Page 81 of Wicked Serve

“Yeah?”

“Of course I have,” Isabelle says, stepping into the foyer. “Hey, Nik.”

I nearly drop my coat. Fuck, I missed her, even if it’s only been a week since break began. I’m so caught up staring at her beautiful face that it takes me a second to notice she’s holding a baby. She steps closer. Stitches still mark her temple, but they look better than before. Her red-and-green plaid dress hugs her body like a glove, accented by the matching bow in her hair.

She kisses my cheek, smelling of sugar and pine. “This is Charlotte Callahan.”

“We’ve been calling her Charlie,” Bex adds fondly. “That nap didn’t last long, huh?”

“She wants to stay up to see Santa, obviously,” Isabelle says.

The baby is utterly adorable; she has a little mop of dark hair and bright, inquisitive eyes. She’s dressed in a onesie patterned with stars. I’ve never been around a baby in my life, much less one barely a few weeks old, so I have zero idea what to do in this situation. I settle on waving at her.

“She’s perfect, right?” Isabelle says. “She already loves her auntie.”

“Yeah,” I say, even though I’m not looking at the baby anymore. “She’s perfect.”

“Let me see if she’s hungry.” Bex carefully takes her daughter from Isabelle, giving my shoulder a squeeze. “We’re so glad you’re here.”

The second we’re alone, Isabelle leaps into my arms. I handle her weight easily, staggering backwards just to make her laugh. She threads her fingers through my snow-damp hair, kissing me deeply.

“Thank you,” she whispers. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.” I let her down slowly, groaning as my hands curve over her ass. “How is everything?”

“You missed dinner, but Mom left a plate for you, if you’re still hungry.” She smooths the collar of my dark green sweater. I wore a suit to Grandfather’s party, but changed into more casual clothes before leaving the city. She frowns. “Although now that I think of it, it’s mostly sweet stuff. You won’t like it.”

“That’s okay. I should talk to Cooper first.”

“Yeah?”

I play with her bow. “You’re right, we need to talk.”

Even if the thought makes my entire body tense. I acted like an asshole outside the hospital, trying to bait Cooper into taking a swing at me. I’m loath to admit it, but I’m glad he had the cooler head. I doubt Isabelle would have kissed me like that just now if I had brawled with her brother in a parking lot. Regardless of my guilt over my role in her injury, it would have been a step too far.

She searches my eyes, nodding at whatever she sees in them.

“He’s in the den.”

The Christmas tree in the front of the house looked professionally decorated, a magazine piece rather than a feature of a real home, but the one in the den is perfectly imperfect. It’s smaller and spotty in places, but the strands of colorful lights, homemade ornaments, and what has to be an entire package of tinsel make it all the more appealing. Antique Christmas knickknacks cover the mantel above the crackling fireplace. The rug spread across the wooden floor is faded and worn, and the furniture doesn’t quite match. There are family photos everywhere, as well as a wall of books and old-fashioned DVDs. This room is different from the other glimpses I’ve caught of the house so far. It’s private. Warm and inviting and very much family-only.

I pick up the nearest photograph. A little girl with dark hair who must be Isabelle beams at the camera, flanked by three boys. They’re on a beach, waterlogged and in the middle of working on a sandcastle.

I give the picture a smile as I set it back on the shelf.

“Outer Banks,” Cooper says from his spot in front of the fire. “We went every summer as kids.”

“You look very concerned about the structural integrity of your sandcastle.”

He looks over. He’s wearing a sweater with a snowman on it, a bit of whimsy that doesn’t match the serious expression on his face. He stands, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I expected you sooner.”

“My grandfather wasn’t thrilled that I left.”

“I’m sure Isabelle is happy to see you.”

“She is my girlfriend,” I say, mostly because I can. But Cooper doesn’t give me the satisfaction of scowling. “What, no objections?”

“No,” he says shortly. “Like I told you before, I know she cares about you.”

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