The light turns green and I continue frantically reading the signs. So there is a Milpas Street. I pull off onto the ramp and make the left turn toward the eastside.

Jeez, I’ve never been on this street before. I didn’t even know there were buildings with bars on the windows in Santa Barbara. What kind of neighborhood does Neil come from? I tighten my fingers around the steering wheel. I should have played musical cars and taken mine. The Volvo would have definitely looked less out of place than my dad’s shiny new black Porsche.

I stop at a light and read the street sign. I haven’t a clue where I’m. Two blocks down I find my turn and I make a right. One block over from Milpas Street was what Neil said. I look at the address I scribbled down. Two-twelve, two-twelve, where is two-twelve? Why is nothing in Santa Barbara logically laid out?

There!  No wonder I missed it. The house is set back from the street, with a long driveway and a smaller structure before it. Well, this isn’t awful. It’s charming. It makes me curious about Neil’s family.

Neil’s parents’ house is a lively blue California bungalow with white shutters and a pretty front porch, crowded with plants and rattan patio furnishings. It’s an old house, but then most houses in the downtown area are old, and it is small. Neil said he has three sisters. How do they all fit in there?

I pull into the driveway, lift my hand to honk the horn, and stop myself. Nope, I want to go inside. I want to meet Neil’s family.

Neil is, if nothing else, an enigma. As friendly as he is, he is never personal. He never talks about his family, his days with Josh and the band, his music, or even casually about his love life. If I take Neil at only what he shares, I would have to believe that this superhot guy doesn’t date. Why is Neil so private about everything?

I climb from the car and I can hear the sound of lots of people from the backyard. I walk up the four concrete steps onto the porch, pull back the black iron security screen door, and knock beneath the wreath of eucalyptus on the heavy oak door.

I take a last, anxious glance over my shoulder at Jack’s car having second thoughts about this. It didn’t occur to me until I knocked that Neil might get pissed about this. He doesn’t introduce girls to his family and he didn’t want me to come in. I’m sort of invading his personal space. Personal space is definitely an important boundary to Neil, and I don’t know how he’s going to feel about this.

The door is jerked wide. Too late.

“May I help you?”

The man standing before me is tall, tan, and very fit for what looks like a man in his fifties. His expression is warm and strangely intimidating simultaneously. Sandy brown hair, big green eyes, baggy board shorts beneath a t-shirt: Neil’s dad.

“Do you need help?” he says, this time louder.

I blush. Crap, I didn’t answer him the first time. I just stood there studying him. Neil’s dad looks over the top of me and notices the Porsche parked in his driveway. A curious stare fixes on me and the color on my face deepens.

“I’m here to pick up Neil,” I mutter and then kick myself mentally because that was lame. I smile. “I’m Chrissie.”

Now his expression is one of surprise. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Chrissie.” His gaze shifts to the car again. “Would you like to come in?”

Another tall male, clearly a Stanton by the looks of him, and by his age probably one of the twenty cousins, is in the doorway now with his arm around Mr. Stanton’s shoulders. “Is that your car?” he asks.

I nod. What is it with guys and cars?

“This year’s model. A Carrera. Right?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. It’s my dad’s. I drive a Volvo.”

Mr. Stanton laughs. “It’s good that your dad has his priorities straight. I see too many pretty young things like you wrapping cars like that around poles these days.” He makes a slight gesture with his head. “Come on in. I think Neil is in the back with the rest of his cousins. I’m Robert Stanton. You may call me Robert. Or Mr. Stanton. Or if you haven’t guessed yet, Officer Stanton—”

“Or Officer Robert,” the guy at his side interrupts with a grin.

Mr. Stanton frowns. “Come on in, Chrissie. The rest of them are not as obnoxious as Taylor here.”

I laugh. Mr. Stanton is intimidating, must be that cop thing, but he’s friendly enough, and I can see where Neil gets his dry humor from.

The door is closed behind me, and the living room seems to shrink around me and the very tall men. It takes only a half dozen steps to get across the room to the patio doors.

My eyes round as I step out onto the simple brick patio. Jeez, Neil wasn’t kidding. His family is enormous. The yard is a pretty nice size for a city lot, but it seems to strain from the sheer number of them. And crud, this is a family barbecue I’ve crashed and I don’t even see Neil here.

I’m quickly surrounded by four men that I can tell are Mr. Stanton’s brothers; the same coloring, approximately the same age, and the same smile.

Mr. Stanton places an arm lightly around my shoulders. “Everyone, this is Chrissie. She’s here for Neil.” That elicits an interesting assortment of reactions. I flush. Mr. Stanton smiles down at me. “I’m going to do this once.”

“And there’ll be a quiz before you’re allowed to leave here,” jokes Taylor, and everyone laughs.

“This is my wife Michelle,” Robert announces proudly. “She’s modern. She likes to be called Michelle.”

The woman in the chair in front of me stands up and offers her hand. Her smile is quick and pretty, and she is tall, blond, and curvaceous. It’s clear that the Stantons adore each other.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Chrissie.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Stanton.”

She shakes her head, smiling. “I’m Michelle. Always Michelle. Mrs. Stanton is my mother-in-law.”

I laugh and Robert takes me by the hand and introduces me to the rest of them. I can’t keep up with the names, and there’s an undercurrent of affection in the fast flowing words around me, the quick exchange of quips and comments tossed around the yard by the Stantons like a rapidly kicked hacky sack.

Neil’s sisters are young, the oldest only in tenth grade, and they’re pretty, long limbed, and green-eyed like their brother. I can’t help but smile at everyone’s boundless enthusiasm at meeting me. What’s up with that? Neil’s family is delightful. Why wouldn’t he bring his girlfriends here?

I’m directed by Mr. Stanton to sit in a chair beside Michelle.

“What would you like to drink? Diet or regular?” Taylor asks.

“Diet Coke if you have it.”

Mr. Stanton settles in the chair on the other side of me. “Where are you from, Chrissie?”

“I’m a local. Born and raised here.”

“So what high school did you go to?” Michelle asks.

I take the plastic cup from Taylor. “Saint Catherine’s Academy.”

One of the cousins laughs. “Boarding school, huh? Which were you? Troublemaker or divorced parents?” she asks, eyes bright with curiosity.

“She’s with Neil. Troublemaker,” another of the cousins jokes.

They all laugh.

My entire face burns.

Michelle rolls her eyes. “Don’t take them seriously, Chrissie. The Stantons have a weird sense of humor, Mia and all present company included.”

They all laugh again.

“So what does your father do?” Neil’s Uncle Richard asks.

I tense. I hate that question for a variety of reasons. There are some people who adore Jack for his politics and music, some people who hate Jack for his politics and music, but I’ve yet to find any people who have no opinion on Jack, and the Stanton brothers are law enforcement. Neil comes from a family of cops. I never expected that one.

I take a sip of my Diet Coke. “My dad is sort of retired.”

“Nice work if you can get it,” Neil’s Uncle Greg laughs.

“Really nice work,” a loud female voice exclaims. I turn to see a woman carrying a grocery bag crossing the yard toward me. “You should see the car parked in our driveway.” She drops the bag by the picnic table and extends a hand to me. “I’m Carol.” She points to Neil’s Uncle Richard. “I’m married to that one and you must be the reason Neil is pissed.”