Page 38 of Catch Me (Townsend Legacy #4)

I vy

“Andreas,” greets the beautiful Black woman with grey and dark brown sisterlocks forming a braid over her shoulder.

I watch as she embraces Andreas with such affection that I’m almost taken aback.

While Andreas isn’t the spitting image of his mother, the resemblance is enough to give it away. It’s the warm, welcoming shine in her brown eyes that actually reminds me of Andreas the most, despite their different eye coloring.

“I’ve missed you,” she tells Andreas as they pull apart. “Why didn’t you let yourself in?”

Andreas frowns down at his mother. “Dad warned all of us to knock on any door before entering. Especially now that we’ve all moved out.”

His mother rolls her eyes. “You know he’s out playing golf right now. Besides, your father was joking.” She swats his arm.

“Dad doesn’t joke,” Andreas says. “All of us have at least one story of accidentally walking in on you two.” He shivers. “I don’t ever want to be traumatized like that again.”

“Andreas James Townsend!” she says, pushing his shoulder. “Watch your mouth.”

He laughs before taking a step back and wrapping an arm around me. “Speaking of inappropriate behavior …”

I gasp and look up at him.

“Mom, this is Ivy.” He looks from me to his mom. “My future.”

My eyes grow wide, but when I look at his mother, there isn’t shock or even anger on her face. Just that same warm smile.

“Ivy, I’ve heard so much about you.” She surprises me by pulling me into a hug.

“Mrs. Townsend, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Thank you for inviting me to your home and to celebrate your birthday with your family. These are for you.” I hold out the flowers and a fruit basket we picked up on the way from the airport.

“These are beautiful, thank you.” She takes the flowers and then takes a step back. “Come in. Come in.” She waves us inside.

“Stasi will be over soon for lunch,” she tells us before starting down the hallway.

I glance around the spacious entryway, noting the hardwood floors, and huge spiraling staircase that must lead to the bedrooms.

The splendor of the house doesn’t detract from the homey feeling made possible by the light-colored classic furniture and numerous family pictures on the walls and above the fireplace.

Mrs. Townsend asks us about our flights and the car that picked us up from the airport.

“We would’ve been more than happy to pick you up,” she says while escorting us down a long hall to an equally spacious kitchen.

“Traffic is terrible around the airport on Saturdays,” Andreas says. “It was easier to have a car service pick us up. We’ll pick up the rental tomorrow,” he tells her.

“Our driver from the airport was great, Mrs. Townsend. We didn’t want to bother you since Andreas said you have a full day planned for tomorrow.”

His mother smiles as she places the flowers I gave her on the kitchen island. “Andreas knows he’s never an interruption.” Then she looks at me. “You should know that, too.”

She squeezes my hand.

“We have peach iced tea, fresh lemonade, or sparkling water. What’s your poison?” Her gaze shifts between the two of us.

“Lemonade sounds great. I’ll get it, you two sit,” Andreas insists.

“Oh, I could?—”

Mrs. Townsend takes me by the arm. “Don’t bother, sweetie. He’s not going to listen. Let’s have a seat in the dining room.”

I follow her into the dining room and take a seat at the glass table.

“Your home is beautiful, Mrs. Townsend.”

That’s not me trying to suck up to her, either. The spacious living room and dining areas decorated in neutral, warm colors with pops of color here and there give the home a welcoming feel. It’s also much larger than I anticipated.

From what I saw driving into the gated neighborhood, all of the homes are especially attractive.

“Is it true all of your family lives in the area?”

She nods. “Not just the area. Aaron’s older brother is our next-door neighbor. His two other brothers live right around the corner.”

“So basically, we ran this entire community growing up,” Andreas says while entering and placing a sterling silver tray with three glasses of lemonade on the table.

“Him and all of his fifty-eleven cousins,” Mrs. Townsend jokes.

Andreas snorts. “Yeah, you and Dad were responsible for five out of those fifty-eleven,” he comments. “Why’d you have so many, anyway? I wasn’t enough?”

