The Mitchell Brothers Collection: A Feel-Good Romance Box Set Page 2

  A total stranger is standing in my kitchen.

  Half-naked.

  And we’re all alone in this house.

  He could be anyone.

  “Aaaaahhh!” The strangled cry rips out of my throat, startling not just me but my drool-worthy intruder too.

  He removes the shirt from his face in one swift motion, his brown eyes immediately finding mine—not that it’s a hard thing to do after the war cry I just let loose.

  The noise of blood rushing through the veins in my ears is loud and distracting, and my body seems to have a mind of its own, doing things I’m not even realizing until—

  Smack.

  I look down at my now empty hands in utter shock before slowly looking back up to take in the crime scene I just created.

  The big ball of dough I just threw—without any conscious thought of it—landed square in his face.

  Oops.

  Two

  Thud.

  The ball of dough hits the floor with a soft plop, leaving a surprised-looking man standing in front of me. At least, I think he’s surprised since he still hasn’t said another word. He’s just staring at me with his eyes wide and his mouth slightly agape. Since the dough was still wet enough when I threw it, little pieces are now stuck to almost every inch of his face.

  “Oh my gosh.” My hands fly up to slap over my mouth while I try really hard to keep a straight face. I still have no clue who this guy is, but man, I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen something this funny, and I practically have first row seats. My attempt at keeping my feelings about this situation to myself remains unsuccessful when I burst into a bout of laughter—fully complemented by the occasional snort.

  This might quite possibly be the worst first impression I’ve ever made on a human being. Maybe I should be worried about that fact, but I just can’t bring myself to care. It’s been a very long time since I’ve laughed like this, and it almost feels cathartic.

  The guy clears his throat, touching his face with a shake of his head. “Well, I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself, at least.”

  At first, I’m not sure how to take his comment—and for a moment, I’m afraid he’s mad—but then I see the corners of his mouth lift into a smirk. All I can do is stare at him, my eyes blinking rapidly, basking in the fact that I’m pretty sure he has dimples.

  Freaking dimples. They will be the end of me.

  I guessed he’d be good-looking, but this man goes above and beyond that level, making him easily the most handsome man I’ve ever seen—even with dough plastered all over his face. Before that thought can spin into something bigger, I stop myself. Taking a deep breath, I tell my hormones to stay far away, not that I can blame them for wanting to come out to play.

  “I’m so sorry.” The mortification is slowly starting to sink in, and I’m ready to hide somewhere to escape this embarrassing situation.

  He arches an eyebrow, and a piece of dough that was stuck to it falls to the floor. “Huh. Are you sure? You could have fooled me when you were doubled over with laughter just a moment ago.”

  Heat immediately shoots into my cheeks in response, and a huge grin spreads across his face. I momentarily forget how to breathe because it’s that blinding. I clearly haven’t been out in a while, especially not around ridiculously handsome men like him. Now that I think about it, it’s actually been years since I felt attracted to someone this quickly, not that it’s ever been this strong before. My grandma always used to say there are two kinds of attraction. One is the instant one, that usually happens before you even know the person, and the other is the kind that grows with your feelings as you get to know a person better.

  I’m pretty sure we have an instant winner, since I can’t seem to think straight and words just start pouring out of my mouth. “Who are you anyway?”

  There are a lot of ways he could have reacted to that question. What I don’t expect is for him to start laughing so loudly I’m sure they can hear him a few houses down—and the properties in this neighborhood are pretty big. He clutches his stomach as he continues to shake with laughter, and naturally, I can’t help myself and track his every movement with my eyes. And for the love of...there are those perfect abs again, practically begging me to devour them with my gaze—at the very least.

  “Could you, uh, could you maybe cover yourself up a little bit more? It’s a bit inappropriate, if you ask me. Don’t you feel uncomfortable like this in front of a stranger?” More random—and albeit pretty inane—words come out of my mouth. I barely refrain from slapping myself on the forehead, trying to pretend like I’m actually in control of my own brain. My eyes stay trained on him, never letting him out of my sight.

