“I can see that. Your home is very charming.” An afghan is folded neatly over the back of the couch. I run my hand over the soft material. “It feels nice.”
“Thank you. I made that myself.”
I run my hand over it again, just to get more of the texture. “I hear it’s very time-consuming.” Maybe Esther really does enjoy doing homey things.
She laughs. “It’s an old hobby. I went through a phase.”
I look at Esther more closely. There’s a comfortable, confident glow to her that shines from within. It reminds me of the happiness radiating from Skittles at the club.
For a fraction of a second, an odd longing pings in my heart, creating a small ripple. Before I can process the emotion, loud thuds come from above and then Steve appears on the stairs. “Ah, you’re here now. Sorry about that. Business call,” he says.
Unlike my dad, Steve is thin, with a long nose and a serious mouth. But his voice booms, like a professional announcer at a wrestling match.
“Harcourt.” He shakes my hand.
“Just Court, sir.”
“Court.” He reaches down to pet Nijinsky. The dog closes her eyes and wags her tail in undisguised joy.
“Look what he brought.” Esther shows her husband the flowers.
“Nice.” Steve’s eyes warm, but I think it’s more in reaction to his wife’s pleasure than my gesture.
I lift a glossy bag I filched from Tony’s place along with the rosé. “Wine, too.”
At that moment, Skittles walks through the front door. An eye-searing purple maxi dress hangs from her long frame. Her presence is like a burst of sunshine, something that puts an intense bliss in your heart just by existing. And the odd pang that put an ache in my chest is gone, replaced by beautiful warmth.
She lifts the plastic container she’s carrying. “Cherry pie. Your favorite, Dad.”
Steve’s stoic face splits into a smile, and he leans over and gives her a kiss. “Thank you, dear. You bake the best pies.”
I eye the round container and look at Skittles. Culinary talent. Who would’ve thought? Every business major I ever met lives on cup ramen and pizza.
The flush on her cheeks looks delightful. And eminently kissable.
I want to pick her off the floor, hug her tightly and twirl around, absorbing her body heat and scent.
Control, control. Her parents are watching.
“Hi, Court,” Skittles says, staying by her dad.
Smart. “Hi, Ski—Pascal,” I say with my most charmin
g smile. “You’re looking well.”
“I’ve recovered. It’s been a week.”
“I heard you took care of Pascal during the reception,” Esther says. “How sweet of you. Steve said you studied nursing. Very unusual for a man, but so useful, isn’t it? There’s a huge shortage.”
Skittles purses her mouth. I can imagine all the acerbic words she’s holding back.
I bite my tongue so I don’t start laughing. “I only studied for a semester. No hospital’s going to hire me.”
“What a shame,” Esther says.
“He has other options,” Steve says. “Like his family company.”
I smile blandly, since I don’t want to tell him I’d rather be a bum. That isn’t the kind of thing that impresses fathers.