Her father glanced at the bottles Mack had given him. “Oh, Mack, very nice. Special reserve.”
Mack shrugged. “I didn’t know what you’d be having, so I brought a white and a red. I thought you might like them.”
Ha. He didn’t fool her. He’d asked a ton of questions about what her parents liked to drink and had apparently chosen nice blends of a richer quality.
She muttered, “Suck-up,” but he ignored her.
Instead of moving into the living room to let her mother finish cooking, they all settled in the kitchen to talk while Jennifer continued to work her magic.
Her dad had poured them all drinks, though Cass settled on a nice lemonade, wanting a clear head since she’d driven over.
Her parents spent the next fifteen minutes embarrassing her, bragging about how smart and athletic she was. But Mack seemed fascinated, not put off, and contributed his own observations.
“She’s clearly intelligent. Fast, sporty. Of course, attractive.” Mack winked at her, and she blushed. “You should see her in uniform though. I watched her deal with some big guys in a fight, and when one came at her, she took him down. Not excessive about it either. She used calm and some amazing physicality to bring the man down. And she was there backing up Jed and the other cops on scene. I was impressed.”
“You were?” Cass looked at him, surprised.
“Yeah. I also wanted to rush in because that guy looked like he wanted to grab you again, but I didn’t. I mean, you can totally handle yourself.”
She smiled. “Yes, I can.”
“Plus Brad was holding me back and told me not to blow it with you.” Mack gave a self-deprecating laugh. “So I waited until you gave the all clear.”
She liked that he told her the truth. “Mess with my job and I’ll lock you up.”
“I figured.” The warmth in his smile made her feel treasured.
She smiled back until she realized how focused her parents were on them. She didn’t think they’d blinked in minutes. She cleared her throat, and her mom elbowed her dad.
“Cass hasn’t told us much about you, only that you’re a firefighter?” her dad prodded.
Mack nodded, sipping from a white wine her father had already had chilling. Apparently, the white stuff got refrigerated. Who knew?
“Yep. I’ve been a firefighter for five years. Was in the Air Force for seven before that. I really love my job.”
“That’s terrific,” her mom said. “So many people work at what they don’t like, and it causes a lot of additional stress. Aaron could dissect the topic at length—trust me, he’s done it before.”
“Hey.”
Jennifer smirked at her husband and continued, “But he’s right that stress kills. With such a high-pressure job like firefighting or police work,” she said with a nod at Cass, “you’d have to really love your job to reap the joy along with all the hazards that come with service. Trust me, I know.”
“I told you Mom’s a doctor,” Cass said.
“A cardiologist,” Jennifer specified.
“Yeah, you’d know all about stress,” Mack agreed. “My family is all law enforcement.” He sounded positive, but Cass sensed something off about his tone. “My mom works in administration in the police department. My dad retired after thirty years. My three brothers are all active-duty police. One’s a detective, one’s SWAT, and, well, you know Xavier,” he said to Cass. “A patrol officer who works in Cass’s precinct.”
“Interesting.” Her dad sipped his wine. “Cass used to have a policy of not dating anyone she works with or anyone who’s related to anyone she works with.”
“Well now, I realize that.” Mack sipped from his glass, looking like he’d been born sophisticated. Whatever. She’d never forget the sight of him covered in mud. “But I like to think it was my incredible skill at bar games, not to mention my fine soccer legs, that had her taking a chance on me.”
Her parents chuckled.
He exaggerated his win over pool and his failure at darts. Then he continued to embellish about her loss at Scrabble. He’d hit double word score twice and barely beat her by a few points.
“He makes up words,” she said when her parents stopped laughing, doing her darndest not to smile. “That or he sleeps with a dictionary under his pillow.”
“Your inability to choose words with care put a damp squib on our game.”
