“She had allergies.”
“To you,” Felicity says.
Paxton’s jaw tightens.
He’s looking at the wine list again.
Tiffany is looking at her phone.
And Alex is looking at Felicity like she hung the moon.
Courses come and go. The lobster gets a standing ovation from Alex, which is excessive but appreciated. The soup makes Juliette tear up again because she’s extra emotional tonight, and when I tell her it’s my father’s recipe, she demands my dad’s number so she can thank him personally. The lamb is, if I’m being honest, the best thing I’ve ever cooked, and watching Lance close his eyes when he takes the first bite is worth every hour I spent reducing that sauce.
By dessert, the table is loud and full, and I’m standing in the kitchen doorway watching these people, this family that adopted me through violence and chaos and love, and I feel something I haven’t felt since I left Boston.
Home.
My phone buzzes in my apron pocket. I pull it out.
It’s from my father.
Mon chou. I hope tonight was everything you dreamed. I’m proud of you. Always and in all ways.
And then, a second message:
Call me when you can. There’s something about the case we need to discuss.
The base of my spine tingles. Just enough to remind me that somewhere out there, Brutus Myrddin and his sister Cassandra are running, and the board isn’t clear yet.
But tonight, the kitchen is mine. The people I love are fed and laughing. And Lance Calloway is walking toward me with chocolate on his lip and a look in his eyes that says we won’t be staying for after-dinner drinks.
“Hey, Half-Pint.”
“You have chocolate on your face.”
“Do I?” He doesn’t wipe it off. He just leans down and kisses me, smearing it purposefully across my cheeks.
When he pulls back, he’s smiling. That real smile. The one I earned.
“Best meal I’ve ever had,” he says.
“You say that every time I cook.”
“And I mean it every time.”
Alex shouts, “Get a room!” and Juliette throws a napkin at him, and Roman laughs, and Paxton sighs the sigh of a man surrounded by people he’d die for and will never admit it.
I look at Lance. He looks at me.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.
Seven seconds for my seven minutes.
This is the moment I’m keeping.
Extended Epilogue
Lance
