I looked at Aspen, took in the way she smoothed her dress and checked her reflection in the visor mirror. She looked flawless, but her hands shook.
“There’s, uh, something I forgot to mention,” I said, voice low. “My parents are in town for the ceremony. They wanted to meet you. Just a quick dinner, nothing serious.”
Her eyes went wide. “Your parents? Tonight?”
“Yeah. They’re… well, they’re a lot. My mom’s a wannabe Texas debutante who never quite left the sorority house, and my dad’s a numbers guy. Oilman. But they’ll love you. I promise.”
She made a sound halfway between a laugh and a groan. “You could’ve warned me.”
“I didn’t want to stress you more.”
She breathed out slow, then took my hand in hers, grounding both of us. “Let’s do this. Together.”
I kissed her knuckles, then her cheek. “Always.”
We got out and walked up the steps. I paused at the door, took a last look at her—my mate, my miracle, the strongest damn woman in Dairyville—and I knew we could take whatever the world threw at us.
Even if it meant walking straight into the lion’s den.
Pearl’s Bar & Grill was packed, typical Friday, and you could smell the fried onions and whiskey from the parking lot. The dining room pulsed with old country music and the whoop of some ranch hand at the dartboard, but my attention zeroed in onthe back corner table—my parents’ throne whenever they blew through town.
They were already seated, the whole damn tableau as perfectly staged as a bank commercial. My mother sat ramrod straight, shoulders squared, chin lifted half an inch above everyone else. Her hair was spun gold, slicked into a chignon so tight you’d think she was afraid of spontaneous movement. She wore a tan pencil skirt and cream cardigan, a string of pearls at her throat—real, not costume. Arms crossed, nails painted nude. She could have frozen a bottle of tequila with that gaze.
My father was the opposite: broad, hearty, dressed in an expensive navy suit that didn’t quite hide the bulk he’d built up in a lifetime of deals and handshakes. He stood the second he spotted me, smile wide enough to show every capped tooth. His watch cost more than my first motorcycle.
Jacob, my older brother, sat to their right, already half a glass deep in something that was probably three parts bourbon, one part ice. He gave a lazy two-finger salute and didn’t bother to stand.
I squeezed Aspen’s hand once and led her to the booth, Oscar tucked discreetly in her bag with the grimoire. She looked like a goddamn vision—fresh, alive, something no Rice had ever brought to dinner. I’d warned her, but nothing could prep you for the slow-motion car crash of a Rice family reunion.
“Mom, Dad, Jacob,” I said. “This is Aspen. My mate.”
My mother’s eyes flicked to Aspen’s neck, zeroing in on the claiming bite like a heat-seeking missile. Her smile didn’t move.
My father broke the tension first, thrusting out a hand. “Jonas! Son, you look like a million bucks.” He turned to Aspen and took her hand, holding it just a touch too long. “So, you’re Aspen. Jonas told us you’re the pride of Dairyville. I can see he wasn’t exaggerating.”
Aspen blushed, but didn’t wilt. “Thank you, sir.”
Jacob finally looked up, eyes a perfect match to mine, if a little more bloodshot. “So you’re the witch. Hope you like steak. They don’t do vegan here.” As though this were her first time here.
Aspen laughed. “If it doesn’t moo, I don’t want it.”
That got a snort from Jacob. “I like her, JT.”
Mom still hadn’t spoken. She let her gaze roam Aspen up and down, taking in every inch: the dress, the boots, the wild shine of her eyes. “Polka dots and a bow are bold choices,” she said finally. “But I suppose it suits you.” Then, to me, “She’s prettier than I expected. I was worried you might have gone for someone—well, less. She’s certainly prettier than your last girlfriend. What was her name, Paul?” she looked at my father.
Jacob mumbled, “Rebecca is married now, Mom.”
“Ah, that’s right, Rebecca,” she said while taking her seat.
I wanted to punch a hole in the table. Instead, I smiled as I pulled out the chair for Aspen. “She’s perfect for me.”
Before the next shot could be fired, Pearl herself materialized at the table, balancing a tray of biscuits and a crock of honey butter. Her hair was snow white tonight, teased into a soft halo. She gave my mother a hard look, then turned to Aspen with a warmth that could have melted a steel drum.
“Well, if it ain’t our newest couple. Welcome, honey. We need to talk about getting another one of your chocolate cakes for the restaurant. The last one you made was gone in an hour. Can I get y’all started with drinks?”
Aspen ordered iced tea, and I asked for a Shiner. Pearl poured for both of us, then leaned in to Aspen, hand on her shoulder, and whispered something I couldn’t catch. Aspen relaxed just a shade, and I made a mental note to thank Pearl later.
As soon as Pearl was gone, my mother launched into her version of small talk, which meant getting right to the point.