  This time, I can tell he’s trying to keep his laughter at bay, not that I can blame him for wanting to laugh at me again. I’m obviously doing a pretty lame-ass job at this whole impression thing, and I wouldn’t be too surprised if I ended up with a dough ball in my face too.

  Since I’m uncomfortable with the silence right now, I’m trying to fill every second of it. “So, who are you?”

  I don’t always make such an idiot of myself, so I might as well know who I have to bribe to never speak a word about what happened here. I mean, this guy is nothing but a bad distraction I definitely don’t need in my life, but for right now, he can at least be a distraction with a name. Once I know that, I can properly bid him farewell when he leaves—fascinating abs and all.

  He studies me for a moment before crossing his muscular arms over his chest. “Well, I’ve been gone for a few months, but the last time I checked, this was my house. So”—he points a finger straight at me and I gulp—“the real question is, who are you?”

  Crap. His house? Hannah said this house belongs to one of her grandsons. After taking another good look at him, I can actually see some family resemblance. His eyes definitely have the same mischievous glint that Hannah has so often.

  “Oh.” My mouth stays in a perfect O-shape for a few moments—not only because I’m perplexed but also because I’m even more embarrassed now about my previous behavior. I just “doughed” the owner. Only me. Ugh. “Hannah didn’t mention anything about you coming back. She said we’d have the place to ourselves.”

  “That’s probably because I didn’t tell anyone I was coming home. It was supposed to be a surprise.” His eyes roam over my face, and I briefly wonder how he sees me. What an odd thought. “But it looks like I’m the one surprised instead.”

  Before either one of us can say another word, a loud wail comes from the monitor, blaring through the room.

  He looks around the kitchen, his eyebrows drawn tightly together. “What the hell was that?”

  “That was the baby monitor. Looks like my baby is up.” I’m not sure how I feel about leaving him alone right now, or turning my back to him, but I hate having Mira cry even more. Taking a big breath, I give myself a little pep talk before walking over to where he stands, trying to maneuver my way around him without actually touching him. That would be too awkward. “If you’ll excuse me, please.”

  He finally moves a little to one side, allowing me to push past him—barely. The close vicinity allows me to not only feel his body heat but to also smell his intoxicating scent. My heart skips a few beats, and I chastise myself for reacting to him at all. I like to be in control of things, and right now, in this situation, I feel anything but—least of all, my own body.

  Without looking back, I halfway sprint up the stairs to the second level, panting by the time I make it all the way up. At the end of the long hallway, I open the door to the makeshift nursery—we just added a crib to the otherwise normal guest bedroom—and turn up the dimmed light.

  Mirabelle—who we call Mira pretty much ninety-nine percent of the time—is sitting up, the tears from a moment ago already replaced with a big toothy grin. “Ma-ma.” She draws out the syllables, clapping her little, pudgy hands together with an enthusiasm only a ten-month-old baby can have.

  “Hi, cutie pie. Look at
you clapping. Good job.” The compliment for her newfound skill makes her squeal, which is the cutest thing ever. Seeing the joy spread across her whole face is something that will never get old.

  After a diaper change and a fresh set of clothes—thanks to Mira’s uncanny ability to have managed a second poop blowout today, all before ten o’clock—we go back downstairs. Thankfully, our visitor is nowhere to be found when we get to the kitchen. I pick up my phone to call Hannah and ask her about him, but it goes straight to voicemail. In that moment, I realize I still don’t even know the guy’s name.

  How embarrassing.

  Now that I think about it, I don’t think Hannah has ever mentioned it either. She likes to talk about her family, but usually doesn’t mention any names or occupations. I certainly never imagined such a fine specimen as her grandson, that’s for sure.

