Page 31 of More Than a Hero (Baytown Heroes #12)

As the rest of the family moved toward the living room, Pete noticed a man stepping forward, his gaze sharp but friendly. He exuded the quiet authority of a man who had spent his life providing for and protecting his family.

"Pete, welcome to our home. I’m Bob, Angie’s dad."

Pete immediately straightened, sensing the weight of this introduction. The way a father welcomed a man into his home spoke volumes. But Bob’s expression, assessing yet warm, eased some of the tension curling in Pete’s gut.

Angie hurried back after finishing her hugs with her grandparents, a slight flush on her cheeks. “I’m sorry, I didn’t even get to introduce you.”

Bob chuckled, wrapping an arm around his daughter’s shoulders and pressing a kiss to the top of her head before releasing her.

The action was effortless, full of love, and Pete couldn’t help but notice how easily Angie fit into the embrace, as if she’d been tucked into moments like that her entire life.

She stepped back toward Pete, looping her arm around his waist, and he automatically settled a hand at her lower back. The simple touch grounded him.

"Pete? Can I get you a beer?" Bob asked, stepping toward the fridge.

"I’ll have whatever you’re having, sir," Pete replied.

Bob dipped his chin in approval, retrieving two beers and handing one to Pete. “Stan and I are having one, so you’re welcome to join us. And please, call me Bob.”

Before Pete could respond, Roseann shooed them both toward the living room with a wave of her hands. “Now, I need to get you men out of the kitchen!”

Bob grinned, pressing a quick kiss to his wife’s cheek before waving for Pete to follow.

“When it’s just me and Roseann, we do a lot of cooking together.

But when the whole family is over, she likes her women in the kitchen so they can gossip.

” His voice dropped conspiratorially. “After the meal, we men will clean up, and then we can gossip too.”

Pete chuckled, following him into the living room, where Grandpa Stan was already reclining comfortably in his chair.

The house was small, but it felt lived in—loved.

The open floor plan made everything feel connected, giving an easy flow to the space.

The furniture was warm and inviting, with neutral tones, but splashes of color in the pillows and decor reminded Pete of Angie’s style.

Family pictures covered the walls, interspersed with framed paintings, their vibrant swirls of color catching his eye.

“I see you’re looking at the paintings,” Bob said, setting his beer down. “That’s Roseann’s work. She doesn’t paint as much these days, but she used to.”

Pete took another glance at the art before nodding. “They’re really nice, Bob. I don’t pretend to know much about art, but I know what I like.”

Grandpa Stan let out a gruff chuckle. “That’s what I always said. When Bob first brought Roseann around and told me she was an artist, I worried it’d be that weird modern stuff. But then I saw the way her colors blended, I liked it.”

Bob shook his head, amused. “Dad, just admit it… you liked everything about Roseann from the moment you met her.”

Stan smirked, not even bothering to deny it. “That’s true. My son picked out a lovely woman.” He looked toward Pete with a sharp but approving nod. “And that seems to be a trait you share. My granddaughter Angie is as sweet as they come.”

Pete met his gaze, his answer coming without hesitation. “I’d have to agree with you, Stan.”

Before Stan could respond, Bob leaned back, arms crossed over his chest. “She tells me you’re a detective?—”

“Stop interrogating him!” Roseann’s voice rang out from the kitchen.

Bob chuckled, raising his voice in response. “Well, dear, you shooed us out of the kitchen!”

“Yes, but if you ask him all the questions now, then we won’t hear the answers, and we’ll just have to ask them again during dinner,” Roseann shot back. “And then he’ll have to repeat himself.”

Angie appeared in the doorway, fighting back a grin. But her amusement won, and she let out a soft laugh. She met Pete’s gaze, her expression full of quiet amusement as she mouthed, “ You okay? ”

The idea of being interrogated by her family should have terrified him. But instead, something settled in his chest. These people forming this loud, affectionate, involved, loving family were important to Angie. And if he wanted to be in her life, that meant they would become important to him too.

He smiled, nodding once. “I’m okay.”

Roseann rushed in, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “Well, we can sit down to dinner, and then we can all find out about Pete.”