Part of me is slightly bowled over by the way he easily jokes with his mother. What’s more surprising, though, is how she takes it all in jest.

In the background, I hear the lock of the front door disengaging.

“Well, Kennedy and Kyle were a surprise. And well, Thiers came with a spare,” she jokes, smiling up at Andreas.

“That’s all I am is a spare?” His chuckle is cut off by a feminine voice.

“So, what was I?”

I turn to a beautiful young woman with curly, purple, shoulder-length hair, standing with her hands on her hip, staring at Andreas’ mother.

“You were a bonus,” Mrs. Townsend says, making the girl smile. “Stasi, don’t be rude. Introduce yourself to Andreas’ girlfriend,” his mother orders.

The girl with the largest hazel, doe eyes I’ve ever seen turns them on me.

“I’m Anastasia," she says, approaching me with her hand outstretched. “Everyone in this family calls me Stasi, though. You know, ’cause it’s short for Anastasia. Mom says it’s because I couldn’t pronounce my own name when I was a toddler so they had to shorten it. It kind of stuck, I guess.

“Since Dre brought you home, I suppose it means your family now, too. You can call me Stasi. I give you permission,” she says as if bestowing me with an honor.

I grin. She’s kind of adorable in a chaotic, high energy sort of way.

“Yeah, she’s the only one who doesn’t ring the bell before entering,” Andreas tells me before pulling his sister into a hug. “Don’t be a pain in the ass, Stasi.”

“Mom, Dre cursed at me.”

“I heard, and your brother knows to watch his mouth in this house,” Mrs. Townsend says sternly. “And you know not to tease your brother.”

“But it’s fun.” Stasi laughs.

“Aren’t you supposed to be over the little sister, bratty phase by now? You’re twenty-one.”

Stasi ducks when Andreas goes to ruffle her hair.

“Not the hair!” Stasi squeals. “I just got it redone and trimmed for Mom’s birthday.”

Andreas rolls his eyes. “Why is she still in her purple phase?”

“Apparently, it’s not a phase,” his mom answers.

“I’m late because I had to stop by the store to get some vanilla bean ice cream to go with the brownie pie I’m making.” She holds up a bag of groceries in her hand.

“Oh, I need to put this in the freezer.” She suddenly slaps Andreas’ arm. “You almost made me forget to put the ice cream up.”

“Stasi, don’t hit your brother,” Mrs. Townsend says, sounding like she’s said this exact phrase at least a million times before.

“See how I get abused when I come home?” Andreas looks at me with a sympathetic expression.

“Abuse? Ha!” Stasi interjects. “Did you not hear me say I’m making brown pie? It’s not your beloved carrot cake or anything, but my brownie pie is damn good.” Her eyes go wide, and she looks over at their mother. “Sorry, Mom.

“Anyway, I have to prep the kitchen.”

“I can help,” I say, rising to my feet.

“You don’t have to,” Andreas assures, moving to take my hand.

But Stasi moves just as fast.

“Move, big brother. If the young lady says she wants to help, then I say thank you.” She does a slight bow before pushing in between Andreas and me to wrap her free arm around mine.

Thirty minutes later I laugh, watching Andreas’ younger sister at the kitchen counter.

She’s made a lobster bisque and is in the middle of preparing a homemade dressing for the arugula salad I helped her make. There’s also garlic bread baking in the oven now.

“You know, I don’t usually let anyone into my kitchen.” She peers at me over her shoulder, eyes narrowed.

“Consider yourself lucky. Also, you’re the first girl Andreas has ever brought home. Did you know that?” She looks back again.

“Yes, I did,” I reply since Andreas told me as much.

“That means you’re special. Dre says you’re a stylist?” she asks, using the nickname only she calls him.

“Not quite,” I correct. “Assistant to the assistant of costume design at InTuition Pictures.”

“Costume design? Is it fun?” She grabs an oven mitt to check on the garlic bread.

