"Good for her," Asha said warmly. "I know Lexi is disappointed that things didn't work out between her sister and Percy, but I've always believed that everything happens for a reason. As your beloved grandmother was fond of saying: When one door closes-"
"-another door opens." Samara smiled poignantly. "I was just saying that to the girls last night at the party. It made me think of Grandma Dubois. I miss her."
"So do I, ma chérie," Asha admitted. "Your grandmother and I had our differences, but now that I'm older and wiser, I realize that she only wanted what was best for me. She made so many sacrifices for me, and you were the apple of her eye. She would have been so proud of the women we've become. And it would have brought her to tears to see me sitting here like this with my beautiful daughter and granddaughter." Asha gave a soft, shaky laugh. "Goodness, I'm getting a little teary-eyed myself."
Samara lifted her head from her mother's knee to smile up at her. "Have I told you lately how grateful I am to have you in my life?"
Asha's expression softened. She reached down and gently cupped Samara's cheek in her palm. "Thank you for giving me a second chance to be the mother you've always deserved."
Now it was Samara's turn to get misty-eyed. She turned her face into her mother's palm and kissed it, then smiled at her.
Asha smiled back tenderly.
The sentimental bonding moment was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell.
Asha beamed. "That must be Stan and Prissy. We invited them over for a potluck dinner."
Samara lifted a brow. "Potluck? But Frizell has the day off, so does that mean you cooked?"
Asha laughed. "Heavens, no. I'm not that domesticated. Prissy's bringing the food. You know how much she enjoys feeding us." Asha rose from the chair, shifting her sleeping granddaughter to her shoulder. "Why don't you answer the door while I take Milan upstairs and make myself presentable."
Samara grinned, surveying her mother's decidedly unglamorous appearance. Few people would recognize the famous fashion designer in her husband's loose-fitting white button-down shirt worn over black leggings. But even without her stylish clothes and expensive makeup, and even with her hair pulled back into a simple twist, Asha still looked beautiful.
As she headed up the staircase with Milan, Samara went to open the door. She grinned broadly at the husband and wife nuzzling on the doorstep, each carrying two large aluminum pans covered with foil.
"Hey, Aunt Prissy and Uncle Stan," Samara greeted them cheerfully.
They pulled apart and grinned at her. "Hey, baby girl."
"Come on in," she said, opening the door wider.
Prissy Wolf kissed her cheek as she bustled inside the house with her pans of food. "Where's your mama?"
"Putting Milan down for her nap."
Stan Wolf leaned down to kiss Samara's forehead and wink at her. "Where are the fellas?"
"Out back playing basketball."
Stan grinned. "Oh, it's on."
Prissy laughed. "Better bring that food into the kitchen first," she admonished over her shoulder. "Oh, and Mason's coming, Samara. He was right behind us."
Samara looked outside. Sure enough, a black Lamborghini was roaring up the driveway.
She grinned, watching as the sleek Italian sports car skidded to a stop just inches behind Stan's Lincoln Navigator. The door of the Lamborghini lifted vertically and then out stepped Mason Wolf, star wide receiver of the Atlanta Falcons.
Like the other Wolf men, Mason was a towering hunk of masculinity with broad shoulders, gorgeously chiseled features and dark chocolate skin. His black hair was braided into neat cornrows that were easier to maintain during football season, and he sported immaculately trimmed sideburns that tapered down into a precise goatee. He was wearing black Timbs, dark Seven Jeans and a fitted white shirt that hugged his muscle-sculpted chest and some serious abs.
He was texting on his phone, a wicked grin playing at his lips as he sauntered up to the house with that long-legged Wolf prowl.
Samara called out teasingly, "Better put that phone away before you walk into something."
Mason glanced up at her, his face breaking into a wide grin. "Wassup, beautiful."
She grinned. "Yo, wassup."
Reaching the door, Mason tucked his phone into his back pocket and then wrapped Samara up in a bear hug, lifting her off the floor and making her laugh.
As he set her back down, she wagged her head at him. "Why am I not surprised to see you here on your Sunday off?"
He grinned. "I heard my mama's food was headed this way. So I followed."
