Chapter Twelve
DECLAN
“You look nice.”
Alice walks out of her room wearing a white blouse, black pants, and a pair of low black heels. Her blonde hair, usually piled into a mess on top of her head, hangs around her shoulders with the slightest curl to it.
“Really? Nice enough to introduce my husband to my parents?” She fiddles with the buttons on the cuffs of her sleeves.
“You look like you’re going to teach English at a prep school.”
“Good. That means they will at least approve of what I’m wearing.” That earns me a smile. “Not sure about the rest.”
I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve met her parents. One finger, actually. I got a quick introduction one time in college, and I didn’t need much more than that.
It’s a wonder Alice turned out the way she did when she was a checkmark for her parents on a to-do list in life.
“I personally like you better in your overalls, but that’s just me.”
She smiles before grabbing her purse. “C’mon. Let’s getthis over with.”
“Want to go out for drinks after?”
Alice nods as we head into the garage. “God, yes. Why can’t my parents be more like yours?”
“Maybe if they were less intense, they’d be easier to get along with.”
She sighs as she settles into the front seat, and I drive toward her parents’ house. It’s a short trip, given they live in this part of Denver.
No surprise they live in the bougiest neighborhood in the city.
“It’s only going to be a few hours and then we’ll be done, and I’ll get you the biggest drink you can handle.”
“And a few shots.” She points a finger at me. “I’ll need it.”
We pull into their neighborhood, which puts mine to shame. At least I have neighbors in mine with kids riding bikes down the street.
Here? If there’s a blade of grass out of place, someone will know.
Pulling into the half-moon circular drive of the last house—if you can call it a house—on the street, I put my Jeep in park.
There’s windows and peaks on the entire front of the house. The gray stone house looks like it should be a ski resort in the mountains. Wood columns flank the front porch, where two chairs sit.
Not that I can picture either of her parents sitting outside enjoying a nice afternoon.
“Please don’t hate me after this,” Alice tells me, worrying her hands in front of her.
“Like I could ever hate you, Froggie.”
“What if I tell you I don’t cheer for the Black Diamonds?”
I feign a knife to the heart. “I’d be gutted and question your loyalty, but I wouldn’t hate you.”
“Good.” Grabbing my hand, she leads us to the front door, where she rings the doorbell and we wait.
“Good evening.” An honest-to-God butler answers the door. “Miss Alice. Your parents are waiting in the lounge for you.”
“Thank you.”
