Do You Take This Baby?. Wendy Warren

      “Where were we?” Behaving as if the previous moment hadn’t happened, Ethan looked at her, not Crystal.

      Whoa. Was he going to ignore the fact that he’d practically been groped by a woman he hadn’t seen in a decade and a half? “Uhm...” She couldn’t remember what they’d been discussing prior to the other woman’s arrival.

      “You were telling me about your engagement,” he prompted.

      Talk about being dumped by her fiancé after that exhibition? Not happening.

      Crystal’s perfume lingered in the air, but it wasn’t strong enough to overpower Ethan’s pheromones. Gemma had always known when Ethan was at her parents’ house, even if she’d just walked in the door. Everything about the house changed. It smelled like soap and aftershave and...him. Like right now.

      “You okay?” Ethan asked as the bride and groom’s first dance wound down. “You look flushed.”

      “You’re right, it’s hot in here.” She waved her hands at her face.

      “It’s probably not any cooler on the dance floor, but you want to give it a try?”

      Dance? With her and not Crystal or one of the bachelorette bridesmaids? Gemma felt as if the hottest guy in school had just asked her to homecoming—genuinely this time.

      “Oh, Gemma, good, you’re done eating!” Her sister Lucy appeared at the banquet table, bouncing baby Owen in her arms. “Hi, Ethan,” she greeted. “Gem, they’re about to open the dancing, and Rick and I haven’t danced without the kids practically since our wedding. Would you hold Owen while I get out there with my husband? Pretty please?”

      Lucy was indescribably lovely, with translucent ivory skin, a dancer-like long neck and shiny dark hair she wore simply in a perfect bun. She did look tired, though.

      With a rueful glance at Ethan, she replied, “Sure,” even though she thought she might tear up in disappointment.

      Lucy blew her an air kiss. “You’re a peach.” She beamed at Ethan. “She’s such a peach. Okay, baby boy, over the table and into Auntie Gem’s arms.” An old pro at handing off kids, Lucy didn’t bother to walk around the table; she merely passed Owen over the stemware. “He’s fed and dry. We’ll just dance to a couple of songs. Thank you, thank you,” she said sincerely as she sped to her husband.

      Gemma dangled the eight-month-old above her lap. The baby tried to grab her nose.

      “Nasa-fa!” he said.

      She turned to Ethan. “That’s Owen-speak for ‘nose.’”

      “Quite the conversationalist.” Ethan nodded, but didn’t smile. And now Crystal was wriggling their way.

      “Oh, Ethan,” she sang.

      “Come on.” Abruptly taking her arm, Ethan helped her to her feet.

      “Where are we going?”

      “For a walk.”

      Guiding her past an unhappy Crystal, whom he didn’t even acknowledge, Ethan led them out of the ballroom. With Lucy’s baby in her arms and Ethan’s hand firmly beneath her elbow, Gemma felt less like a maiden aunt and more like—just for a wee sec—a wife and mommy. Thinking about the man beside her cast in the role of loving husband and baby daddy, she realized how easily that fantasy could become a habit.