As they pulled up the curb outside of the Mercer residence on Beaumont Road, Lynn took a moment to absorb the family home with a smile. Even though she knew every aged brick, every curve of window in that stately face, she loved to take it all in.

A handsome structure of ash grey stone and red brick, the home sat on a sloped garden of tumbling rocks and old trees. In the summer she knew the flowers would spear and cascade and bloom in wild abundance between stone and shrub.

Hugging the left corner was a towering three story turret that made Lynn dreamily think of fairy-tale castles and handsome princes. Her gaze drifted up to the slate roof where a round window overlooked the street and her stomach fluttered wildly.

Hunter's room took up most of the upper level, she knew, and had once been Tristan's before he'd moved to New York.

"Here, take this," Ada muttered, bringing Lynn' focus back inside the cab as she wrestled around inside her mammoth purse for her wallet, overflowing with cards, receipts and other sundries. Covering the thirty two dollar fare, between them Lynn and Ada took hold of the various gifts and bags upon exiting the green and orange cab.

Arms full, carefully, they navigated their way up the curved stone steps, coated in a thick dusting of rock salt to prevent forming ice, down the path and to the front porch.

In the glow of welcoming light, they stood, bouncing impatiently in the cold. It didn't take long for the door to swing open and Uncle Sal's wide-moon face to peer out into the night.

"Eh?" He cocked a brow, then smirked impishly. "Kidding, kidding. C'mon in ladies." Swinging the door wide, he braced it open for both Ada and Lynn to scramble in.

"Son of a bitch," Ada laughed. "Freezing my ass off out there."

Never the type to blush in the face of profanity, Uncle Sal snorted. The wide, bald palette of his head gleaming in the foyer light.

"Should move to Florida. Could never stand these infernal winters. Dunno why Nel insists on sticking himself out here." Uncle Sal gave a visible shudder before smiling his usual wide, dopey grin before he roped Lynn into his burly arms.

"There's my love. Long-time no see." He set Lynn down on her feet, the round mound of his belly straining against his ill-fitting woolen sweater—another of Aunt Susan's homemade projects.

"Yes, it's been a while. How are the boys?"

Sal rolled his eyes, bushy grey brows winging up. "You know Riley, can't pin that boy down for nothing. Seems to like it up here, though. Insists he wants to make the move. Me, I say sure—whatever makes you happy. But the boys obviously got a few screws on the loose, if you know what I mean." And to demonstrate, Sal twirled a finger around his flat ear, followed with a wink.

"Come, come, everyone's here. Let's make the rounds." Sal ushered Ada and Lynn into the main living room, and Lynn fell into the warmth and familiar of the Mercer home, taking the time to hug, greet and chat with the beloved faces she adored while she kept moving in search of the hosts.

A production that never took any less than twenty minutes, from one end of the room, to the other, and there would still be people in the kitchen, she knew, as well as crowded downstairs in the rec room.

In her progression towards the kitchen, Lynn learned that Agatha was expecting her fourth boy, Vicky and Adam had set a date for their wedding, and Shawn, the next door neighbour to Maureen and Nelson Mercer, had just retired from his CFO ship that week.

And of course, everyone was curious about her love life. Was there anyone special? Anyone new? A young woman her age needed to get out there. She was too pretty to be single. Unattached. At twenty-seven, the time was fast approaching for marriage and babies.

Lynn tried not to frown at every mention and well-meaning prod. She'd tried dating, had even met a few nice prospects. The last of which was Sam. Smart, safe and secure Sam Wheeler. They'd dated for a couple of months. Attended parties and concerts, enjoyed intellectual films and even a wedding—his aunt's son.

The problem was every time he'd touched her—nothing. Not even the tiniest of sparks or interest. Nothing that made her ache or yearn or hope or even feel. And while it would have been easy to have pictured a life with him, to always know exactly what to expect, deep down it wasn't what she'd wanted.

A life without passion? Without intensity and heat and...more? What kind of life was that? Who wanted tepid and tame?