“Mom!” Angie huffed. “I don’t want to scare him off!”

Roseann pressed her lips together, fixing her daughter with an innocent look before turning to Pete. “I promise I won’t scare you off!”

Pete chuckled. “I think I can handle it.”

The men stood and followed the women into the dining room. The table was already set in a way that said family. It wasn’t about impressing anyone. It was about being together.

Angie guided him to a seat beside her, and as he settled in, he leaned in closer. “I wish I’d stopped to get flowers.”

She shook her head. “No. This is just us. They wouldn’t want you to feel like you had to do anything for them.” Her grin widened. “They just want me happy.”

Pete let his fingers brush against hers under the table, giving them a gentle squeeze. “And do I make you happy?”

Her gaze softened, her voice barely above a whisper. “Absolutely.”

The moment stretched between them, quiet but full. Then the sounds of plates clinking and food being passed around brought them back to the present.

As Pete took in the warmth of the family gathered around the table, he noticed something. Both Angie and Roseann had pushed their glasses to the tops of their heads in the same absent-minded way. The action made him grin.

The casualness of the meal… the simple dishes, the lack of fancy wineglasses or expensive serving platters, felt like an invitation rather than an expectation.

“I hope you don’t mind homestyle,” Roseann said as she handed him a plate. “We’re just family here.”

Pete accepted it, his voice steady when he answered.

“For me, this is a special treat.”

The others smiled, likely assuming he was just referring to the fact that he was a bachelor.

But as Pete caught Angie’s gaze, he knew she understood the truth.

He’d never had this growing up. He’d never sat at a table where laughter flowed easily and where the conversation was light and teasing instead of harsh and cutting. This wasn’t just dinner. This was home.

By the time dessert had been served, Pete felt more at ease than he’d expected. The easy conversation flowed around him, blending playful banter with more thoughtful discussions. The meal had been simple, nothing extravagant, but it was warm, satisfying, and real.

And no one had pushed him into an interrogation.

Not until Bob, who had been listening quietly, set down his fork and turned toward him with a thoughtful expression.

“We know you work with Angie on the Adopt-a-Grandparent program,” he said. “I believe she mentioned that you were already mentoring young people before that. That’s very admirable, Pete. Can I ask how you got into it?”

Pete hesitated, his mind racing for the right response. He could have kept it vague by offering a standard, polished reply that wouldn’t reveal too much. That was what he usually did. It was easier that way. But then his gaze flicked to Angie.

She was watching him, her head tilting ever so slightly. And though her smile was soft, she gave the smallest shake of her head, sending a silent message. You don’t have to say anything you don’t want to.

But looking around the table at her family—their open, expectant faces, not judging, just waiting—he realized something. He wanted to tell them.

Because if he and Angie were going to move forward, if they were going to keep building something real, they deserved to know the truth about him. And he wasn’t going to pretend that one day, he’d be bringing her home to his family for a meal like this. That would never happen.

Clearing his throat, he finally spoke. “My family wasn’t like yours,” he admitted, his voice steady but low.

“We didn’t have pleasant meals where everyone talked about their day or debated interesting topics.

We didn’t have this. ” He gestured vaguely around the table, at the warmth, the easy camaraderie, the love that practically radiated from every interaction.

A quiet hush fell over the room.

“My parents were both alcoholics,” he continued. “And I’m not sure they ever cared for each other very much.”

Roseann let out a soft gasp, her face crumpling slightly in sympathy. “Oh, Pete,” she murmured. “Please don’t feel like you have to explain anything to us.”

He glanced around the table, bracing himself for the usual shift—the pity, the discomfort. But what he saw instead was acceptance. No one looked at him like he was damaged. No one averted their eyes as if embarrassed for him. Instead, there was quiet understanding. Empathy.

He exhaled slowly, feeling a bit lighter.

“I don’t feel like I have to,” he said finally, looking at Roseann.

Then he shifted his gaze to Angie, the warmth in her expression settling something deep in his chest. “But I care about your daughter a great deal. And if she and I continue the way I hope we are, I don’t see a reason to hide anything. ”

Angie reached for his hand, threading her fingers through his. She shifted just enough that her body pressed against his, solid and reassuring.