Returning Celeste’s hug, Chelle looked over the older woman’s shoulder and spotted Nash. His shoulders were tense. The double dimpler was nowhere in sight. He looked like he might crack a tooth, his jaw was clenched so tight. Macon and Bristol were near the huge island topped with a butcher’s block counter, their body language rigid, but they sat back as Nash put out the metaphorical fires their mom set. It was obvious they loved Celeste—really, who would put in that level of work if they didn’t—but it had taken its toll on all of them.

It broke her heart a little.

“Oh my goodness,” Celeste said. “I’m so glad you came and brought all your fur babies. Now, let’s go enjoy brunch.”

Despite her realization, she did. Without having to watch out for their mom, Nash and his siblings fell back into their humorous give and take as they told Chelle embarrassing things he’d done as a kid, while Celeste talked about how he’d been such a serious boy growing up that it was good to see him smiling now. Then she looked at her eldest, and it was plain as day that for whatever else was true, Celeste Beckett loved her kids.

Families were so fucking complicated.

Luckily brunch, it turned out, was not. Once Nash had a chance to relax and enjoy the delicious food his mom had made, Chelle felt her own shoulders start to inch down. By the time they were back outside, ready to go home, pugs and feline leashed up beside them, she almost would have sworn that she’d imagined the whole thing.

“Hey, Beckett!” a man called out from the sidewalk.

They both turned, just in time to see a flash go off right in their faces. A freaked-out Sir Hiss responded by climbing Nash like a tree while the pugs lunged toward the photographer. Heart going a thousand miles an hour, she tightened her grip on the leashes and blinked away the giant white spots in her vision. Before Chelle even had a chance to process what was happening, Nash was guiding her and the animals into the park and putting as many people between them and the photographer as possible.

“Who was that?” she asked once their pace slowed down enough for a question. “Do you have your own paparazzi?”

His hand firm on her lower back, he led her around a particularly slow gaggle of tourists taking up almost the entire width of the main path through the park. “You really don’t read the gossip pages, do you?”

She shook her head.

“Come on.” He let out a tired sigh. “Let’s hurry up and get home, and I’ll tell you everything.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Three

Nash

Yeah. Getting home fast didn’t happen.