The lack of chemistry hadn't been his fault, she admitted as she swung in through the kitchen doors into the hive of women and the chaos of preparing the buffet line of food. The connection just wasn't there, not for lack of effort. She'd given if a valiant effort for almost three months, endured the nauseating kisses that curled her toes for all the wrong reasons.

In the end, she'd just couldn't find the stomach to play the charade any longer, and breaking the news to a man who was so obviously smitten, hadn't been easy. In fact, she'd been about as crushed as he was—merely because breaking his heart hadn't been something she'd set out to do. But she'd done it. And after that, it was easier—safer—to just avoid men and the dating circuit.

No point in suffering a repeat of poor, pitiful Sam, was there? Not when she had a business to run, piling debts and the purchase of the building to worry about.

The kitchen was alive with music and voices and laughter and the immediate lift in mood swept away the final dregs of her less desirable thoughts.

This was the beating pulse of the Mercer home, captained by Maureen 'Mama' Mercer who took pride in cooking and the coming together of family around the table.

Long grey stone counters, a contrast to white cabinetry, were covered in pots, dishes and trays of food. People winged in and out of the kitchen, chatting adults and scampering children, all of it painting a picture that made her ache with joy.

This was love. This was family, as she'd never known it. There'd never been this sort of open and easy connection in her household growing up. Not with her intellectual, art obsessed parents who gave more thought to sophisticated exhibits and grand galas than they did their own daughters.

Never a large, loud and messy Christmas dinner. Never a quaint, happy Sunday gathering. Never a chaotic, child-filled birthday extravaganza. Always the quiet. Always the civilized. Dinner parties with government dignitaries and, once or twice, distant nobility. Cultured conversation and meaningful discussions. In perfect French. That was the Summers' philosophy.

Boring. Stifling. Suffocating.

Taking a moment to greet the women closest to her, ending with Abuelita—the loving ninety year old grandmother who spoke more Spanish than she did English, elbow deep in empanadas and tamales.

Maureen turned from the stove where something bubbled and the wafting scent perfuming the air was heaven. Lynn set down a tray of sliced fruit on the edge of the counter.

"Hello, Mama." Lynn looped an arm around Maureen's shoulder, brushed her lips over her cheek in greeting and found herself gathered into a strong, fierce hug.

"Oh, my baby girl. You made it."

"Smells wonderful." Lynn breathed deep, enjoying the spicy, bold flavours of the Argentinian stew that had been passed down from mother to daughter for generations.

"You've come just in time." Maureen pushed back a lock of dark hair behind her ear and even in her fifties, had yet to sprout a single grey. "Foods almost ready."

"Have some wine." Darcy appeared with a glass and a bottle. "Hunter brought a few bottles back with him from Rome. It's fabulous."

Lynn smiled and took in the stunning face of her dearest friend with a flutter of automatic admiration. There was never a woman as beautiful as Darcy Mercer, the baby of the brood and only daughter of Maureen and Nelson.

She had what Lynn had come to term the 'Mercer Family looks' of gold skin, wicked black hair and cat green eyes. Tall and shapely, dressed in holiday evergreen, she was a vision—the dress cut in a way that molded, flattered and showcased the very wonder of her amazing body while the wild length of her hair tumbled and spilled, glints of deepest mahogany catching in the light.

Darcy was, as always, a picture of awe and envy.

"Okay, the party can officially start—I have arrived." A deep, smiling voice called out, cutting through the kitchen hum.

Lynn turned with her freshly offered glass of wine in hand just as Grant swaggered in to the kitchen, all dark hair and tanned. A good-looking guy, she thought, who enjoyed women and who certainly enjoyed him back. Tall and built, thanks to his contracting job, with a perpetual twinkle in his eyes that was all deviant fun.

There was certainly nothing boring or predictable about Grant, not from his easy personality to his style of dress, which although casual, oozed masculine charm with a bit of his rough edges peeking through.

"Hey, Darcy," he said and passed her a pricey bottle of cabernet wrapped in a thick red bow—the very brand Lynn knew Mama preferred—kissed her cheek, then gave Lynn a warm, warm smile. "Well, well, look who it is." He swooped in with a noisy, playful kiss planted soundly on hers.

