Tess:Somebody else tell her.
Dad:I vote turtles.
Millie:Getting baked refers to being under the influence of something, most likely weed, Mom.
Fabes:I vote Let’s Get Baked.
Tess:Same.
Mom:I didn’t know that. Not those.
Mom:Here’s a picture of another option: light blue with candy canes.
Fabes:MOM. Zoom in on those candy canes.
Dad:Those aren’t candy canes, honey. They’re dicks.
Fabes:??
Millie:Honestly, Mom. What website are you on?
Tess:I still vote for Let’s Get Baked.
***
“Em, can you hand me that vodka?” Micah waves from the corner of my kitchen, eyes focused on the tumblers in front of him while he mixes the drinks for game night.
Emil grabs the bottle and holds it behind his back with his lips puckered toward Micah. “Payment, please.”
Micah leaves his position in front of the counter to reach his arm around Emil, dip him back, and kiss him as he steals the bottle.
“Thanks, love,” he murmurs before he turns to fill the tumblers.
Emil lifts a hand to fan his face.
“Damn. I need a boyfriend,” I mutter into my cranberry vodka. The charcuterie board I’ve put together is not as flawless as I’ve seen on the internet, but it’s about to get destroyed by all of us anyway. It’s hard to make it look perfect when everyone keeps sneaking off with grapes and cheese.
Lena sits at the dining table, whispering to a new game-night attendee next to her. Diego is an intern at the community center where Lena works this summer and is here through an exchange program from Spain. His brown eyes stare into Lena’s, completely enthralled by whatever she’s saying.
“Which game are we playing first?” Micah calls through the house.
“Anything but Scrabble,” Lena proclaims.
Emil smiles brightly. “I’m always up for kicking your asses atScrabble.” As a literature professor, he wipes the floor with us every time. We have a three-year-old’s vocabulary compared to him.
I pick up my phone where it’s charging in the kitchen, and my shoulders slump when I see Finn hasn’t answered the text I sent him this afternoon.
Mille:I know it’s late notice, but we’re having a game night if you and the girls want to come. We are starting around six, and we have pizza, snacks, and drinks. Here’s our address in case you can make it.
Chills snake down my spine every time I think about his lips brushing my ear this morning. The warm assurance of his strong hand along my back while his body surrounded mine, keeping me safe. The rumble of his deep voice coasting over my skin.
As much as I want to melt into the memories of Finn, I’m still adamantly trying to avoid those exact kinds of thoughts about him. I try to remind myself every day that things can’t get any more complicated with him. I’ve toed the line of appropriateness for weeks now, but I’ve never crossed it.
And I have managed to snuff out the urge to talk about my job with him, but the words still burn on the tip of my tongue.
How was my interview?
Can you tell me anything about the other applicant?
