Page 7 of A Crane Family New Year

Come to think of it, the dress Chloe wore was suspiciously her size and not Isa’s style. Hmm.

“I can’t wait to meet my kid,” Tag said with a hey-dude, surfer-style grin. “She’s gonna be gorgeous like her mom.”

“Like her dad.” Rachel accepted a lengthy kiss from him, her cheeks glowing despite the lack of alcohol.

A waiter swept by with a tray of pink champagne. Chloe plucked a crystal flute and said “cheers” before drinking half of it down. Easing into a party like this one was going to require a bit of fortification.

“It’s understandable that you’re nervous,” Rachel told Chloe. “Reese Crane seems intimidating and, before I knew Merina, so did she. Put them together in this incredibly stunning monstrosity of a house, and yikes.”

Rachel and Chloe had talked about growing up in middle-class families. Their upbringings had been modest, and their allowances a far cry from the billion-dollar bankroll the Cranes enjoyed.

Isa had been raised by the founders of Sawyer Financial Group, so she hadn’t exactly struggled. Chloe didn’t know how Merina was raised, but the other woman did own the Van Heusen Hotel, a landmark in downtown Chicago, which was impressive on any resume.

“Chloe’s not nervous.” Isa waved a hand of dismissal. “She is a vivacious, bubbly redhead who livens up any party.”

Chloe snorted. “Lay it on thick.”

“Okay.” Isa smiled in challenge and then announced, “And she will require a kiss at midnight.”

“I assume by someone other than me?” Rachel asked.

“You’re spoken for,” Isa answered.

“Let’s see…” Rachel tapped the corner of her mouth with one finger as she assessed the well-dressed crowd. “Whose lips are available this evening?”

“I do not require a kiss at midnight,” Chloe interjected.

“Ignore her. She’s just upset because she ghosted her internet crush,” Isa said, ratting Chloe out.

“You have an internet crush?” Rachel’s eyes rounded with interest.

“Isa. I swear?—”

“Rachel is a safe space,” Isa insisted as Rachel stepped closer. “I’ll tell you what I know, but I will warn you it isn’t much…”

Chloe drank down the remaining champagne and slid away from the group. Eli and Tag were deep in conversation, so her getaway was clean. She was going to need more than that wimpy pour of wine to get her through tonight—especially if Isa was bent on matchmaking.

She crossed the room and set her glass on an empty tray. When she turned around, two full glasses of pink champagne materialized in front of her. The waitstaff here was truly second to none.

“Perfect timing, thank you so much.” Chloe snagged one of the glasses of bubbly and swallowed down a hearty gulp. As the bubbles tickled her throat, she sighed in relief. Maybe she would find a handsome stranger to kiss tonight. Maybe she should let Isa do her thing and be open to whatever might…

Her thoughts stalled as she stared at the man she’d taken the champagne from. The lapels of his tuxedo jacket were silk, as was the pocket square in matching black. His pristine white shirt had been recently pressed, and a bowtie was knotted at his neck.

Silk? Tuxedo? Bowtie?

Crap.

Her gaze wandered up to a granite jawline without a single bit of stubble pressing through. He was tall. Not Tag tall, but tall. His dark blond hair was longer on top, shaved closely at his neck. A pair of thick eyebrows that were a shade darker than his hair lifted in surprise. Her gaze bounced from his perfect nose to a set of pursed lips, and then met his piercing blue eyes.

So, yeah. Not the waiter.

Her mouth dropped open. “I am so, so sorry.” She regarded the glass in her hand, now half-empty with red lipstick decorating the rim. “Give me a moment and I’ll find you another glass.”

“That’s not necessary.” His voice was deep and rich, sending a ripple of awareness over her bare legs. His mouth didn’t smile, but the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes hinted that he had more often than not. “It seems you needed that more than I did.”

“Really, I can find you a fresh glass and?—”

“If you’ll excuse me.” With a regal tilt of his head, he walked away.

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