"Hey gorgeous." He beamed, giving his brows a wiggle.

She nudged him back an inch, used to his playful banter that was so typically Grant and meant no more than foolish fun. She smiled up at him, added a friendly laugh. "Hey, Grant."

"When are you going to quit breaking my heart and run off with me?"

"You say that to all the girls."

"Only the hot ones," he replied with a saucy wink before sauntering over to the stove to envelope Maureen into his arms, plucking her off her feet and smothering her with adoring kisses.

"Hey!" Nelson chuckled, shuffling down the back stairs into the kitchen. "Lay off my wife."

And here was perhaps the only man she could truly say she loved and the source of the breathtaking Mercer gene, Lynn thought, as Nelson swept his vivid green eyes towards her. His aged but still remarkably handsome face split into a happy grin, arms tossed wide for a firm, hard hug. Elemental emotion of father and daughter love jumped between them, palpable, searing—brilliant and bold as lightening that shot straight to the bone and into the blood.

She'd this connection to him from the first, and held on to it. Cherished it.

"Hey, Papa." Lynn folded herself into him, closing her eyes to savour the warmth and strength and love that he always exuded. For a moment she felt like a little girl in her father's arms, and oh how she had craved for this sort of easy affection all of her life, only to find it here—with this family—instead of her own.

A rare and treasured gift she'd latched on to with disbelieving fingers and was always astounded by the sincere depth and openness of that affection they all so readily bestowed upon her. Here was family.

Here was home. And her single most terrifying fear was the niggle wonder if a time would ever come when it would all be ripped away?

"Come, let me get a look at my girl." Nelson beamed, drawing her back to arm's length. Such a lovely girl, he thought. She had a warm voice that suited her warm looks. She was slender but shapely, with the long, graceful gait of a dancer. Her hair was a wild tumble of curls, a rich honey often streaked with palest gold during the summer that he'd only ever seen gloriously loose once in his life.

She didn't have the time or energy to worry about style, Lynn often said, not that it had stopped him from commenting on it. Now, like always, she had it tied back for convenience, leaving her captivating face dominated by large blue eyes unobstructed.

And what eyes, such a clear and vivid shade of blue, unlike any he'd ever seen, with hints of gold and ribbons of aqua green lurking in their depths like the shimmering waters of a lagoon caressed by sunlight. Her smile was pure radiance and lit up her face, setting the crescent dimples at the corners of her mouth winking.

A pretty, young woman with the face and voice of a siren. And wondered, with amazement, why men weren't dogging her every step. In particular, his son Hunter, whom it was no secret to him and his wife, loved her with just about every breath and bone the boy possessed. Not that he could fault him in the least, Nelson mused with a smile.

His son, like his father, had a fantastic eye and impeccable taste.

"Break any hearts lately? Is there a young man in your life I need to interrogate?"

Lynn smiled at the question, the same question Nelson asked just about every time they saw one another. "No, still single."

"It's not healthy," he tisked. "A woman pretty as you should be with someone. Happy."

"How could I be happy with anyone else when I have you?" And that put a twinkle in his eyes, had him drawing her back in for a second, lingering hold.

"We've missed you around here. Haven't seen your face in too long."

"Only a couple of months. And I'm sorry for it. The studio is picking up and hours are getting long.

"Just want you to remember this is your home too, Lynn. You're free to use that key we gave you years ago, anytime you please." Her heart swelled at the statement, and broke a little at the thought of her own disinterested parents. Did they ever miss her? she wondered. Think about her?

"Now," Nelson crooked a finger beneath her chin, gave her stern look. "I want you to start coming over on Sundays, you hear? You know how much Mama looks forward to having the family together for dinners. Promise me."

"Of course, Papa. I will." Lynn cleared her throat, urged back the tears.

"Anyone seen Riley? I didn't find him in the mob." Grant jerked a thumb back to the living room he'd just come through, and gave Lynn the perfect moment of distraction to pull herself back together. "Fuc—ah..." Sheepishly, he cleared his throat, catching himself before the curse had gone completely airborne. "He...ah...has something to give to me."

