Amy freezes, and my mom swoons more than I thought was possible, while my dad looks impressed.
“Well,” he mutters. “Come on in.”
We step inside the house and peel off our coats. I hang them in the closet, and Dad immediately pulls Frost aside and starts showing him his collection of model cars. Totally out of character for him because anyone else I’ve brought over, he usually ignores.
Mom pulls me into the kitchen while the men ooh and ahh over his assortment of vehicles.
“Hope,” she whispers. “Frost’s beautiful. He’s almost like the men you describe in your novels.”
“Mom, knock it off,” I groan.
Amy slides next to her with a glass of wine in her hand.
“I still don’t trust him,” Amy says. “But if he continues to treat you well and keeps that smile on your face, I’ll adopt him.”
“We are not adopting my boyfriend,” I grimace.
“Too late,” Mom says. “He’s family now.”
Amy pours me a glass of wine. “I literally met him when he was na?—”
“Amy!” I yelp. “Do not finish that sentence.”
Mom and Amy share identical mischievous grins. “We’ll behave,” Amy promises.
“Don’t lie to her, Amy,” Mom corrects.
They both sip their wine in perfect sync. Great, I’m doomed, or better yet, Frost is. I snatch my glass off the counter and head back into the living room, where Frost is still talking to my dad. Dad nods thoughtfully while Frost explains his love for restoring old cars.
Amy stops beside me. “Well, well. He passes Dad’s test.”
I blink. “That was a test?”
“Oh yeah.” She gestures toward the table. “You know he never talks to your boyfriends. Frost had him hooked from the time you stepped into the kitchen. As soon as Frost questioned him about his car collection, it was over.”
That is both worrying and comforting.
Frost sees me and gives me a little chin lift, a small smile meant only for me.
Amy nudges me. “Okay. Fine. Maybe he’s not the worst.”
I exhale. “High praise coming from you.”
“Don’t push it.” She pauses. “But just so you know, if he breaks your heart, I’m egging his bike and taking my bat to his head.”
Frost calls over his shoulder. “I can hear you.”
Amy jumps. “Jesus Christ, how?”
Frost taps his ear. “Sharp hearing.”
She narrows her eyes. “Great, now I can’t even talk shit in peace.” Frost chuckles. “Ugh… He’s charming, and I hate it,” Amy mumbles.
Mom steps out of the kitchen. “Girls, why don’t you make sure the table is ready? Dinner is almost done.”
I roll my eyes. We all know that she’s had the table set since dawn. Mom’s a planner and tends to be a little extravagant for every holiday, but Dad always manages to rein her back in. It’s a tradition we all enjoy, even though we wish she’d let us help her more. I step into the dining room, and my eyes widen in shock. Mom not only set up, but she went completely overboard. You’d think the Queen of England was going to grace us with her presence. There’s a brand-new tablecloth draped over the table, with cloth napkins folded into swans, gold plates, and silverware at each place setting, and place cards indicating where everyone should sit.
Place cards? What the hell is happening here?
