"Ah, here we are," murmured Andrea, rummaging through drawers. She handed me some clothes. I slipped out of the dress and tried them on. While she had a fantastic body for having birthed five daughters, Andrea was still taller and bigger than me, so the clothes hung loose and long. Changing her mind, she handed me denim overalls instead of the jeans. They had to be rolled up at the cuffs, but the straps kept them on me. I tied my hair in a ponytail and was ready to go.

Seth laughed when he saw me.

"Hey," I said, poking him with my foot, "be nice."

"I think this is the first time I've ever seen you look anything less than…" He paused, playing with word choice. "Well-planned."

"Why, you silver-tongued romantic devil. That is the look I usually go for. Other women go for sexy or chic or beautiful. But me? Well-planned all the way."

"You know what I mean. Besides, unplanned isn't a bad look for you. Not bad at all."

His voice sounded deliciously low and dangerous, and something ignited between us as we held each other's eyes.

"You guys can flirt on your own time," said Terry briskly, handing me a roller and tray of paint. "Right now, you work for us. Think you can do this part of the wall?"

"Sure." I glanced over at Seth, whose main job still seemed to be restraining Kayla. "Why aren't you painting?"

"Because he isn't allowed to," answered Brandy, painting deftly around a doorway.

"Uncle Seth's a libation," explained Kendall.

"Liability," corrected her mother. She grinned at me. "The odds say you have to be a better painter than him. Correction: the laws of the universe say you have to be."

"Of course she is. She's good at everything." Seth watched me apply a smooth, even coat. "See?"

Painting with the Mortensens made for an utterly normal and utterly enjoyable evening. They were so funny and nice that it was hard not to love them. Working side by side, I could almost pretend I was really one of them. Like this could be my own family. They included me in everything and spoke as though Seth and I were a done deal, assuming I would be with them not only for Thanksgiving but also for Christmas and an assortment of other get-togethers.

The simple, casually extended affection made me feel happy inside, and sad too. I would never be able to quite fit in with any mortal family, even if this wacky relationship with Seth did ever stabilize.

I pushed aside a plastic-covered box and got a peek inside. Moving the sheet further, I smiled down at a framed picture of Terry and Andrea's wedding party—including a much younger Seth.

"Look at you," I teased. "You used to shave."

He rubbed the stubble on his lower face. "I still shave."

"So this is the infamous occasion Seth almost missed?"

"Yup," said Terry, a rueful tone in his voice. "Apparently finishing A Talented Heat was more important than witnessing my nuptials."

"Oh," I said neutrally, "that's a really good one." I wasn't sure if it was missing-a-wedding good, but it was still one of my favorites. It might have been worth the sacrifice. "Who's the other guy beside you?"

"Our other brother. Ian."

"Another Mortensen? You guys are abundant."

"Tell me about it," said Terry. "Ian's the black sheep."

"I thought I was the black sheep," said Seth, sounding almost hurt.

"No. You're the unfocused artistic one. I'm the responsible one. Ian's the wild, hedonistic one."

"What's hedonistic?" asked Kendall.

Her father considered. "It means you run up a lot of credit card bills you can't pay, change jobs a lot, and have a lot of…lady friends."

Brandy rolled her eyes. "Good euphemism, Dad."

Only in the Mortensen family, I decided delightedly, would a fourteen-year old use a word like "euphemism."

Andrea walked over to the portrait and admired her younger self. In the picture, she wore a long-sleeved lace dress that left her shoulders bare.

"Ah, those were the days," she sighed. "Back before pregnancy ruined my body."

"Well, that wasn't entirely before pregnancy," observed her husband in an undertone. She shot him a dangerous look. Brandy groaned.

Seth tried to hide a smile and changed the subject. "That church had horrible carpet. Burgundy shag." He shook his head. "I think I'm going to get married outdoors."

"Oh my God," said Terry with mock horror, "I can't believe you just acknowledged you might get married. I thought you were married to your writing."

"Hey, I've never had a problem with polygamy."

Kendall's eyes widened. "What's polygamy?"

Later, when we'd finished the living room, Seth and I offered to start cleaning up while Terry and Andrea put the brood to bed. The girls resisted, clinging to Seth and me, wanting us to talk and come back tomorrow.

"My nieces think you're a rock star," he observed as we washed brushes in the kitchen. "I think they like you better than me."

"I'm not the one they had to tear Kayla from. Hey, does she ever talk?"

"Sometimes. Usually when there's bait involved—like candy or small objects she might choke on."

We washed the brushes in silence until I brought up the topic that had been on my mind ever since he'd mentioned it.

"An outdoor wedding, huh?"

The notion of Seth getting married held a perverse fascination for me. Fascinating because I was female and attracted to such things. Perverse because I knew I wouldn't be the bride at such an event. Succubus logistics obviously made that impossible. Then, of course, there was the fact that my mortal marriage had not gone so well. In addition to me cheating and pushing my husband into a debilitating depression, it had later resulted in me selling my soul and joining the ranks of hell. That didn't make for a good matrimonial track record.

Seth cut me a look, eyes amused. "Yup."

"I didn't know guys ever thought about that kind of stuff."

"Sometimes we do."

"You got any other details worked out? Or just the outside lovefest part?"

He pondered this as we returned to the living room. He wore the intense expression that seized him when he was trying to write a certain line or think of something clever to say. "I want a good buffet," he said. "Not one of those cheap ones with cold cuts. And no bows on the chairs or anything like that. Man, I hate those."

"Wow. I guess you've got it all figured out." I began pulling masking tape off the trim while he knelt down to gather more brushes.

He continued on, still considering. "And I want my bride to wear open-toed shoes."

"Why open-toed?"

He looked up with astonishment. "Because toes are sexy."

I looked down at my own bare feet. They were small and cute, each toenail painted a pale lavender. Andrea hadn't had any shoes my size.

I gave him a sly smile. "Like these toes?"

He looked away and returned to his work.

Forgetting my masking tape, I strolled over to him, trying not to laugh. "Why Seth Mortensen, do you have a fetish?"

"It's not a fetish," he replied evenly. "Just an appreciation."

This time I did laugh. "Oh yeah?" I moved my foot out to tickle his arm, wiggling the toes. "You appreciate these toes?"

"I appreciate everything about you—even how mean you are."

I crouched beside him and slung an arm around him. "To think, all this time I've been prancing around you in low-cut shirts and no underwear, in awe of your stalwart resistance, when really it was my toes—"

"No underwear?" he interrupted. "Wait. Are you wearing any now?"

"My lips are sealed. You'll have to find out the old-fashioned way. I'm not going to talk. "

"Oh," he said in a warning voice, "we have ways of making you talk."

"Like what?"

In one surprisingly quick motion, Seth sprang up and rolled me onto my back. One arm pinned me and the other held a paintbrush over me, wet with paint.