“Hi. Is Reagan here?”

There was a pause and then, “Yes.”

But not just a yes. A long, drawn-out, suspicious yes.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m Noah. She and I have a lunch date.”

This was charming my family? I think not.

“You do, do you?”

“What’s going on?” Aunt Bethel demanded. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

“He says his name is Noah and he’s going for lunch with Reagan,” Mom replied.

“Reagan is on bedrest. Absolutely not.”

“Ma’am, I—”

All right. I had to put him out of his misery. He hadn’t started this well at all, and knowing Aunt Bethel’s track record, it wasn’t about to get better.

I got to the bottom of the stairs just as Aunt Bethel slammed the door shut in Noah’s face.

“Bethel!” Mom gasped.

“Oh, my God!” I cried, jumping down the last two steps. “Aunt Bethel! You can’t slam the door in people’s faces!” I darted past both of them and yanked the door open. “I’m so sorry.”

Noah’s lips twitched to one side. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Aunt Bethel.” I looked at her pointedly.

“What?” She jerked her chin up in defiance and crossed her arms over her chest, her bangles jingling against each other.

“Don’t you have something to say?” Honestly, teaching toddlers manners would be easier than convincing this old woman to use ones she already knew.

I assumed she knew them.

I hoped she knew them…

“Jesus,” Mom whispered, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Do you know this man?”

“You say it like he’s a stranger from some back alley.”

“For all I know, he is.”

All right, I wasn’t exactly selling him either, was I? “Mom, this is Noah. Noah is the firefighter who carried me out of the apartment building.”

Her eyes went wide, and horror flashed across her face. She staggered backward, clutching her hands to her chest. “Well, why didn’t you say so?” she demanded of Noah.

Noah cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably. “Forgive me, ma’am, but that’s not usually how I introduce myself to people.”

“Oh, he’s a smartarse.” Aunt Bethel shoved in front of me and Mom and glared at him. “When did you meet?”

Noah glanced at me. “When I rescued her from a burning building, ma’am.”

“Do I look old enough to be called ma’am to you? That’s no Southern accent on you. You weren’t brought up to ‘ma’am’ people.”

Oh, fuck me dead.

This was a terrible idea.

“Actually, my grandma was born and raised in Louisiana,” he said quickly. “She heard me call a woman older than me ‘miss’ and beat my ass until I apologized and addressed her as ma’am.”

Aunt Bethel looked him up and down. “Mmm. What are you doing here? Are you courting my great niece?”

Courting?

“Mom!” I shot her a look that said, “Get this crazy woman away from the hot guy at the door.”

This was why I could not live with my family.

I was twenty-six. I could handle my own stuff, and I certainly didn’t need my eighty-year-old great-aunt asking if someone was courting me.