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“I love you, too, kid.” Had Eryn heard that exchange? He glanced at her to see a gentle smile as she looked between them. Yes! Another mental fist pump.

“See you in a few.” He shifted Jamie to his hip.

“Are you going there for lunch, too?” he heard Keith ask as he walked away.

Wait, what?

“I was thinking of it, yes,” Aunt Nadine replied.

“Maybe you could join us. If you don’t have other plans.”

“I’d like that.”

Maxwell passed Jamie to Tate.

“What are you smirking about? Score a hot date?”

He chuckled. “If you mean, am I taking Eryn and her father for lunch at the Grill, then sure. But what is really catching my funny bone is Eryn’s dad asking Aunt Nadine to join us.”

Tate swung to look at the back of the church. “Say what?”

“I think it’s cute.”

“I’m not sure people in their fifties want to be thought cute if they’re interested in each other. But are they, really?”

“Good point. And… yes, I think so. Time will tell.”

Tate shook his head. “You are tempting me to ditch Arlys and Jack in favor of being a fly on the wall at the diner, but I’d never be forgiven. Gotta keep the in-laws happy.”

“You say it as though you don’t like them.” Maxwell recalled some issues at first. Jack Simpson had been priming his daughter to marry a pastor for her entire life, and Eli Bryson in specific for a couple of years before Eli turned around and married Harper.

“We do okay now.” Tate grinned. “The boys help, especially Simon, though they’re pretty great with Jamie, too.”

“I should be going.”

Tate looked past him. “They’re headed to the foyer, with Eryn behind Keith and Nadine.”

“Should be interesting.”

“Keep me updated, bro.” Tate elbowed Maxwell. “On both developments.”

Maxwell only hoped there’d be something to report.

Chapter

Twelve

Eryn slid into the large booth the middle-aged hostess ushered them into, Dad behind her. Across, Maxwell entered first, followed by his aunt, then his brother. She managed not to let her nose wrinkle at Bryce’s wink. That guy was much too forward for her. Too slick. Too full of himself.

The hostess set down a stack of menus and glanced between them, her face alive with curiosity. “Welcome to the Golden Grill. What can I get you folks to drink?”

“Black coffee, please.” Maxwell gestured to Eryn. “You?”

“Herbal tea?”

“Sure. We have chamomile and mint.”

“Mint, please.”