  I put my squirmy girl on the floor in her little playard, so she can play while I clean up the mess I left behind in the kitchen. After wiping random strands of hair out of my face, I throw the last bits of crumbs from the counter into the trash. Mystery man must have taken it upon himself to clean up the floor since I can’t see any more dough leftovers. The front door slams loudly just as I’m starting to prepare Mirabelle’s late breakfast.

  “Charlie?” Hannah’s voice carries through the house, and I let out a loud breath of relief.

  Finally, I’m about to get some answers. Hopefully.

  “In the kitchen.” I watch Mirabelle crawling over to the side of the playard that’s closest to the entrance of the kitchen. Just hearing Hannah’s voice has put the biggest smile on her face, making me chuckle.

  Watching children get all excited about something has become one of my favorite things. There really isn’t anything quite like it. The pure and raw joy they feel is reflected so clearly on their faces. It’s both a miracle and a sad truth at the same time—a miracle that we’re born with such an easy instinct to be happy about the simplest things, but also sad that we seem to lose the ability to hold onto that little piece of magic when we have to face the world we live in.

  Hannah walks into the kitchen, her face sun-kissed, her eyes immediately lighting up at the sight of the wiggling child on the floor that’s trying very hard to get her attention—doing a little bouncing dance and squealing as loud as she can.

  “Where’s my favorite little girl?” Hannah clasps her hands together before opening her arms wide as she walks toward the playard, egging Mira on even more. Mira’s little booty is bumping up and down so quickly, it looks like she might prepare for take-off in a minute.

  In less than thirty seconds, they’re reunited when Hannah picks her up. After snuggling for a while, Mira babbles like she’s filling in her replacement grandmother on everything she’s missed since they saw each other last—which was only a few hours ago, early this morning. I could watch them do this all day long, because it never ceases to melt my heart. Underneath the surface, it hurts a little bit sometimes, knowing my own grandmother—the woman who basically raised me—will never have those moments with her great-granddaughter.

  For some reason, that thought brings me back to our shirtless intruder, and I’m trying to think of the right words to ask Hannah about him. “So, Hannah, uh...”

  Well, this is going well so far. She stares at me as I try to figure out how to ask her about her grandson without sounding stupid. At least, I really hope he was telling the truth about that. The alternative wouldn’t be very good.

  But before I can get out another word, we all turn toward the sound coming from the hallway, where someone is clearly walking down the stairs.

  Hannah’s eyes go wide and she shrieks. Mira joins her without a second thought, and I giggle at her excitement, even though she has no clue what all the commotion is about. “Hudson! Oh my goodness, I can’t believe it. What are you doing here?”

  Hudson? Mmmm. I like it.

  Now, why am I thinking about liking his name?

  “Hi, Grandma. Surprise?” His voice goes up a little at the end, making it more of a question than a statement. Hudson—it’s good to finally know his real name—walks up to her, giving her as good of a side hug as he can manage with the baby occupying the other side of his grandmother. Of course, Mira is clapping and squealing, almost falling out of Hannah’s arms from all the excitement.

  What a traitor.

  After a moment, Hudson lets go of Hannah but stays close, peeking around his grandma to smile at Mira. “And who do we have here?”

  I’m still behind the kitchen island, completely engrossed in their exchange.

  Hudson looks freshly showered, a few droplets of water still shimmering in his hair—brown, just like his eyes. The black jeans and white T-shirt combo don’t do much to hide his incredible physique, and I have to remind myself to keep my eyes above the shoulders. Or maybe I shouldn’t look at all, but the jury is still out on that. Either way, there is no need to stand here and ogle his incredible upper body.

  Cut it out, ovaries.

  Hannah looks at me as if for confirmation, and I give her a smile in response. I love that about her. She wants to protect Mira just as much as I do, which is the only reason I trust her so much with her. Turning back to her grandson, Hannah points at my baby girl, who’s still happily sitting on one of her hips.

  “This is Mirabelle, but we call her Mira.” She tickles her little belly, making her giggle with delight.

  They both stare at Mira in fascination, and I completely understand why. This little girl seems to wrap everyone around her little finger in five seconds flat. I have yet to meet someone who’s immune to her charms.

