He cut the engine, and they both got out. Meeting her in front of the truck, he reached for her hand. She liked the feel of it—the protective, possessive grip. “Every second of my life, even when I’m away from home, I’m in control. I watch what I say, what I eat, how I walk. I make sure my lipstick’s perfect and my bra straps aren’t showing.”

He gave her hand a squeeze. “You’re paparazzi ready.”

“Exactly. So, here, where I don’t have to do any of that, I’m just…totally out of my element.”

“But in a good way?”

“In the best way imaginable.”

Surrounded by birds chirping and a warm breeze rustling the leaves, they headed up the slate walkway. Once inside, she stopped to take it all in. A huge stone fireplace with a dark wood mantelpiece took up the far wall. Leather couches and club chairs made up small gathering areas, giving the vast, high-ceiling room a cozy feel. The fittings were wrought iron and dark-stained wood, and the place was spotless and well-cared for.

She followed Brodie toward the bursts of laughter and conversation in a massive, white kitchen. Everyone was gathered at the island in the center of the room, except for a little girl and an older man with a white pompadour, mustache, and beard. They were talking quietly at the table.

“Oh, hey, Brodie.” Callie pulled him into a hug, then reached out to her. “Come on in. I’m so glad you could come.”

“Thank you so much for having me over,” she said.

Brodie squeezed her hand. “What’s cookin’?”

She smiled up at him. I’m doing it again. It was just that… while the kitchen smelled just like hers at home, with the baking bread, buttery eggs, and something sweet and cinnamony, the dynamic here was totally different. The castle was quiet and subdued, everyone extremely polite; this family was rambunctious and loud, constantly ribbing each other.

Delilah came up to her with a big, colorful plate. “Hey, hon.” She wrapped her up in her arms. “Food’s ready, grab what you want and come on outside. It’s gorgeous this morning, so we’re eating on the patio.”

“Thank you.” Rosalina took in the offerings. Her mouth watered at the sight of big, fat cinnamon rolls oozing with gooey filling, white frosting dripping down the sides. Always a careful eater, she skimmed across the platters piled with bacon and sausage and settled on the fresh fruit in a pretty ceramic bowl.

But that just seemed so…blah. It’s such a go-to choice. She wasn’t sure where to start, so she reached for the pitcher of hand-squeezed orange juice—which she knew was fresh because of the halved oranges sitting in a bowl beside the juicer.

“You look overwhelmed,” Knox said.

“I am.” She gave an uncomfortable laugh. “My home is much quieter than this.”