Olivia, her long dark hair pulled together in a messy ponytail, had several smaller bags slung over her shoulder and carried a cardboard box laden with pastries, which she rested on her pregnant belly, while three-year-old Jonathan tugged at her leg. He was dressed like a little sailor and would have looked adorable, had he not been screaming at the top of his lungs with tears streaming down his face. He looked utterly miserable.

Meanwhile, Quentin lugged in two large suitcases and dropped them in front of the stairs. “I don’t know why we couldn’t just take one suitcase,” he complained.

Olivia whipped her head to him. “And where would I have put Jonathan’s clothes and toys?”

“Well, you didn’t have to bring ten outfits for him for three days!”

“Hey, Sis,” Paul interrupted, hoping to prevent the argument from turning into a full-fledged fight.

Olivia sighed and forced a smile. “Hey, Paul! Thank God you’re here already. Would you mind taking Jonathan?”

Paul sighed. He doubted he’d have a fighting chance to calm the child. Jonathan wanted his mother, not an uncle he barely knew. “Sure thing.”

As he walked toward Olivia and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, he nodded toward her husband. “Quentin.”

“Paul.”

Relieved that he didn’t have to conduct any small talk with Quentin, who, despite his khaki shorts and expensive polo shirt, looked as though he’d swallowed a broomstick, Paul bent down to his nephew. “Hey, buddy!”

He reached for the boy, trying to lift him into his arms, when Jonathan started screaming even louder. Paul looked up at his sister. “I don’t think he likes me.”

Olivia rolled her eyes. “Well, he doesn’t seem to like me right now either. Join the club.”

He could hear the frustration in her voice. While he felt for his sister, Paul didn’t think her attitude helped calm down her son. Kids were smart: They picked up when their parents were upset.

“Let me try,” Holly suddenly said from beside him as she bent down.

“Are you sure?” he murmured to her. “You know this is not your responsibility.”

Holly smiled at him. “I’d like to.”

Paul rose from his crouching position and stepped back, when he caught his sister’s inquisitive look. “Oh, Olivia, meet my girlfriend, Holly. Holly, this is Olivia and her husband Quentin.”

Holly smiled up. “Nice to meet you.” Then she focused her attention on Jonathan again. She reached out to him and spoke in a quiet and calm voice. “Hey, Jonathan. I’m Holly. I’ve been so looking forward to meeting you. I’m so excited that you’re finally here.”

To Paul’s utter surprise, Jonathan’s cries simmered down to a low whine. He let go of his mother’s leg and took a tentative step toward Holly. His tiny hand reached out to her and he grabbed one of her blond locks.

“You like those, Jonathan?” Holly cooed, letting him play with the strand.

Then she lifted him into her arms and rose. Seemingly fascinated by her hair, Jonathan brought his head closer to it until he buried his face in it and started laughing when the strands tickled his face.

When he threw his head back and gurgled happily, Olivia tossed Paul a surprised look. “Paul, I like her. I think you should keep her.”

Paul laughed and caught Holly’s embarrassed look, which she tried to hide by softly murmuring to the child again. “I have every intention of doing just that. But don’t think you’ll be getting a permanent free babysitter out of this deal!” He put a possessive arm around Holly.

“You’re such a spoilsport!” Olivia complained, then smiled at Holly. “I’d shake your hand, but it looks like I don’t have a free one.”

Paul released Holly. “Let me give you a hand.” He reached for the bags over Olivia’s shoulder, but his sister shook her head.

“No, take the pastries and put them in the kitchen. I brought Dad’s favorites from the bakery in our town.”

“Dad’s not here right now. He and Mother are picking up Great-aunt Mirabelle. I expect them back sometime today.” Paul took the cardboard box from his sister’s hands. “But if those are Dad’s favorites, then they’re my favorites too.” He lifted the lid.

Olivia playfully slapped his hand. “If you eat them all before Dad can have one, I’m going to strangle you.”

Paul peeked into the box and counted. “There are four of his favorites, plus a ton of others. How many does a man need? Besides, I haven’t had breakfast yet.”