  Hudson takes Mirabelle’s little hand in his and shakes it gently. She takes that as an invitation, of course, and halfway leaps into his arms. They gaze adoringly at each other before Mira nestles into his neck.

  I can’t believe it.

  Hannah suddenly points at me, clearing her throat as she looks in my direction. “And this over here is Charlie Peterson. Well, it’s Charlotte, but she goes by Charlie.”

  “Charlie?” There’s undisguised curiosity in his voice as he tilts his head a little to the side and looks at me.

  “Yes.” I nod, and for some inexplicable reason, I’m trying to sound as indifferent as possible. Someone like him must be used to women throwing themselves at him, left and right, and I don’t like to be a part of that fan club.

  Not in this house. Well, unless you count a baby and a grandma—it seems like they’ve already signed up for the club.

  “Charlie is opening her bakery here in a couple months. It’s right on Main Street, and it’s going to be beautiful. They’ve been living with me since they moved here from New York a few weeks ago. And since my kitchen is being renovated at the moment, I just moved them in here with me. I told you about my kitchen renovation and my visitors when we last spoke on the phone, didn’t I?” Hannah taps her chin with her finger as she looks up at the ceiling for a moment.

  Hudson shrugs his shoulders. “Not that I remember.”

  My stomach plummets at his words because the last thing I want to be is a burden.

  “Oops. Sometimes I don’t remember who I tell what anymore. Sorry about that.” Hannah puts one of her hands on his arm. “It’s not a problem though, is it?” Her eyebrows are drawn together as she looks up at her grandson.

  Now, I definitely feel like I need to chime in. After all, I’m the intruding non-family member he didn’t even know about. “Hudson, we’ll move out and find another place to stay, no problem at all. I wouldn’t have agreed to stay here had I known you were coming back.”

  Hudson throws his head back and laughs so much he has to wipe the corners of his eyes.

  What on earth was so funny about what I said?

  His whole body is shaking, and the sound of his laughter shoots little bouts of excitement through me. It’s one of those laughs that makes you want to join in, even if you don’t find it funny or don’t know what it’s about.

  It�
��s beautiful and infectious. Just like this man.

  Oh goodie.

  Hannah chuckles now too, jabbing her grandson in the ribs with her elbow. “I bet that’s a first for you.”

  He finally calms down, but a big grin remains on his face. “It sure doesn’t happen often.”

  Why am I starting to feel like I’m missing something big?

  When Hannah looks at me, she slaps one of her hands over her mouth while her eyes go so wide, I’m afraid they might pop out of her sockets at any moment. “I can’t believe it. You have no clue who he is, do you?”

  Her eyes shimmer with glee, making me uneasy with that look alone. I shake my head, deciding it might be best to stay quiet. There really is no need to embarrass myself any further than I already have.

  Hudson looks at her and chuckles. “Grandma, have you been keeping us your dirty little secret again?”

  Hannah slaps him lightly on the arm. “Stop saying it like that. You know I don’t like talking about what you do when you’re not around.”

  They stare at each other for a moment before turning their attention back to me.

  After that little exchange, I’m extra nervous.

  “Charlie.” Hannah stands up straight and clears her throat almost dramatically. Here we go. “This is my grandson, Hudson Mitchell, the famous rockstar you like to listen to on the radio.”

  Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit.

  Three

  Hannah’s smile falters, a big frown settling on her face instead. “Charlie, are you okay?”

  My first thought is no. I mean, I’ve never been one to fangirl much, but it still takes me a moment to swallow past the big lump in my throat.

  Hudson is a freaking rockstar—and not just any rockstar either, but one of the most famous ones out there. And if I remember correctly from one of Monica’s celebrity rants, the ones I usually tune out, he’s only twenty-five.

  If I don’t pay attention, that little fact can give me a complex. Even though I’m only twenty-three and about to open my own business, it’s nothing compared to Hudson.