I tell her about my job, getting excited all over again as I recognize, not for the first time that I’m working in a career field of my choice. Doing something I actually love.

“I actually need to do some research for the next project I’m working on. It’s set in the 1800s and?—”

“Research?” Stasi says. “You definitely have to talk to my mom. She’s a librarian. Mom!” Stasi calls, barely taking a breath in between her words.

A minute later, I’m explaining to Andreas’ mother that I’m in the process of researching mid-nineteenth century men’s fashion for a miniseries the studio’s producing.

“I did a little bit of research on the topic when I studied at the Fashion Institute …” I trail off.

“Oh, you got your degree in fashion design?” Stasi asks. “My friend, Rhonda, studied it, too.”

I shake my head. “I never finished my degree.” I can’t help the embarrassment that seeps into my voice.

“You could always go back.”

“Stasi,” Mrs. Townsend calls and gives her daughter a look before turning to me. “I know we have some books at the library about fashion.”

In the blink of an eye, I’m back in the dining room with Mrs. Townsend, who’s pulled out a laptop, her fingers flying across the keyboard as she searches for something.

“Got it,” she says like she just won the lottery.

“Andreas, when you two stop at the library tomorrow, you can have Ivy check these out. I’ve already put three books and some articles on hold for you.” She looks between me and Andreas, who stands beside me.

“Thank you so much,” I say.

“Not a problem at all,” she says, still peering at the screen. “There may also be some …”

Andreas squeezes my shoulder, drawing my attention.

“She can be at this all day. Once she has a topic, she’ll search the library’s ten thousand book collection and archives to get just the right sources.”

I laugh because his mother’s enthusiasm is palpable.

A minute later, the front door lock disengages.

“Daddy’s home!” Stasi calls right before she bursts from the kitchen toward the front door.

“Hi, Daddy!” we all hear her squeal.

A deep, muffled voice greets her, before footsteps sound in our direction.

I rise from my seat after Mrs. Townsend gets up to greet her husband. He enters the dining area, his piercing hazel eyes searching the room for something. Only once they land on his wife and he pulls her into his arms does the scowl on his face soften.

Is he angry? I wonder as I stand back and watch the interactions between Andreas’ parents. While his mother is the embodiment of sunshine, his father … well, before the man even speaks, it’s obvious he’s a bit more thunderstorms and clouds.

Despite that, Stasi and then Andreas approach him lovingly with warm embraces, which he returns in kind.

“Dad, this is Ivy,” Andreas introduces, his hand at my back.

“His future,” Andreas’ mother adds from beside her husband.

He looks down at Mrs. Townsend, the pair silently conveying something to one another with a look before his father turns his eyes back on me.

“Ivy brought flowers and a nice fruit basket to enjoy with our lunch,” Mrs. Townsend tells him.

“Mr. Townsend, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” I extend my hand.

Though his movements are more measured than toward his family, he does shake my hand and nod.

“Welcome. A pleasure.”

Short, simple but yet feels approving in some way. I look at Andreas, who’s smiling down at me with a sparkle in his eyes. I finally see where he gets his personality from. On the surface he’s definitely more of his mom, but there are moments I’ve caught glimpses of his father.

“Your family’s wonderful,” I say when it’s just the two of us.

He rolls his eyes and laughs. “They’re crazy. You haven’t even met all of my siblings. Brace yourself. It’ll be a zoo during the party when everyone’s here.”

He leans in and kisses my lips. “Just promise you won’t run screaming for the hills once you meet everyone.”

Lifting on my tiptoes, I return his kiss. “Very little chance of that happening.”

His eyes narrow.

“Little chance means there’s still a possibility. Do I have to warn you again of what will happen if you try to get away from me, baby?”

It’s totally inappropriate the way my nipples harden given where we are right now, but the underlying growl in Andreas’ voice does crazy things to my body.

“I won’t be able to sit comfortably for a while?” I guess.

“Sitting will be the least of your worries,” he tells me.

“We’re eating outside,” Anastasia yells from the kitchen.