I still remember the day he brought it home, cradling the basket full of chocolates, a candle that made us both gag when we smelled it, and that single bottle of red wine.
We never opened it of course since I’d been underage then, and Dad’s never been much of a drinker anyway.
He’s always been the kind of man who nurses one beer during dinner before calling it a night.
I’m not much of a spirits person either myself, but fuck, right now I could use all the liquid courage I can get.
By the time I step into the dining room, Grant’s already halfway through serving the food, dishing generous spoonfuls of pasta into our bowls with the kind of focus that somehow makes the whole thing look like some serious operation.
Cal sits quietly across from him, folding a napkin neatly beside his plate, his eyes flicking toward me when I enter.
Dean lets out another low whistle as he surveys the spread. “Damn, this looks good.”
I clear my throat softly and hold up the bottle, trying to sound casual. “Anyone care for a glass?”
Three heads turn toward me at once.
Dean raises his hand immediately, that spark of mischief lighting up his expression. “Now you’re speaking my language.”
Cal gives me a small nod, a hint of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth, before standing. “Here, I’ll open it.”
I smile faintly and hand it off.
The cork pops with a soft noise.
The soft glug of the wine fills the brief silence as he pours us all a healthy glass, the dark red pooling like velvet under the amber lighting from the light above us.
When I’m handed a glass by Callum, his fingers brush mine.
The touch is fleeting but doesn’t fail to send a jolt of electricity racing up my arm.
I pretend not to notice, though the corner of his mouth twitching tells me he knows exactly what he’s done.
Oh, god. Am I being that obvious?
Thankfully by the time I’m halfway through my bowl of food, the wine kicks in.
I’m laughing more than I have in weeks listening to them talk and bicker.
Maybe it’s from the wine warming my veins or it’s just the way they’re so familiar with each other that I get swept up in their banter like I’ve always been part of their circle, but whatever it is I soak it up as much as I can.
As soon as my fork scrapes the bottom of the bowl, my phone buzzes in my pocket.
Pulling it out of my pocket under the table, my dad’s contact flashes across the screen.
I excuse myself to take it, stepping into the hallway just beyond the dining room.
“Hey, you doing okay? Thought you were coming home soon.”
When his voice comes through the other end, he sounds exhausted. “Hey, kiddo. Looks like I’ll be late. Half the apartment building got scorched and a few were injured. I’m at the site now helping the police catalogue everything. You doing okay?”
My heart jolts. “Shit, that’s scary. You know what happened yet?”
“Oh, yeah. Some idiot tried to deep fry a whole turkey in their damn kitchen. Place went up in flames instantly. Total shitshow. But don’t worry, everything’s getting sorted out. Just a long night ahead. Don’t wait up for me, okay?”
I blow out a breath.
It’s not exactly the news I want to hear, but then again it’s better than him calling me about going on a call himself.
