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his mother on her feet, Micah winked at her. “We’ll talk about that later.” He turned and smiled at Tessa. “Tessa, this is my mother, Rosalind Sanborn. Mom, Miss Tessa Whitfield of Signature Bridals.”

      Tessa slipped her camera into her purse and offered her hand. “It’s a pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Sanborn.”

      Rosalind shook Tessa’s hand while rolling her eyes upward. “Please call me Rosalind. The title of Mrs. Sanborn has been reserved for my mother-in-law.”

      Tessa felt an instant liking for Rosalind Sanborn. She was friendly and unpretentious, and although there was nothing in her physical appearance to substantiate that she was Micah’s biological mother, the intangible bond between mother and son was strong enough to be palpable.

      “Why are we standing here talking when Tessa’s probably starving? Are you ready to eat, my dear?”

      Tessa’s gaze met Rosalind’s. “Yes, ma’am.”

      Taking her arm, Rosalind led Tessa across the marble floor. “You’ll get to meet everyone except Bridget. It’s not often that Edgar and I get to have all of our children together at the same time, but we take whatever we can get.” She glanced over her shoulder, giving Micah a knowing look.

      Tessa entered the kitchen with Micah and Rosalind and found herself bombarded by a cacophony of noise, voices and a variety of tantalizing aromas. Adults and children ranging in age from a toddler sitting on the floor banging on a pot to an adolescent sat around an oval counter in the middle of the expansive kitchen, waiting to eat. An older man with salt-and-pepper hair stood at the cooking island. He alternated flipping pancakes with checking omelets for doneness.

      “Hurry up, Grandpa,” urged a young boy with a shock of unruly red curls. His identical twin brother drummed his elbows on the table as he brandished a fork like a rapier.

      “Put down that fork before you put someone’s eye out,” warned a slender freckled-face woman with hair a darker shade of red.

      “Hold on, champs. Grandpa is cooking as fast as he can.”

      A teenage girl with a sun-browned gold complexion, waist-length curly black hair and large, slanting eyes glanced up and stared at Tessa. She’d been lip-synching to the song coming through the earbuds of her iPod Nano.

      “Are you my uncle Micah’s new honey?” Snickers and giggles followed her query.

      “Marisol Sanborn!” Rosalind chided, her eyebrows crinkling in a frown.

      Finding herself the object of curious stares, Tessa’s gaze flitted from one face to another with a myriad of expressions ranging from shock to embarrassment to amusement. She managed a half smile as she stared at the incredibly beautiful teenager.

      “No, I’m not. I’m your aunt Bridget’s wedding planner.”

      Micah glared at Marisol. “Tessa, please forgive my niece’s lack of manners.” The girl hung her head, seemingly embarrassed by her outburst. He moved closer to Tessa, meeting the curious gazes of his relatives. “This is Tessa Whitfield of Signature Bridals. Her company has earned the reputation as an A-list wedding planner, which means Bridget is very lucky to have her coordinate her wedding. Now that everyone knows you’re not my girlfriend, let me introduce you to my family.”

      “What’s a honey?” asked one of the ten-year-old twins.

      “Duh, baby brother. Someone you kiss on the mouth,” Marisol drawled.

      Micah shot his niece a warning look. “Maybe you should make the introductions, Marisol, because, after all, you’re the factotum.”

      Marisol smiled, exhibiting the colorful bands on her braces. “That’s okay, Uncle Micah. You do it.”

      “Thank you, Marisol.”

      She waved a hand. “Whatever.”

      Taking a deep breath, Micah slowly counted to three. He loved his niece, but there were times when she truly tested his patience. “Tessa, I would like to introduce you to my father, Edgar Sanborn, aka chef and Grandpa.”

      Edgar deftly slipped three pancakes off a stove-top griddle and slipped them onto a platter. He winked at Tessa, his dark eyes sparkling like polished onyx. “Welcome, Tessa. I’d shake your hand, but that would be a little risky with this wild bunch.”

      She smiled at the man who bore an uncanny resemblance to one of Hollywood’s late great leading men, Clark Gable. “I understand,” she said. “It’s nice meeting you.”

      Micah pointed to his redheaded sister-in-law. “This is Melinda, but everyone calls her Lindy. Standing behind her is my brother, William. Will and Lindy are the parents of my bottomless-pit nephews, Isaac and Jacob, and my niece, la princesa, Marisol.”

      Marisol affected a curtsy with Micah’s compliment. Tessa acknowledged William and Lindy with a warm smile. “You have a beautiful family.” The twins looked like their mother, and Marisol had inherited her father’s rich olive-brown coloring and raven-black hair.

      Bending down, Micah scooped up the toddler whose intent was to make as much noise as she could when she pounded a pot with a wooden spoon. Her sandy-brown hair, braided in cornrows, resembled orange sections, and the braids, held together with a length of red ribbon, looked like a stem.

      “This future percussionist and indisputable boss of her family is Kimika.” The chubby little girl squirmed, holding her arms out to her mother, who’d affected a similar hairstyle. “Kimmie belongs to my brother Abram and my sister-in-law Ruby.”

      Abram, who claimed the height and girth of a football linebacker, looped an arm around his petite wife’s waist and pressed a kiss on her braided hair. His clean-shaven dark brown head gleamed like polished teak.

      Abram winked at Tessa. “I think I can speak for everyone else in the family, but I hope you have the patience of Job. Dealing with our little sister is certainly going to try your soul.”

      Edgar, using a pair of tongs to remove strips of crisp bacon from the heated griddle, shot his youngest son a warning look. “Watch it, son. You’re talking about my princess.”

      “Dad, you know your princess is spoiled rotten.”

      “And you’re not, mama’s boy?” Edgar teased.

      “Edgar, please,” Rosalind said softly, blushing. “We have company.” Her husband had accused her of spoiling Abram, while she’d blamed him for indulging their only daughter’s every whim.

      Micah’s hand cradled the small of Tessa’s back. “Let me show you where you can wash up before we sit down to eat.”

      Tessa stood in an all-white bathroom with pale blue accents, next to Micah at twin blue-veined pedestal sinks, washing her hands. She met his amused gaze in the mirror. He’d taken off his cap and placed it on a table with a half dozen others bearing the logos of baseball and football teams.

      “What’s so funny, Micah?”

      He lifted his eyebrows. “Go ahead and say it.”

      She smiled. “Say what?”

      “That my family is a little off the chain.”

      “They appear quite normal to me.”

      “Didn’t you notice something that was just a bit unconventional?”

      “By unconventional do you mean that the Sanborns are a multiracial family?”

      Reaching for a towel on a stack on a low table, Micah handed it to Tessa. “Yes.”

      “Your family is anything but unconventional, Micah. I’ve interacted with families with two mommies or two daddies, transgender, families where the bride and groom are visually-or hearing-impaired and I’m forced to bring in someone fluent in Braille or American Sign Language. That’s what I’d consider unconventional. My focus will be on the bride, the groom and the mother

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