Tracy Madison - From Good Guy To Groom

Reid, the eldest, and Cole, the youngest son, greatly resembled their father, with their almost-black hair and eyes, while Dylan, the middle son, and Haley, the youngest of the Foster siblings, took after their mother, with hair very similar in color to Andi’s and green eyes. They were a gorgeous crew, no doubt about it.

And she tried—oh, did she ever—to keep up with the jokes, the roughhousing, the mash of chatter that came from every direction, but soon found that impossible. Too many people. Too much noise. It was all just...too much. Easing backward, she leaned against the wall and slowed her breathing, stared at the refrigerator and silently counted to ten. Far too early in the day to allow her anxiety free rein. She wouldn’t make it another hour if she did.

Her aunt walked over, stopping in front of her, and placed her hand on her arm, saying, “Honey? Are you okay? You seem a tad overwhelmed.”

“A little, maybe, but I’m okay.”

“Maybe I should’ve put this off another week, to give you more time to find your bearings,” Margaret said, watching her closely. “If you need to sneak away to be by yourself for a while, do so. No one will think anything of it if you do.”

“I will. Right now, I’m just trying to remember everyone’s names.” She hadn’t been, but doing so might be enough to halt her nervous energy.

Moving her gaze around the room, she stopped at Reid’s wife, the pixieish redhead. Daisy? Yes. And their children were the adorable toddler twins, Alexander and Charlotte. Cole was married to the slender blonde with cover-girl beauty. Her name was Rachel. They didn’t have any children yet, the same as Haley, who was married to the very tall, very muscular Gavin. Rounding out the group, of course, was Dylan and Chelsea and their son, Henry.

“How’d you do?” Margaret asked. “Need any reminders?”

“Nope. I actually remember all the names.” Andi exhaled a breath and some of her tension eased. Of course she could get through the day. So long as she remembered to breathe. “Crazy, huh?”

“Not really. Even as a child, you had an excellent memory. So did your sister.”

True enough, Andi supposed, but some things she wished she could forget. “Well,” she said, “I’m just glad to have the names down.”

Margaret reached up and brushed a strand of hair from Andi’s cheek. “You’re safe here, my darling. Everyone in this house only wants the best for you. Try to keep that in mind when you start to feel uncomfortable.”

“I know. I will.”

A sharp whistle cut through the chatter, forcing everyone to turn toward the source—Paul—as he started assigning tasks related to the grill, setting up the outdoor tables and extracurricular activities. Basketball was mentioned, as was horseshoes. It seemed that the barbecue, and everything that went with, was getting started.

Within a matter of seconds, the kitchen emptied of the adult males, and Margaret, stepping away from Andi, exhaled a whoosh of air. “Finally,” she said with a chuckle. “Now, I have room to navigate. Haley, can you finish the potato salad? Potatoes are in the fridge, along with everything else you’ll need. And Chelsea...if you don’t mind, could you and Henry fill the cooler with ice? The cases of soda, water and juice are already out back.”

“What else needs done?” asked Rachel, stepping forward.

“Um, let me think.” Margaret tapped her finger on her lips. “Oh, the tomatoes, onions and so forth...can you slice those for the burgers? And the barbecue sauce, for the ribs. I need to—”

The doorbell pealed, interrupting Margaret’s speech and sending Andi’s pulse into overdrive. Ryan had arrived. Suddenly, Andi wished she’d taken a bit more time with her hair, her makeup. Maybe worn some jewelry, and had she sprayed on any perfume?

Oh, Lord. This wasn’t a date.

Doing her utmost best to shake off the resurgence of her nerves, she said to the room at large, “That’s Ryan. I’ll let him in. And then, whatever I can do to help, I’ll be more than happy to. Anything at all. Whatever you need!”

“Nope. For one, you’re the guest of honor, which mean you won’t lift a finger.” Margaret’s eyes narrowed as if challenging Andi to present an argument. “Also, Ryan hasn’t met any of us before and, as a group, we can be a little overwhelming to newcomers. And, sweetheart, he’s your guest. Pay attention to him, introduce him to everyone. Mostly, though, just relax and have fun. That is one of the reasons you’re here, is it not?”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean—” She broke off as her aunt’s eyes narrowed another degree. “You win. I’ll rest on my lazy behind all day while everyone else does all the work.”

“Perfect. That’s exactly what I want for you.” Margaret beamed a smile before pointing toward the front of the house. “Now, go greet your guest before he thinks we’re rude and ignoring him.”

Nodding, Andi inched her way toward the door and flat out disregarded the zealous pounding in her chest, her once-again damp palms and the swirling excitement permeating her blood. None of that meant anything. Other than that she was nervous, as she had been all week about the barbecue in general. These were symptoms of anxiety, not...attraction or genuine affection.

Couldn’t be. She knew almost nothing about Ryan Bradshaw. Besides, for the next three months, he was her physical therapist. The last thing she needed was to mistake his intense focus on her and her well-being as anything other than professional interest and care.

Logical. Rational. Sensible.

Unfortunately, the second she opened the door and laid on eyes on him, her brain stopped thinking. Because, Lord, the man looked good. Dark hair ruffled from the wind, equally dark eyes that seemed to see right through her—filled with warmth and compassion and a type of concentration that Andi felt to her core—and a beaming, bright smile. His jeans fit his long, lean form in such a way that seemed to state they were made for his body alone, and his pale yellow short-sleeved shirt was unbuttoned and untucked, showing the white T-shirt he wore beneath.

Yeah, he looked good. Enough so that Andi realized she just might be in trouble.

* * *

Prickly. Nervous. Uncomfortable. All words Ryan could use to describe Andi’s behavior since the second he’d arrived. Whether it was his presence or the gathering in general that had raised her anxiety level, or, he supposed, the combination of both, he couldn’t say. But she held her body tense, almost rigid, and while she’d kept up on her end of the conversation with him and various family members, her voice held a forced quality.

She also hadn’t truly, freely smiled even once. He liked her smile—her real smile—and wanted to see it again. So, he decided his mission for the rest of the day was to get her to relax enough that she’d be able to smile. Even just once. If he could pull a true-blue laugh from her, as well? Better yet. It seemed of utmost importance to give her a happy, carefree moment.

Several years ago now, his only sibling, his sister Nicole, had been diagnosed with breast cancer. As the disease and the treatment for the disease took its awful, awful toll, one of Ryan’s daily goals was to find something—anything—that would make his sister forget what she was going through for enough consecutive seconds to elicit a smile. Or a laugh. Or both.

He did not succeed every day, but he did on most.

Of course, with Nicole, he knew her well enough to have an idea of which tack to take. He did not know Andi well enough, so he’d have to feel his way through and hope he could figure out what might lighten the burden she was presently carrying. He did not have an arsenal of jokes at the ready, so he didn’t bother going that route. Rather, he decided to trust his instincts and start with an unconventional approach. Something that might just surprise her enough that she’d let down her guard and start to relax. He wanted her to relax.