“Putnam? Please don’t tell me you’re Asher’s father,” I balk. Oh my god. If I’ve been, not so secretly, flirting with my fiancé’s dad and having him flirt back with me, I will die. I swear. He shakes his head. “Of course not. I’d have been ten when I had him.” “So, what? You’re his brother?” I guess. “Uncle,” he corrects. Awesome.
