“You call me a silly bear, but you’re the one who’s glad my eyes turned green.” He had a point. “Let’s go back home. I need you to be in my arms, not with a console between us.”
“Don’t you need to get some things?”
“My suitcase is still in the car. That’s plenty of clothes, and even if they’re not work clothes, who cares? We can figure that out another time.”
“Are you sure you don’t mind? My place is pretty shitty.” It could be a whole lot worse, but compared to the place right in front of me, it was trash.
“Your place is perfect. It has you.” He turned on the ignition. “Now let’s go home and find ourselves some cookies.”
There was one thing we weren’t short on, and that was cookies.
12
KINGSTON
"Does this look okay?" Merrick stood back, his head tilted, as he studied the small dining table. Technically, we didn’t have a dining table, as we ate on the sofa or the floor, leaning on triangle cushions.
This was a folding card table he’d picked up at the secondhand store down the street. We’d squeezed it between the kitchenette and the bed.
“It’s not what your father is used to.”
Because Merrick was so stressed about meeting my father, it was on the tip of my tongue to suggest we have the dinner at my home. I hadn’t rented out the house in case we decided the studio was too cramped. But that wasn’t fair to my mate.
My saying that would be interpreted as him and his studio being not good enough, and that was code for this life wasn’t good enough for me. It was more than enough. We could live in a tent, and I’d never complain as long as Merrick was with me.
This was us, and Father would have to get used to it. He wasn’t pleased with the size house we were currently building either.Thought it beneath us. I had to laugh at how much better it would have to look after sharing a meal with us here, at our first place together.
Unbeknownst to my mate, I’d thrown money at the project and promised more if we could be in before Christmas. They said it would take a miracle. Wasn’t that what Christmas was for?
“It’s perfect.” I took his hand before he rearranged the mismatched plates a third or fourth time.
Merrick twisted out of my grasp and returned to the stove. “You’re a liar, but I love that you’re pretending this is going to go well.” He stirred one of the pots.
My omega dad was away, probably for months, escaping Father and the life he’d settled for. He messaged me saying he’d meet Merrick when he returned and sending us both his love.
“He’ll definitely be impressed with the food.” Damn, that sounded as though he wouldn’t like where we were living. But who was I kidding? He wouldn’t. He’d turn his nose up, but we weren’t going to hide.
“Your father is the head of a huge company, and you’re going to succeed him. When he sees you living in this space that’s probably smaller than his walk-in closet, he’ll wonder if you had a bump on the head.”
I avoided any mention of my father's closet because it was huge. You could have a party in there, and I was pretty sure he had more than once.
“Merrick.” I removed the spoon from his clenched fist and turned him to face me. “It’s dinner. We’re not gearing up forbattle.” Though when I looked at the food he’d made, it appeared we were about to be invaded by hordes of thousands.
He’s made lasagna, roast vegetables, three different casseroles, potatoes, two types of salads, garlic bread, and some other concoction with melted cheese. It smelled great, and we would have leftovers for days.
“But this is your father. When you went to the ball, he expected you to mate with someone with money, a guy who was sophisticated enough to distinguish between different grades of caviar. Not be mated to a bartender who lives in a sketchy part of town.”
I ignored the caviar reference because Fatherwasthat person.
“This area isn’t sketchy.” My mate gave me the “you’re lying” look. “Okay, maybe it’s part sketchy.” I removed Merrick’s apron. “It doesn’t matter what he thinks. You’re my one and only, and that’s all that matters.”
A knock on the door made Merrick shriek. He was here. I’d kinda expected him to text me when his driver pulled up outside, saying he wasn’t coming in and he’d meet us at his club.
“It’s going to be fine.” I squeezed his hand and strode to the door, which was only a few steps.
Father stood in the narrow hallway, his towering form filling the small space. His suit probably cost more than the studio’s annual rent, and his expression told me he was about to flee.
“Son.” He glanced over my shoulder and took in probably the entire studio. “Please tell me this isn’t where you’re living.”
