“Are you kidding? I can’t wait to meet your mom and get to know the rest of your family.”

Shaking his head as he smiled—he couldn’t seem to get the smile off his damn face since he’d laid eyes on her, in spite of his underlying self-recriminations—Cole opened his door, hopped down, and hurried around to help her out. She was already climbing down when he got there, but he took her hand anyway, not because she needed it but because he wanted to touch her.

“You look good,” he said into her ear, then pressed a light kiss along her jawline as they walked up the driveway.

Good was an understatement, even though this was a casual family get-together, a laid-back gathering to celebrate his job with North Brothers Sports.

It was late November, the Saturday before Thanksgiving, and winter was flirting hard with Nashville, but Sierra had skipped wearing a coat. He’d inventoried every piece she wore when he showed up at her apartment, imagining taking each one off of her later tonight—a button-down shirt with the ends tied at her waist under a long, soft gray cardigan, jeans that hugged her slender legs, and ankle boots with a slight heel that made her legs look all the longer. Around her neck was a necklace with multiple strands and charms, and a silver bracelet jangled at her wrist, both of which he might or might not remove later, because a guy only had so much patience. Her hair cascaded in soft waves over her shoulders, and he ached to run his fingers through it as it draped over his pillow…

With a little laugh, she leaned into him. “You look good too.”

He laughed with her. “In my jeans and thermal shirt.”

“Your good jeans and thermal shirt.”

When they got to the front door, he opened it, as usual not stopping to ring the bell, and guided her in with his hand at her waist. He kept it there as they headed through the two-story entryway toward the noise that was his family, hanging out in the open family room, dining, and kitchen area.

“There he is,” his aunt Liz said as they came around the corner into her view. She stood near the dining table, well-dressed as always in dark jeans and a cowl-neck sweater, her chocolate-brown hair with lighter highlights making her look younger than her sixty-three years. “Man of the hour.”

The rest of the family called out greetings as he and Sierra approached.

“What do you mean? I only get an hour?” Cole said.