Frank pulled his hand away from the doorknob of his parents’ house in Pensacola and faced Violet. She’d clamped the collar of her jacket closed as a chilly wind bustled around them. He stepped closer to her and nuzzled his cold nose to her cheek. “Why are you so worried? They’ll love you. Just like I do.”

She whipped her head around and stared at him.

He lifted his eyebrows in laughter. “Are you surprised?”

The corners of her mouth dimpled and she leaned into him. When she spoke, her voice was muddled. “You love me?”

He leaned down until he met her eyes. “I do. I love you, Violet Figg.”

“I love you—” He pressed his lips to hers, cutting off her words. A new urgency flowed through him, a desire that was nearly overwhelming. When he finally pulled back, she kept her arms tight around him. “They’re probably expecting someone prettier. Or at least taller.”

Frank laughed and put his mouth close to her ear. “You’re perfect. Perfect for me. And they’ll see that.”

Before he’d pulled away from her, the front door opened and a burst of noise tumbled out. “Frank!” Pete bellowed. “Get in here and bring your woman with you.”

Frank winced and glanced down at Violet, whose eyes were frozen open. All the Roby men were tall, but Pete’s size even caught Frank off guard sometimes. His police uniform was tight around his shoulders, as if he’d grown even broader, and his leg muscles nearly overpowered the seams of his navy blue pants.

“Violet, this is my brother Pete. Pete, don’t scare her.”

“She doesn’t look like she scares easily.” Pete reached his hand out and took Violet’s in his. “Good Lord, these are the tiniest hands I’ve ever seen.”

“Pete.” Frank put an edge of warning in his voice, but Pete just winked at Violet, who grinned.

“Boys, let the poor girl in.” Around the side of Pete’s massive shoulder came their mother, with her curly hair and checkered apron tied around her middle. She shook Violet’s hand. “I’m Glenda, and I have the distinct pleasure of being the mother of these boys.” She rolled her eyes, then ushered Violet and Frank in. She kissed Frank on the cheek, then turned to Violet. “So you’re the Violet who’s stolen our Frankie’s heart.”

“Frankie?” Violet nudged him with her shoulder. “I didn’t know you had a nickname.”

“I don’t,” Frank said through gritted teeth. He put his hand on Violet’s back and led her through the entryway and into the kitchen, where his father stood at the stove stirring something in a pot. “She put you to work, Dad?”

“I volunteered.”

His mom snorted and eyed Frank. “I threatened to withhold his dessert if he didn’t help me with dinner.” She grabbed Violet’s hand and pulled her farther into the kitchen. “Violet, how do you feel about salad?”

Violet glanced back at Frank. “Um, I like it?”

“Great. Chop those tomatoes, will you, then drop them in the salad? No seeds though. No one likes those.”