Page 39 of One and Only

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said. Tim had the slightly gaunt look of a man not in full health, but he still walked just fine on his own, he ate a full meal, and he proved to be exactly the kind of dad I’d always wanted to be to Olive.

Poppy set her drink down and pinned me with a guileless look. “So you and Greer met because of Parker, right?”

“That’s right.” I set my arm along the back of Greer’s chair. “I can’t say he’s too happy about this development, but…”

Sheila smiled, as did Tim.

“And how long have you two been together?” Poppy asked.

Greer slid her leg forward, and I felt the snap of impact when she kicked her sister underneath the table. Poppy rolled her lips together, narrowing her eyes at Greer.

“Leg slipped, sorry,” Greer said, smiling sweetly. “You okay, Pops?”

Her sister’s gaze narrowed. “Oh, I’m great.”

I swallowed hard.

“We haven’t been together long,” Greer said, a smooth, quick recovery from the under-the-table violence. Then she looked at me with a soft smile and a happy glow in her eyes that looked so damn real that I had to remind myself it wasn’t. “Sometimes you just know.”

“Knowwhat?” Poppy asked.

Sheila simply rolled her eyes. “Beckett, I convinced myself that my kids would stop fighting when they became adults, but here we are, and I still feel like a referee half the damn time.”

“You ever think about having more kids?” Poppy asked. “I’m sure men have a biological clock too, right? I mean, you’re … thirty-two? Thirty-three?”

Tim sighed. “Ignore her, Beckett. We all do.”

Greer snapped her foot forward again.

“Ouch,” Poppy cried.

“Stop asking rude questions,” Greer hissed.

Sheila came from the kitchen with a large plate in her hands. Greer gasped when she saw the blue ceramic pie plate.

“Is that…?”

Sheila set it down with a wink. “Apple pie.”

“I love eating at home.” She sighed.

I smiled. The ends of her hair tickled my arm since she was wearing it down tonight. I leaned in toward her ear. “You can have my piece if you want,” I whispered.

She smiled. “If you don’t try this, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life. Trust me.”

“It’s true,” Tim said. He patted his nonexistent belly. “My wife makes the best Dutch apple pie in the entire Pacific Northwest, Beckett.”

Sheila served me the first piece.

“So it’s your fault Greer likes to eat pie for breakfast,” I said.

At my smooth delivery, Greer gave me a secretive smile.

Poppy watched us with a speculative gleam in her eye. Maybe it should’ve made me nervous, but I was enjoying myself too much to care.

Sheila laughed. “Guilty as charged. I’m afraid she learned that from me. I start the day after Thanksgiving every year with a piece of leftover pie.”

I waited until she’d served everyone and sat down with her own piece before using my fork to scoop off a large bite. When the flavors exploded on my tongue, I moaned appreciatively. “I take it back,” I told Greer. “I’m not sharing.”

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