“Mmm.” She licked her lips, smiling like she couldn’t help it. “How was it… talking to him?”
I nodded, brushing my thumb along her lower back. “Cool. Straightforward. I told him what it was.” Her shoulders dropped a little, like I’d just peeled a layer of pressure off her back. “Told you,” I murmured, caressing her soft ass lips. “You good now. You got me. Now, let’s go feed my baby.” I smacked her ass once before letting her go, walking behind her with my hand still on her hip.
She giggled. “Yes, daddy.”
T h ed i n i n gt a b l elooked like it was pulled straight from one of those bougie holiday magazines I used to scroll past on Pinterest. From the table settings Woods and I picked up yesterday to the food, I’d outdone myself, and I wasn’t even mad about it.
Woods helped carry everything to the dining table while Vanessa hummed softly to Ella Mai. My dad pulled out one of the chairs for her, and I could tell their vibe was different from the other women he had spoken to briefly. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it yet, but it was something, and I couldn’t wait to ask all about them.
“Baby girl, you ain’t playing this year,” my dad said, looking over the spread before sitting down. “This looks like somebody’s grandma cooked all this.”
I smirked. “Better. Your daughter did.”
“Shit,” he chuckled, adjusting in the seat. “Let me give you your flowers while I still got taste buds.”
We all laughed, settling in. Woods took the seat next to me, resting his hand low on my thigh beneath the table, and I could feel the comfort he brought just by being there.
Vanessa raised her glass. “To Christmas, good food, and being surrounded by grown folks that actually like each other.”
“Amen to that,” my dad added, lifting his glass high. “And to my baby girl holding it down like she always does.” We clinked glasses, but I only lifted my ginger ale. And apparently, that didn’t go unnoticed. My dad paused mid-sip, brow slightly raised. “Ginger ale?” he asked, glancing at me over the rim. “You off tequila tonight?”
Woods’ hand tensed just a little on my leg. My heart thumped once hard in my chest, but I kept my smile easy and reached for a honey butter biscuit like the question hadn’t made me nervous. “Not really in the mood to drink tonight,” I said with a slight shrug.
“Mmm,” he said, the way fathers do when they know something but aren’t ready to press it.
I brushed it off with a light chuckle. “Anyway… when exactly did y’all meet?” I asked, turning to Vanessa. “I know my dad be out and about, so it had to have been somewhere lit. I need the full story.”
Vanessa laughed, setting her fork down and wiping the corner of her mouth with a napkin. “We met a couple of weeksago at a car show in Detroit. He was looking at this old-school Cutlass, and I was standing right next to it, texting my cousin. He said something slick about the car—”
“—I said it looked like it needed a real driver,” my dad cut in with a grin.
“And I told him he better hope I wasn’t the owner before he got embarrassed,” Vanessa finished, laughing. “He started grinning, I started grinning… next thing I know we’re walking around the whole damn lot talking about classic cars, favorite artists, family, food… it was a vibe.”
Woods leaned back in his seat, nodding. “Pops got game, huh?”
“You know it,” he said, shrugging proudly. “And she wasn’t like these other women out here trying to be all flashy. She was just her, and I appreciate that.”
For a while, the conversation moved to cars, the music that used to play in my dad’s Monte Carlo, and Vanessa calling him out for pretending he still knew all the lyrics to 90s R&B when he really didn’t. And then while we all smacked our lips and scraped our plates, my dad just had to bring up an embarrassing story.
“I remember the days Autumn used to burn everything in my kitchen when she was a teenager. Couldn’t even make toast without damn near setting off the smoke alarm.”
“Oh my God. Daddy!”
“Telling the truth!” he said, laughing. “Remember when you tried to fry chicken for the first time and forgot to season it?”
Woods raised his eyebrows. “Nah… not unseasoned chicken, baby.”
“She dumped the whole batch in the trash before I even made it to the table,” my dad said, shaking his head. “Had the nerve to cry talking about ‘I was trying to make you proud.’”
“Alright!” I waved a hand, blushing. “It was one time. Now look at me. I’ve evolved!”
“You definitely did, gorgeous,” Woods said low in my ear, his hand brushing my thigh again under the table. “Proud of you.”
Vanessa pointed her fork across the table. “Well, listen, this mac and cheese is everything. Who taught you that?”
I smirked as I scooped up a bite on my own plate. “Honestly? A mix of trial and error. And a whole lotta TikTok chefs.”
“No shame in that,” she said, nodding. “Whoever’s video you watched deserves a Michelin star. This is top-tier.”
