Rom-Com Collection. Kristan Higgins

song, and I petted his big furry head.

      “Hi,” I said to both my guys.

      “Would you like some coffee?” he asked, already opening a cupboard for a mug from the mishmash selection therein.

      “Sure,” I answered.

      “Last night was incredible.” He smiled at me, and my heart practically rolled over onto its back, like Bowie offering himself up.

      “Yes, it was,” I said, grinning back.

      Ian poured me some joe, then added cream and sugar. “Even though you’re already so sweet,” he said, stirring the coffee.

      “Oh, my God. Are you flirting?” I asked.

      “This is what I get for trying,” he grumbled. But his eyes were happy.

      Just then his cell phone rang. Ian glanced at the screen. His face froze. Laura? I wondered. We hadn’t talked about her since the wedding … He picked up the receiver. “Hi, Jane.”

      I went on full alert. Could it be his aunt?

      “I’m fine, and you?” Ian said, not looking at me. “Okay. Great. Sure. Seven o’clock. Do you need directions? Okay. See you then.” He closed his phone and stared at the counter for a second. I waited, not saying anything. My patience was rewarded.

      “That was my aunt,” he said. “She’s in Boston and wants to come up and have dinner tonight.”

      “Great,” I said, nodding. “Is Alejandro coming?” I couldn’t resist saying that with a full-blown Spanish accent, and Ian gave a little smile.

      “No, just Jane.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, his smile fading. “Would you like to meet her?” he asked.

      “Yes! Absolutely!” I said. “Want me to cook?”

      “No, no. That’s fine. I’ll pick something up.”

      “Ian, you can’t give her dinner from some store. Would she rather eat out? We could go to Elements. Dave would treat us like royalty.”

      “She doesn’t believe in restaurants. Too much waste.”

      “Oh. Well, then I’ll cook. I’d be happy to, okay?”

      He took a deep breath. “Callie,” he said slowly. “I know you’re going to try to make a good impression and do your thing—”

      “My thing?” I asked.

      “Make her your new best friend.”

      I snorted. “Ian, I don’t try … people just like me. Because I’m so nice, remember?”

      “I do. But she won’t like you.”

      That gave me pause. “Why?”

      He squinted. “She’s … a very passionate person, and … well, she doesn’t really approve of me, and she’ll think you’re … uh …” He winced.

      “Okay, forget me for a second. How can she not approve of you?” I asked. “You’re her nephew, her brother’s boy. I’ll bet she adores you.”

      He took a sip of his coffee. “She wanted me to become a doctor, and the fact that I didn’t is tough for her.”

      “Well, I’m sure she’s very proud of you anyway, Ian,” I said, giving him a hug. “You’re so smart! And so handsome! And you have all those special skills, like making dogs love you and killing people with your little finger—”

      “You’re babbling,” he said, but there was a smile in his voice.

      “Well, whatever the case may be, I’ll make dinner, okay? Give me your key, and I’ll come over and get everything ready, and it will be wonderful. Is she a vegetarian?”

      “Vegan, I’m afraid.”

      “So tofu it is. I can do tofu.” I kissed him on the cheek. “Don’t worry. We’ll have fun.”

      TWELVE HOURS LATER, we were not having fun.

      My first impression had been good—I watched as Ian greeted his aunt on the driveway, giving her a hug, which she returned. She held his face in her hands and smiled hugely … the Look how you’ve grown thing I did on an almost daily basis with Bronte and Josephine. See? I mentally told my honey. She’s crazy about you.

      And then they came in, and the impression started to head south.

      “Jane, this is Callie Grey,” Ian said. “Callie, my aunt Jane.”

      “I wasn’t aware you were seeing anyone, Ian,” his aunt said, glancing at him as if startled.

      “It’s so nice to meet you, Dr. McFarland,” I said, smiling. She was small and very lean, pleasant face, gray hair, somewhere in her late sixties. “Ian’s told me a lot about you.”

      “Mmm,” she said. She wandered into the great room, taking a look around. “So, Ian, this is your home. My, my. Very … expensive-looking.”

      Okay … a veiled compliment at best.

      “Would you like some wine, Jane?” Ian asked.

      “I’d love some,” she said, not looking up from her perusal of his bookcase. “What is that strange smell?”

      I bit my lip. “Um … dinner?”

      “Ah. And what are we having?”

      I brightened, sure my dinner would impress. “Well, I made sure everything was vegan, since Ian said you were—”

      “Not anymore, actually,” she said, taking her wine from her nephew. “Too difficult, given where I’m living. Côte d’Ivoire. There’s just not enough agriculture in the area, so I’ve been eating eggs and dairy.”

      “Oh,” I said. “Okay, well, we’re eating vegan tonight. Beet ravioli with a fava bean sauce, sweet and sour cauliflower …” Nothing that a human would willingly eat, in other words “… and, um … a salad. And chocolate cake.”

      “Sounds like we could feed an entire African village with that,” she murmured.

      “Here you go, Callie.” Ian handed me a glass of wine. His face was neutral.

      “So! Ian! Tell me how things are with you,” Jane said, settling on the couch and ignoring the guacamole I’d made.

      “Things are good,” he said, sitting across from her.

      “Any plans to finish your education?” She smiled brightly.

      Ian glanced at me. “I did a year of med school before switching to the vet program,” he explained. “No, Jane. No plans to go back.”

      She shook her head. “That’s such a shame,” she said. “Cassie, let me ask you. If you could choose between healing sick children or treating an overbred golden retriever, which would you pick?”

      Youch! I set my own wineglass on the coffee table. “Actually, my name is Callie,” I corrected, glancing at Ian. “And I’d choose the profession I really loved, I guess.”

      “Mmm,” she said. “And what is it that you do, Callie, is it?”

      “Yes. Short for Calliope. I’m the creative director at an advertising agency.”

      “Do you find that rewarding? Getting American consumers to buy more … stuff?” She raised an eyebrow.

      I paused. “Well, I do, actually. I love my job.”

      “Mmm.”

      Now, not to toot my own horn, but the number of people who didn’t like me were … well, Muriel and now Jane McFarland. If Muriel and I had met without both loving the same guy, things might’ve been different. We both loved shoes, after all, the basis of many a female friendship.