I look like I’ve been working my ass off. I’m wearing a wrinkled Wild Lilac T-shirt and ripped black jeans.
With a glance down at his watch, he lets out a muted curse. “I need to run. Promise me you’ll eat every last bite.”
“Every last bite,” I repeat back before he glides his lips over my forehead and takes off at a slow jog down the sidewalk.
Chapter 28
Liam
I don’t know what the hell I’d do without my family. I glance at the framed picture hanging on the wall of all of us that a waiter took at a restaurant in Greenwich Village a few months ago.
We were gathered there to celebrate Sebastian’s birthday.
It was a good night. I went solo because I’ve never felt the pull to introduce a woman I’m seeing to my family.
The itch is there now.
I know my brothers would love Athena. Nikita would want to talk shop with her since they both run businesses.
My parents would welcome Athena with open arms.
“That’s my favorite picture.” My mom taps me on the shoulder. “When you get married, we’ll take a new one.”
I spin around to face her. “When I get married? What about Nikita?”
“Candy is that girl’s life.” My mom swats a palm over the front of the navy NYPD T-shirt I’m wearing. “How can she meet a man if she spends all her of time handing out treats?”
“She owns a very successful candy store,” I point out. “She built that place from the ground up by herself. Maybe all she wants right now is to focus on that.”
I’ll be my sister’s cheerleader any day of the week because I know she’ll step up to bat for me if need be.
She’s talked my parents down from the marriage ledge before. They want to see all four of their children happy, but they forget that not all life stories
have to end with a wedding and kids.
“Put the chicken in the oven for an hour, give or take.” She wipes her hands on the apron that’s tied around her waist. “Toss the potatoes onto the pan thirty minutes before you eat and the asparagus twenty-five minutes after that.”
“Got it,” I say with a brisk nod.
“I wrote it down for you.” She jerks a thumb over her shoulder toward the kitchen. “I brought a chocolate cake for dessert. It’s Keats’s favorite.”
Good for him.
When I mentioned to my mom via text yesterday that I was going to cook dinner for a friend, she assumed it was Keats since he’s the only person who ever shows up here for a meal.
Typically, he brings take-out, but my mom popped by unannounced one night when Keats was practicing his spaghetti making skills.
My mom took over and prepared a feast for both of us.
I didn’t ask her to make the trek down here today with groceries in hand, but I sure as hell didn’t order her out of my kitchen.
She tugs on the short hairs of my beard. “You look tired, Wolf.”
Cradling her hand in mine, I kiss her open palm. “I’m fine.”
Pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose, she looks me over from head-to-toe. “You should go to bed after dinner.”
That’s the plan.