Page 27 of Buttercup and the Beard

Excitement builds in my chest. Excitement at seeing my brothers, my dad, and maybe hoping that Jem being there won’t make going home so daunting for the future. “What time are you off work?”

“I should be out of there by four.”

“How about we get you home and then packed and I’ll pick you up from the bakery and we can leave from there. I’ll call my Dad and tell him to expect us for dinner?”

“Sounds perfect.”

12

JEM

Six ridiculously handsome men are staring at me. Boone’s hand rests on my lower back, and it’s the only thing anchoring me to the room, because otherwise, the sheer amount of sexy standing before me would have sent me running for the hills.

“Your girlfriend?” one of the beard-toting tattooed hotties in front of me asks, incredulous.

“Yeah.” Boone nods.

Some of the happy feelings I had at being the buffer between Boone and his family evaporate. I was hoping that trying to build a bridge between them would be easier, but we’re all standing here awkwardly and I don’t know how to fix it.

“It’s really nice to meet you all.” Honestly, I’ve pretty much forgotten which name belongs to which man, but I hope they can’t tell.

Boone’s dad, Hal—and the only name I can put to a face—steps forward with his hand outstretched. “It’s nice to meet you too. Don’t mind these heathens; they’ll remember their manners in a minute. Come on in.” He throws an elbow at the question asker’s ribs, earning a gruff grunt in response.

“Dinner’s about done, if you want to head back toward the kitchen and get settled. Can we get you anything to drink?”

Boone ushers me forward as I answer, “Could I have some water?” All of the spit evaporated in my throat the second that I stepped into the testosterone fest of this house.

I look up at my boyfriend and see that his jaw is flexing like he’s chewing his molars to dust. The genes in this family definitely run strong, because he looks just like his brothers, but sexier. There are slight variations through the group of them, like a shade difference in hair colors, but they all have the strong jawline, the high cheekbones, and the equivalent of an animal growing on their chins.

Reaching back, I snag one of Boone’s hands in mine and give it a reassuring squeeze. “You okay?” I whisper.

He nods, but doesn’t say anything before pulling me through an entryway to the biggest kitchen I’ve ever laid eyes on. There’s a farm-style table that dominates one-half of the room, and the rest is a study in gorgeous cabinetry and stainless steel appliances.

This is a serious kitchen.

The smell of marinara hangs heavy in the air, and the fact that I missed lunch in a rush to get out of the bakery early becomes apparent when my stomach growls loudly in the quiet room.

“Sorry,” I mutter sheepishly.

Hal has taken up residence at the stove, and I cut a glance toward Boone. “I see where you get your cooking ability from.”

One of the men—I think his name is Jedd—says, “Yeah. Pops is a damn good cook. He taught all of us the basics.”

I nod, because what can I say to that.

Another one of them asks, “How long are you in town for?”

I shrug and look to Boone. He’s been silent aside from introductions, so I’ll let him field this question.

“The weekend.” His tone is brusque and clipped.

Come on, baby. Snap out of it.

I don’t know if Boone is so surprised to be here at home that he’s speechless or if he’s struggling. His facial expressions are locked down, so I can’t read him.

Another one of his brothers hands me a glass of water. “I’m Finch. I expect it’s gonna take you a minute to remember who’s who in this brood.”

Finch. With the green eyes instead of hazel. His hair is also a caramel-brown color which is lighter than everyone else’s.

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