"Well, knowing him, he's probably having a beer with Hunter and the boys downstairs," Maureen said, keeping her brow arched in warning, though a smile quirked her lips. "Oh, dear, I don't believe I had time to mention the news to you." Remembering herself, Maureen set a hand to her cheek aghast. "Oh, we've just been so busy I didn't think—it slipped my mind. Silly and inexcusable, really."

"Yes. I know. We bumped into each other..." Lynn kept her hands busy, her tone casual. Don't look directly at his mother, she thought, don't let her see the truth. "Outside of Ada's place the other day. Briefly." God, she was babbling, and if the flush of warmth she felt spreading up her neck was an indication, likely blushing, too.

Could she appear any more guilty? Obvious?

"Oh, of course. Yes," Maureen beamed, ignoring the flush of pink beneath the pretty pale skin in Lynn's cheeks as Grant shuffled down the basement stairs to join to manly chaos she heard wafting up from below. "Now that you mention it, I think he did say something of the sort. To think, we're together—all of us again. Just like old times."

Brushing her thoughts and worries aside, Lynn shifted an arm around Maureen's shoulder, kissed her brow. "Can I help with anything?"

"Such a doll," Maureen stroked a hand over Lynn's back. And tried not to wonder and worry about the dark circles she saw shadowing those usually bright blue eyes. "But I want you to relax, this time. Enjoy yourself."

"It's your birthday," Lynn reminded. "If anyone should be relaxing, it's you."

"Now you sound just like Nelson," she laughed, a deep throaty sound, full of love. "I adore fussing in the kitchen. Puts me in my zen. But, if you insist, I could use a few rolls of paper towel, there's a box of them down in the cold room. If you wouldn't mind?"

"Of course." Kissing her rosy cheek, Lynn sailed down the basement stairs and straight into the basement rec room where Ada was already in the thick of the action, roping Grant into a headlock over the shouting laughter of Uncle Sal and his son Riley.

Even with the renovated extensions, the space still felt just as tightly packed as she could ever remember with faces and people, some young and some old, congregating in clusters on the couch or standing by the back bar overlooking the French doors that lead outside.

And Hunter. She knew where he was without even having to lift her eyes. His presence in the room was a straight, searing jolt, brilliant as lightening that struck her to the quick.

When they'd been younger, there'd been a time where he'd barely uttered more than two words in her presence. But over the years, Hunter had grown to open up and accept her, she supposed. Becoming her friend, her rock, she remembered, when facing her parents and the disappointing realization that she was not destined to be their little prized prodigy they'd hoped for.

So, turning all their hopes to her little sister Joy who held so much more promise, when Lynn had turned nineteen, they'd sent her to stay with her aunt and uncle Sinclair, as they did every year for the summer months, though this time they'd cast from the family home in Cannes.

For good.

Her quickly formed relationship with the Mercer family had offered a port of calm in the storm of chaos that was her young and tender years. And it was Hunter who'd encouraged her to take the trust fund money she'd come into at twenty to pursue her own dreams. She hadn't listened to him, not completely, though she'd stashed a good chunk of it away in savings. The rest she'd used to put herself through university, channelling her hurt into studies.

To make something of herself.

And though she'd been good at the law, she hadn't been happy. Something Hunter had predicted and a fact it took her almost four years to realize before she'd found the guts and the nerve to make the move she should have done ages ago.

He'd believed in her. Supported her. He was practically family.

And nothing complicated things more than questionable feelings that flitted away from the easy and casual relationship of friends and family. So the sudden resurgence of this pesky attraction made Lynn more than a little antsy and uncomfortable because nothing—absolutely nothing—could get in the way of ruining this deeply cherished placed she'd made for herself here in the Mercer household.

Her parents had given up on her years ago, she had accepted and grieved and mourned the loss of their attentions and mild affections. But she'd also moved on.

And here, on her own two feet, she'd made more of herself than they'd ever given her credit for, Lynn thought, as she merged with the swarm of bodies, taking a moment to mix and mingle.

She'd survived losing her parents.

But losing the Mercers was simply out of the question.