Mema dabbed at her mouth with her napkin, then nodded to a spare chair at another table. “Well, Gwen, since you’ve interrupted our meal yet again, you might as well pull up a chair and explain yourself.” Then she shot an annoyed look at Helen. “Helen, dear, please try to contain your glee.”
Somehow despite the situation, Wendy felt herself smiling. Funny how her overbearing family wasn’t quite so unbearable now that she was an adult in her own right. Now that she was coming to them on her own terms.
Her father jumped up to pull a chair over for her and Wendy seated herself between her mother and her grandmother. Surveying the table, she felt oddly at peace about her decision. Yes, this would be her life from now on. Sometimes.
She would inevitably have to deal with them and so would Peyton. But this wouldn’t have to be their only life. The two of them, together, could find their own way as a family. They could endure hollandaise sauce every once in a while, as long as they had banana chocolate-chip waffles most of the time.
Pinning her uncle with her gaze, she started with, “I fully expect you to honor the deal you offered Jonathon.”
His grin widened only slightly. “Why, certainly.”
Then she turned to her parents. “Mama, Daddy,” she began. “I’d like to finally accept—”
But before she could tell them she’d like to take the job at Morgan Oil, the door to the terrace swung open behind her. Mentally cursing the wait staff for interrupting her big moment of capitulation, she turned in her seat to send them away.
Only it wasn’t some overeager busboy. It was Jonathon. Along with what—at first glance—appeared to be every Bagdon in the county.
She jolted to her feet. “What the—”
“I’m not letting you go,” he said unceremoniously.
For the first time since she’d known him, Jonathon looked decidedly disheveled, if that was possible for a man who kept his hair trimmed into such neat submission. He was dressed in jeans and a rumpled denim work shirt open over—bizarrely enough—a T-shirt, for some rap group, which was obviously too tight.
Clutching Peyton tighter to her chest, she tried her damnedest to glare him down. “I’m not having this discussion here.”
“Then you shouldn’t have rushed off.” He quirked his eyebrow. “If you want, we can drive back over to my sister’s and finish the conversation in the shower.”
Helen gave an indignant huff, but beside her Hank Jr. sniggered. Then there was the unmistakable whack of someone getting kicked under the table followed by his grunt of pain. Wendy glanced over her shoulder to see Mema smiling faintly.
“My dear, since there is now no hope of us finishing our breakfast in peace, you should at least hear him out.”
“Okay.” She eyed him suspiciously. “Start talking.”
But before he could say a word, Lacey darted between them and held out her hands. “Let me take Peyton. I have the feeling you’re going to want your arms free before this is over.”
“She’s fine here,” Wendy said stubbornly.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake, Wendy,” muttered her mother, standing. “If anyone is going to take Peyton, it should be me.” Her mother practically wrestled the baby out of Wendy’s arms.
With nothing to hold, Wendy wrapped her arms around her chest. “Go ahead,” she said to Jonathon.
He opened his mouth, then snapped it shut again, casting a wary glance at the crowd around them, her family on one side, his family blocking the only door back into the hotel. He grabbed her arm and navigated her around the few empty tables to the far corner of the terrace.
“I want another chance to make this work. You and I are good together.”
“Good together in bed?” she asked softly. “I’m not going to argue that. Good together at work? Absolutely. But I want more than that.” She swallowed. “I need more than that.”
Jonathon scrapped a hand over his short hair, his mouth pressed into a straight line as he seemed to be mustering his words. He studied her face, looking for what, she wasn’t sure.
Refusing to meet his gaze, her eyes dropped again to the absurd T-shirt. Frustrated that he claimed to want to talk, but still wasn’t talking, she asked, “And why on earth are you wearing that T-shirt?”
“That’s mine!” called a voice from near the door, shattering the illusion of privacy.
She looked around Jonathon’s shoulder to see Lacey’s younger brother Thomas holding up a hand.
Jonathon rolled his eyes in obvious exasperation. “You took our suitcase. I didn’t have any clothes other than the jeans.”