One of the first things that happened after Max introduced me to his mother was that she raved over the painting Max had bought and shipped to her. She went on for over thirty minutes, which completely embarrassed me. Max got a total kick out of it though.

“It’s going well,” I say, not willing to admit it’s going so much better than I’d expected. I’m still having a hard time accepting that my talent is really worth money. “I’m hoping maybe I can cut my hours back at the nursing home since the money from my art is so much more than I expected. Certainly better than what I made at the gas station.”

Marilyn chuckles and shakes her head. “I still can’t get over that story about how you met. You know Max called me after he saw you the second time at Sweetbrier and told me how he got your job back for you at the convenience store?”

“He did?” I ask with surprise.

She nods and gives me a sage look. “That boy knew from the start you were the one, Jules.”

My heart swells, contracts, and then swells larger with this knowledge, remaining full and light with happiness. “Took me a bit longer to give in to it,” I admit candidly. “Your son is so . . . overwhelmingly confident. I’m still convinced he’s crazy to be attaching himself to me.”

“Why would you say such a thing?” she asks, her head tilted to the side and a jar of cloves in her hand.

My eyes flick to the kids and then back to her. “I’m not an easy person to be with.”

“Max isn’t easy either,” his mom says, and I blink at her in surprise. “He has a grueling work schedule and is gone fifty percent of the time. That has to suck in a relationship.”

“But it doesn’t,” I tell her quickly. “I mean . . . I accept that about him. We work with it.”

She nods wisely. “Just as he accepts those kids come with you. And all the trials and tribulations that come with that.”

Huh.

Is it that simple?

Do we just accept all those things about our lives, be thankful that there’s more good than bad, and work with what we’ve got?

I think that’s what she’s saying.

“I love your son,” I tell her, my eyes once again sliding over to the kids, who are still engrossed in the TV.

She smiles, her eyes warm and soft. “I know. And let me tell you something about Max. He’s the type that loves deeply. He’ll not only give you every bit of his heart, but he’ll give you his soul.”

Oh, wow.

Marilyn pauses, and while the smile remains as warm as ever, I see a bluntness filter into them. “He deserves to have that back.”

A lump forms in my throat and I nod my head in agreement. Max absolutely deserves that in return from me, and with all my heart that’s my intention. I just hope that I’m really good enough for a man such as him. I hope that as strong as Max thinks I am, I can prove to be exactly what he thinks.

Before I can offer reassurances or at the least a wan smile of agreement, I hear the front door open and a man’s voice yell out, “Marilyn Fournier . . . your favorite son has arrived.”

That is not Max’s voice, although there’s the same understated accent that Max has. I’m going out on a limb and say that’s his brother Lucas.

My guess is correct when Max walks into the kitchen, and a man that could pass as his twin walks in behind. Lucas Fournier is almost the exact spitting image of Max except he wears his wavy hair much longer. But past that, their facial features are almost identical, as well as their body size and height.

Unreal.

Lucas locks eyes on his mother, who puts down the spices on the counter and rounds it to greet him. He opens his arms and scoops her up from the waist and spins her around until she cries out, “Stop it, Lucas. I’ll get sick.”

Max comes to stand beside me, his hands going to my shoulders and his lips to the back of my head briefly.

When Lucas sets his mother down, he turns immediately to me and grins. “And this must be the angel that is rocking my brother’s world?”

“Hi, Lucas,” I say as I step around the counter and start to reach my hand out for him to shake.

But he’s having none of that, also grabbing me around the waist and spinning me around like he did his mother. My hands grab onto his shoulders and I hang on for dear life until he puts me down and gives me a smack of a kiss on my cheek. “And you can call me Luc. Only my mom really calls me Lucas, but I will answer to both.”

He steps back, runs his eyes up and down me—not lewdly but more in an analytical way—and then he turns to Max. “I approve, bro. Totally approve.”

“I’m so glad,” Max says dryly and then points into the den. I look over and notice the kids are not watching TV but are instead turned and all three staring at Luc with their mouths hanging open.

“That’s Annabelle, Levy, and Rocco, in order,” Max says to introduce my brood to his brother.

Luc takes one look at them, then the TV screen, and says, “Dudes . . . The Incredibles. I love that movie.”

He walks into the living room and plants himself on the couch right in between Levy and Annabelle. The kids only take a moment to accept his presence then they turn and resume watching TV again.

All but Annabelle. Her gaze slides back to Luc and she says, “You look just like Max.”

Lucas winks at Annabelle. “Not true, princess. I’m way better looking than he is.”

“I don’t think so,” she says solemnly.

Luc grins at her and then says, “I’m way more fun though.”

Annabelle glances at Max, then back to Luc, trying to ascertain if this is true. She can certainly tell from a glance that Max is absolutely better looking than Luc.

Hands down, in my opinion.

She’s not so sold on the fun aspect yet.

“What can I do to help?” Max asks me and his mom.

“I think we’re all good,” I say as I push past him, giving him a tiny pat on his stomach as I do. I open the oven door and peel back the foil on the turkey to check it out.

When I stand back up, Max is leaning his hip against the counter and his arms are crossed over his chest, and he’s blatantly staring at me.

I close the oven door and ask him in an affronted voice, “Were you just staring at my butt?”

“Yup,” he says with no remorse.

His mother snickers.