"Of course you did," Samara teased, closing the door. "Good game on Thursday night. Two hundred and ten receiving yards and three touchdowns? I'm impressed, old man."
Mason laughed. "Now, see, why you gotta throw shade? Why couldn't you just congratulate a brotha without adding the 'old man' diss?"
Samara laughed. "It's all love, boo."
"Uh-huh. Right." He was grinning as he started from the foyer. His jeans sat low on his lean hips, hugging a round ass that female sports fans had lasciviously dubbed "the best ba-dunk-a-dunk" in the NFL. When he retired from playing, women everywhere would go into deep mourning.
Mason and Samara reached the kitchen to find Sterling, Asha, Stan and Prissy gathered around the huge center island. They were laughing and drinking wine from Asha's French vineyard as fragrant aromas wafted from the double ovens, making Samara's mouth water.
Mason went over to greet his aunt and uncle, grinning boyishly as Asha planted a loud, smacking kiss on his cheek and Sterling affectionately rubbed the back of his head. Mason might be a future Hall of Famer and a sex symbol, but to the Wolf Pack, he would always be Pipsqueak.
Everyone ribbed him good-naturedly as he helped himself to a handful of holiday canapés from a platter on the center island.
"The food's heating up," Prissy told her youngest son, "so you can eat when everything's ready."
"That's what's up." Mason polished off a canapé and popped another one into his mouth. As Samara came up beside him, he playfully bumped her shoulder with his. "Where your husband and kids at?"
"Milan's napping," Samara answered, selecting a smoked salmon pinwheel. "Marcus and the boys are out back shooting hoops."
"They wore Uncle Sterl out," Stan teased his older brother. "That's why he came back inside with a quickness."
Everyone was still laughing when they heard the front door open followed by the sound of footsteps coming down the hall. Michael and Reese appeared in the arched doorway, each holding a child in their arms. They were joined by Manning and Taylor, their three kids in tow.
Everyone called out enthusiastic greetings to the newcomers, welcoming them with hugs and kisses and delighted smiles. Asha plucked MJ out of Reese's arms while Prissy took Savannah from Michael.
When Marcus emerged from the backyard with Matthew and Malcolm, the older children greeted one another excitedly and then raced off to play downstairs, Shadow barking behind them.
It wasn't long before Montana, Magnum and Maddox Wolf showed up, broad grins wreathing their handsome faces as they looked around the bustling kitchen.
"We heard there was a party going on," Montana drawled.
"With food," Magnum added, rubbing his stomach.
Everyone laughed as the three brothers made their way to the platter of canapés. More glasses of wine were poured, more dinner plates added to the growing stack on the center island. Sterling put on some holiday music, Nat King Cole crooning about chestnuts roasting on an open fire.
Marcus wrapped his arm around Samara's waist as she fed him the last canapé and slowly licked her fingers. They held each other's gazes, the air between them sparking with heat and electricity.
The festive gathering grew even larger and noisier with the arrival of Prissy's brother and sister-in-law, Theo and Winnie Kirkland. They were accompanied by their twin daughters Maya and Zora, along with their husbands and young children. More boisterous greetings and hugs were exchanged, everyone laughing and talking at once.
When someone brought up the family's upcoming trip to France, Zora called out to no one in particular, "What day are we leaving again?"
"We're leaving on December twenty-second at seven A.M.," Manning called back in a deep, authoritative voice that halted all conversation. When twenty pairs of eyes swung to him, he took the opportunity to elaborate. "As everyone may recall, it's an eight-hour flight to Paris followed by a ninety-minute drive to Burgundy. It's going to be a long day and we're traveling with small children, so we need to get an early start. We ain't operating on CP Time, folks. Anyone who's late to the airport is getting left. I'm looking at you, Maya and Zora."
Everyone burst into knowing laughter as Maya and Zora traded sheepish grins. The twin sisters' perpetual lateness was a long-running joke in the family. They'd even been tardy to their own weddings.
Manning joked, "I can already see y'all running down the tarmac yelling 'Wait! Wait!' while the rest of us wave at you from the plane."