Page 30 of Keeping Denver

"You're mine," he states, his eyes searching mine as he hovers above me.

I brush my lips softly against his, a mere breath away from saying what my heart is singing. "I'm yours."

That night, after an invite, Callan and I arrive at Frances and her husband Richard's house for dinner. They live in a two-story brownstone. Greeting us at the door is Frances. She gives me her usual warm smile, making me feel welcome. "Come in you two. Hang your coats and follow me into the living room. Richard had a phone call to make but will be down in a minute."

Callan helps me with my coat then hangs his and mine on a hook by the front door. "Smells good in here, Frances."

"Oh, you know I have to make your favorite when you come over." Frances swats at Callan's arm before turning to me. "Callan loves my homemade lasagna. I don't make it often on account of Richards cholesterol."

"Yeah. My wife is a real hardass when it comes to my diet. I look at it as she wants me to stick around on this earth a while longer." A tall man with grey hair, kind blue eyes and an impressive handlebar mustache strides up behind Frances and kisses her cheek. "I think she likes me," he waggles his brows, being playful with his wife. Frances giggles like a schoolgirl, and I find it endearing.

"Richard, stop being a mess long enough to meet our guest. This is Denver," Frances introduces me.

The older gentleman regards me. The top lip under his bushy mustache turns up in a knowing smile. "So, this is Callan's Denver."

"Oh, Jesus," Callan mutters.

I hold my hand out. "It's nice to meet you, Sir."

"None of that sir stuff. You can call me Richard." Richard turns his attention to Callan. "Son. Good to see you. Though it's been a while."

"Yeah. I just wrapped up a case, and I have court again Monday morning."

"I heard you handed Dennis his ass and the judge awarded his wife a pretty hefty settlement. Serves the son of a bitch right. I met him at a charity dinner some years back. He is one sour bastard."

Callan chuckles. "Yeah. Well, he's even more so now that he's paying his wife half of everything he's worth."

"Enough talking shop, boys. Let's go eat." Frances ushers us into the dining room.

Just as we are about to sit down at the table, the doorbell chimes, and Frances excuses herself. "That must be Spencer. He said he might stop by."

A second later, Frances returns with Spencer in tow. "I know you all didn't start without me. What's for dinner?" Spencer's eyes cut around the table, landing on me. "Well, well. Hey there, sweetheart."

I give him a little wave. "Hi Spencer. How are you?"

"Better now that I've seen your pretty face."

Callan jumps in. "Unless you're looking to end your night in the emergency room, I suggest you shut the hell up."

"Boys. Play nice, and Callan, watch your language," Frances scolds.

"Frances. How come you don't get on to the old man for cursing but ride mine and Callan's tails about it?" Spencer asks.

"It's because I'm old and set in my ways. She thinks you two are still young enough to be taught better," Richard answers.

The remainder of dinner is spent listening to Richard tell stories about Callan and Spencer, and some of the mischief they got into. For once in my life I feel what it's like to be around a family who genuinely cares for one another.

As we're putting our coats on and getting ready to leave, Frances stops us. "I almost forgot. When I left work early Friday, I left the Branson file on my desk. Kelly was nice enough to bring it to me. I knew you would need them first thing Monday morning since you are going straight to court and not the office." She hands the file to Callan.

"Thanks, Frances." He kisses her cheek then shakes Richard's hand.

The four of us say our goodbyes before Callan, and I take our leave.

13

When Monday morning sneaks up on me, I wake before the alarm sounds. Wiping the sleep from my eyes, I stretch and peer at the clock on the table beside the bed. Knowing I won't be able to go back to sleep, I slid out of bed, careful not to disturb Callan.

Standing at the foot of the bed, I study the man sleeping in front of me, taking in his relaxed features, two-day-old stubble on his face, and his tousled hair. I'm not sure if a man would like to be described as beautiful, but Callan is. He's also caring and passionate once you get passed his asshole exterior. The smile on my face grows as I stare at him a tad longer.