers. She could do this. It was a barbecue, for crying out loud. Not an execution. If she could remember that, she’d be fine.
Straightening her shoulders, she entered the sunny white-and-yellow kitchen with her trademark, fake-as-margarine smile in place, and said, “Hi, everyone! I think I heard something about root beer? Hoping I did, as I love root beer. It might be my most favorite soda.”
“It’s mine, too!” said a sandy-haired boy, probably around five or six years of age. He grinned. “Daddy said that today, since it’s a special day, I can drink lots and lots of root beer.” Stepping forward, he held out his hand toward Andi. “My name is Henry. I’m almost six!”
“Hi, Henry. My name is Andrea, but most everyone calls me Andi,” she said, shaking his hand. This kid amused her in all the best ways. “And really? Almost six? I would’ve thought you were thirteen, at least. Later, let’s have a root beer and talk. You can tell me your secret to staying so young. We can become millionaires together and buy a root beer company!”
“I don’t have any secrets! I really am almost six! Sort of. I’m closer to my next birthday than my last birthday, so that counts.” Henry scrunched up his mouth and then laughed. “You’re teasing, that’s all. You didn’t really think I was thirteen.”
“Maybe not, but I have a feeling you’re a lot smarter than the average five-year-old.”
“Oh, he is,” said a thin-as-a-reed brunette woman, smiling widely at Henry. “Too smart for our own good, most days. It’s so nice to meet you, Andi. I’m Chelsea, this little tyke’s mom—” she tousled the top of Henry’s head “—and Dylan’s wife. We’ve all been looking forward to today.”
“Really? That’s...nice, and, of course, I’m happy to—”
That was all she got out of her mouth before she was pulled into a tight hug from Dylan, followed by Haley. She barely regained her balance when Reid and Cole, two women and two toddlers swarmed in the back door. And then...well, bedlam.
Talking and laughing, more hugs and more introductions. Through it all, one fact became clear: the Foster siblings weren’t only a gregarious group, they were very good-looking specimens of the human race, which naturally, Andi had already known. But seeing them up close and personal for the first time in so many years brought that reality home.
Reid, the eldest, and Cole, the youngest son, greatly resembled their father, with their almost-black hair and eyes, while Dylan, the middle son, and Haley, the youngest of the Foster siblings, took after their mother, with hair very similar in color to Andi’s and green eyes. They were a gorgeous crew, no doubt about it.
And she tried—oh, did she ever—to keep up with the jokes, the roughhousing, the mash of chatter that came from every direction, but soon found that impossible. Too many people. Too much noise. It was all just...too much. Easing backward, she leaned against the wall and slowed her breathing, stared at the refrigerator and silently counted to ten. Far too early in the day to allow her anxiety free rein. She wouldn’t make it another hour if she did.
Her aunt walked over, stopping in front of her, and placed her hand on her arm, saying, “Honey? Are you okay? You seem a tad overwhelmed.”
“A little, maybe, but I’m okay.”
“Maybe I should’ve put this off another week, to give you more time to find your bearings,” Margaret said, watching her closely. “If you need to sneak away to be by yourself for a while, do so. No one will think anything of it if you do.”
“I will. Right now, I’m just trying to remember everyone’s names.” She hadn’t been, but doing so might be enough to halt her nervous energy.
Moving her gaze around the room, she stopped at Reid’s wife, the pixieish redhead. Daisy? Yes. And their children were the adorable toddler twins, Alexander and Charlotte. Cole was married to the slender blonde with cover-girl beauty. Her name was Rachel. They didn’t have any children yet, the same as Haley, who was married to the very tall, very muscular Gavin. Rounding out the group, of course, was Dylan and Chelsea and their son, Henry.
“How’d you do?” Margaret asked. “Need any reminders?”
“Nope. I actually remember all the names.” Andi exhaled a breath and some of her tension eased. Of course she could get through the day. So long as she remembered to breathe. “Crazy, huh?”
“Not really. Even as a child, you had an excellent memory. So did your sister.”
True enough, Andi supposed, but some things she wished she could forget. “Well,” she said, “I’m just glad to have the names down.”
Margaret reached up and brushed a strand of hair from Andi’s cheek. “You’re safe here, my darling. Everyone in this house only wants the best for you. Try to keep that in mind when you start to feel uncomfortable.”
“I know. I will.”
A sharp whistle cut through the chatter, forcing everyone to turn toward the source—Paul—as he started assigning tasks related to the grill, setting up the outdoor tables and extracurricular activities. Basketball was mentioned, as was horseshoes. It seemed that the barbecue, and everything that went with, was getting started.
Within a matter of seconds, the kitchen emptied of the adult males, and Margaret, stepping away from Andi, exhaled a whoosh of air. “Finally,” she said with a chuckle. “Now, I have room to navigate. Haley, can you finish the potato salad? Potatoes are in the fridge,