Stone (Pittsburgh Titans 2)

Maybe that will happen over time. I know I’m going to have to win him over at some point.

“Oh, there you are, Harlow.”

My gaze moves to a woman in her late forties. I know this isn’t Harlow’s mother, not only because of the age but because this woman is a brunette, and I’ve seen pictures of Harlow’s parents in her condo. She inherited her fiery-red hair from her mom.

This woman is wearing a pair of black pants and a red silk blouse.

“Hi, Carina,” Harlow says with a smile as she straightens. “This is Stone Dumelin.”

Carina moves forward, holding out her hand. “Welcome, Mr. Dumelin. Can I get you anything to drink?”

“I’m good right now,” I reply.

She tips her head toward a hallway that goes past the right side of the curved staircase. “Your parents are in the sitting room waiting for you.”

“Thank you,” Harlow says and takes my hand to lead me away.

“Who was that?” I ask in a low voice.

“I’m sorry,” Harlow murmurs, glancing back over her shoulder as Carina heads off in the opposite direction. “That’s my parents’ housekeeper.”

“That totally blows my stereotype of wealthy people making their help wear uniforms.”

Harlow laughs. “I told you my parents don’t care about physical trappings such as clothing and uniforms. They judge people on their own merit. Besides… Carina is so valuable to them, she could show up wearing a clown costume and they would be fine with it.”

Harlow leads me into the sitting room that looks like nothing more than a formal living room, decked out with antique furniture, heavy silk rugs, polished dark flooring, and what looks like expensive art on the wall. The huge fireplace is currently unlit, a recognition of the spring weather barreling into Pittsburgh.

I get my first glimpse of Mr. and Mrs. Alston. They’re sitting on a couch placed perpendicular to the fireplace. There’s a matching couch across from them with a coffee table in between.

Harlow’s dad has his arm draped over the back cushion, his fingertips playing affectionately with his wife’s shoulder as they talk. He looks very distinguished with silver at his temples, and while he’s not wearing a suit, he has on a dress shirt and tailored pants with what look to be very expensive dress shoes. Mrs. Alston is wearing a dress and high heels—and wow, Harlow is the spitting image of her mother.

They both turn their heads our way and stand from the couch when we enter.

Harlow lets my hand go and moves to her parents.

“Hi, honey,” her dad says as he hugs her. Harlow moves to her mother and receives the same greeting, although her mother also kisses her cheek.

Harlow then moves back to my side and takes my hand in hers.

“Mom… Dad… this is Stone Dumelin. My boyfriend.”

Neither one of the Alstons raise an eyebrow or blink in surprise at that announcement. This is only because Harlow had given them a heads-up that our relationship had changed from friends to something more. Harlow assured me her parents were greatly pleased by this, but I wonder how they can be because they don’t know me at all.

Maybe they think I’m just like Brooks, and that’s good enough for them, because Harlow told me they adored my brother.

I move forward, shake both of their hands. “It’s nice to meet you. Thank you for inviting me to dinner.”

“We love to have guests,” Harlow’s mom says, her hands encompassing both of mine. “And please let me offer our condolences over your brother’s passing. We adored him and he’s sorely missed.”

“Thank you.” I wasn’t ready for that and I have to swallow hard the emotion that brings up. “I’m glad you got to know him.”

Both of her parents smile sympathetically, but move on from the heavy moment when her father asks, “I’m sure Carina has already offered, but would you like a drink?”

“I’m good, Mr. Alston. Thank you.”

Harlow’s mom waves a hand. “Please… it’s Robert and Celia. Not Mr. and Mrs. Alston. And I have to ask, are you refusing a drink in deference to Harlow?”

I’m not prepared for that question, but the answer is easy enough. “I am.”

Harlow’s parents shoot each other a look, and I can tell my response impresses them. Which has no effect on me. I don’t do it to impress them. I do it for Harlow.

“Well, dinner won’t be ready for at least half an hour. Let’s sit down and chat.” Harlow’s mom motions to the furniture, and we take a seat on one of the couches while her parents reclaim their original places. Loki and Freya had followed us in, and both lie down before the fireplace to our right.

It looks like a fucking Norman Rockwell painting.

“My apologies in advance,” Robert says as he levels me with an apologetic smile, “but I am quite the Titans fan, and I will probably have a million questions. I want insider information on how things are going with the team.”