the conversation at hand and said, “How did you get to know so much about babies?”
He continually amazed her. She’d been reading parenting books for eight months, and he just slid into baby mode as if he’d been born for it. Annie’d never really imagined a Marine—a professional soldier for pity’s sake—as being quite so…domestic.
“Hey,” he said, as if it explained everything, “I’m Italian.”
“So?” she countered. “I’m Scotch-Irish, and that information along with three bucks will get me a latte. It doesn’t qualify me as mother of the year.”
His lips curved into that smile she’d come to know and look forward to. Her heart did a curious two step again as she took a moment to just enjoy the view. Honestly, that one dimple of his was just too much for any one female to have to deal with.
“I come from a big family,” he said.
“Three sons isn’t that big.”
“Yeah, but I’m counting cousins, too.” He took the bottle from the baby’s mouth, and Jordan lay limply in his grasp, her tiny mouth still working furiously. Setting the bottle down, he lifted the baby to his shoulder and gently patted her back. “My dad has four brothers and a sister, and my mom’s from a family of seven kids.”
Annie quickly did the math and felt her eyebrows arch high on her forehead. “Wow.”
“Yeah,” he said, “tell me about it. You should have seen us all at Thanksgiving. And Christmas Eve.”
“You all got together?” she said, trying to imagine the hubbub created by such a huge gathering of family members. But being the only child of older parents, she really had no basis for comparison. Her holidays were always quiet, dignified celebrations. She and her parents would exchange thoughtful, suitable gifts and then share a meal at whatever restaurant they’d chosen for that year’s festivities.
Not that she was complaining, she thought, with more than a twinge of guilt. Her parents had done their best. It was simply that they hadn’t counted on being parents. Annie’s birth had come as a complete surprise to both of them, since they were at an age when the children of their friends were graduating from high school and entering college. Her parents had looked at the arrival of a baby as they would have a guest showing up three hours after the party ended. She was welcome, but they weren’t really sure what to do with her.
So they’d gone on with their lives just as before, only dragging an infant along behind them. She’d grown up alone, really—aware even at a young age that her parents were more devoted to each other than they would ever be to her. The two of them were a world unto themselves, and she’d never been able to find a way into their inner circle—and once she was grown she’d stopped trying.
Now there was an occasional postcard for her from wherever they happened to be and infrequent phone calls made more from a sense of duty than any real need to stay in touch.
Annie hadn’t been raised with a sense of tradition, and maybe that was part of the reason she’d so longed for a family of her own. So she could build traditions. Make for her daughter the kind of childhood she herself had always wanted.
So listening to John talk about his extended family was a little like trying to imagine life on Mars.
“Oh, yeah,” he was saying, still patting Jordan’s narrow back gently, “there’s nothing the Parettis like more than a party. And the babies were passed around to whoever was handy. Including the kids.”
“Really?” She had a mental image of a roomful of adults standing around chatting while rows of children played hot potato with babies.
“Sure.” He grinned when Jordan burped for him, then lowered her to the crook of his arm again and once more offered her the bottle. “An Italian child doesn’t learn to walk until it’s two or three. Their feet never hit the floor long enough to get the hang of it.”
Annie laughed, only half-sure he was