She purses her lips. “I didn’t want to leave you, especially when you were asleep, but Nic insisted on dropping me off at my place first. Did you freak out on him when you woke up?”
Unbidden, thoughts of Dominic’s gentle touch and warm breath caressing my skin as he nudged me awake pop into my mind. Freaking out on him was the last thing on my mind, and judging by the contents of my dream last night… I shake my head, trying to set the thought free. Thinking about my inappropriate dreams next to Mal feels wrong.
“Nope. You should be proud of me. I was nice to him.”
“Nice?” Mal hums her approval. “I wasn’t aware you knew how to be anything other than bitchy where Nic is concerned.”
“Let’s not make him sound like a victim, Mallory. Even though you and Mama love to make him out to be some sort of angel, he deserves every shot I take at him.”
She scrunches her nose at me. “No one has ever called him an angel. Honestly, both of you get on my nerves with the constant bickering. It was nice to see the two of you getting along even if some drunk in the club was the reason.”
The ill-advised hope that shined in her eyes last night is back, coatingher words and making her sound like a small kid hoping her parents will finally stop fighting and say they love each other again.
I bite my lip. “Yeah. I guess you’re right. Don’t get used to it though.”
Mal laughs. “Oh, honey. I wouldn’t dream of it.”
***
Two hours and three stores later, Mal and I are carrying last-minute essentials into Mama’s kitchen with no help from any of the ten other people scattered throughout the yard and house waiting to scarf down the fruits of our labor. We find Mama in the kitchen chatting with her sister, Mary, while they clean collards and chop peaches for what I’m sure is going to be a delicious cobbler.
“About damn time!” Mama shouts, wrapping us in hugs that make us forget how annoyed we were with her just moments before. “I thought I was going to have to send Nic out to find you two.”
“Cut the dramatics, Annette.” Mal laughs, slinging the bags in her hand on the counter and heading toward the table to take a seat by her aunt.
Mama pops her on the butt as she walks away and starts unpacking bags by my side. We work together to put up everything she claimed she needed to make her meal today, and I shoot her a disbelieving look when everything but one bottle of barbecue sauce ends up in her cupboards.
“Thought you needed all of this stuff for dinner.”
She winks at me. “I did. Just not for dinner today.”
I shake my head at her, stifling the laughter that’s always ready to spill out when I’m around my mother-in-law. She’s so different from the woman who birthed me. Where my mom treats parenting like a hardship meant to be endured, Mama has always made it quite clear that being a mother is one of the great joys in her life.
Anytime her children are around, she glows with love. I can’tremember a single time I’ve seen her look anything less than thrilled to have her children, me and Dominic included, around. Hence the reason she’s always hosting dinners at her home or calling each of us throughout the week just to check in.
“Mal’s going to be so mad when she realizes you only needed that bottle of barbecue sauce.” I bump her with my shoulder, returning her warm smile with one of my own. “We had to go to three stores to find your White Lily flour. She wanted to give up, but I told her I wasn’t coming in here without it.”
“Good girl.” She beams at me, and the corners around her rich brown eyes crease in the best way.
For a moment, I just stare at her, taking in the soft lines of her face, and the black and gray whirls of curls that are pulled into a fluffy bun at the top of her head. My heart swells with love for her. For the way she looks at me. For the easy smiles and not-so-secret jokes. For the warmth of her arms and the strength of her love. A love that saved me from the depths of my grief even when her own must have been threatening to crush her.
“Sloane, baby,” Mary calls, beckoning me over to the table with a wave of her hand. “Come on over here and help Mallory cut up these greens.”
Before I can answer, she gets up from the table and gestures to her vacated seat. Mama shakes her head, muttering something about lazy sisters as she moves to the stove. I know better than to argue with any of the elders in this family, so I take a seat beside Mal and start cutting up greens. We fall into a comfortable silence as we each work on our tasks. Nothing but the sounds of pots simmering, spoons stirring, and knives chopping fill the small kitchen that’s seen more than its fair share of family gatherings.
As I chop, my mind wanders and thoughts of Eric are at the forefront, the way they always are when I’m in his childhood home, basking in the love of the people who raised him. People who rallied around meand kept me close in the face of their own heartbreak and despair. I’m endlessly thankful for each of them and the way I’ve always been treated like someone who belongs by everyone lucky enough to be born into a family full of love and acceptance.
Except for Dominic.
Who, up until last night, approached interactions with me in the exact opposite way. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t spend a large portion of the time I wasn’t dreaming of him last night wondering if things will be different with us now. If him saving me in the club and showing that he’s capable of treating me with something resembling kindness is an opportunity for us to turn over a new leaf.
Heavy footsteps clunking up the steps of the back porch ring out, breaking me out of my thoughts. I look up just in time to see Dominic pull off his sweaty T-shirt, wipe his face and neck with the soiled fabric, and then toss it on an empty chair on the back porch. Leaving the bronzed skin of his shoulders and bulging cords and veins in his arms on full display. His chest and midsection are barely covered by a black tank top that clings to his abs and highlights his sculpted pectoral muscles.
He looks up at me, a heavy gaze that burns into mine, and there’s no hiding that I’ve been staring at him through the glass of the screen door. I bite my lower lip and turn my attention back to the cutting board in front of me. A second later, he breezes through the back door and presses a kiss to Mal’s cheek before catching Mama up in his arms for a hug that has her giggling like a teenage girl.
When he releases her, he moves over to the fridge and pulls out a bottle of water, taking a long pull before leaning back against the counter and burning the side of my face with the heat of his stare. It’s the only indication he sees me. The only way he acknowledges my presence. Because he doesn’t say a word to me.
Not while he’s talking to Mama about the shed she wants him to buildin her backyard. Not while he tells Mal about some old friend he ran into that, judging by the disgusted sniff she responds with, she doesn’t want to hear about. Not while he washes his hands and helps Mama roll dough for the cobbler crust. And not when I get up to leave the cramped kitchen with my hands clenched into fists and a flimsy excuse about needing air on my lips.
