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Taking a deep breath, Lucas gathered his own swirling thoughts together. He’d proceed cautiously. Maybe talk to Rowe—the man could be serious on occasion. He’d also managed to get married and stay that way for several years. He could probably offer some sound insight.
Lucas pulled the handle on the door, letting a brisk winter wind sweep through the car. He started to slide out of his seat when Andrei roughly grabbed his wrist, halting him.
“You don’t think my mom will mention the sex thing to anyone, do you?”
Lucas lifted a brow. “Sex thing?”
“You know…the sex thing…in Vegas.”
“Oh you mean their threesome,” he said, swallowing back a chuckle. He did feel for Andrei on that one. Andrei wasn’t a prude by any stretch of the imagination, but no son wanted to know the juicy details of their parents’ adventurous sex life.
“Yeah. That. I’d never hear the end of it from Rowe or Snow.”
“Or Melissa.”
“I—” Whatever Andrei was about to say was halted by a sharp knocking on his window. They both looked up to see Sonja’s smiling face. Apparently they’d lingered in the car too long.
“They won’t,” Lucas quickly said and then got out of the car, followed by Andrei.
Sonja quickly put all three men to work carrying different dishes and bags of food. There were a couple things that she’d pre-made in her own home in Kentucky, while others she said needed to be made fresh, which meant that she was going to be sharing a kitchen with Ian. That had Lucas worried. The young man barely tolerated any of them in the kitchen with him. He couldn’t imagine how he was going to handle a strange woman messing around in his personal space.
Andrei had tried to talk his mother out of cooking, but she couldn’t be swayed. She’d refused to show up empty handed. Lucas had tried to warn Ian, and the young man had only said that it would be fine. Lucas didn’t believe him.2The Master BathIan’s hardwood floors and black countertops shone—what Lucas could see of the counters anyway. Food covered every available surface on the breakfast bar and other counters stretching the small kitchen. His breakfast table had space, so Lucas and Andrei set the new dishes there. The mouth-watering scent of roasting turkey filled the house along with smells of apples, sage and yeast. Lucas glanced toward the long dining table in the split living area and saw that it was laid out with the usual Ian flare. White plates, pumpkin colored placemats—even the wine glasses sparkled. Lucas doubted he could find one spot on them.
More orange caught his gaze and heat grew in his cheeks, a smirk tugging at his lips at the little, pumpkin-shaped gourds that decorated the table. Andrei had been right. He’d never be able to look at pumpkins again without blushing after their one attempt at carving jack-o-lanterns. But he forced the pleasant memory aside in favor of a bigger problem.
There was absolutely no room for Sonja to cook.
Rowe was kneeling in front of the open refrigerator, obviously reorganizing because a few dishes were on the floor. Ian stood in front of a huge silver bowl on the counter, stirring and throwing glares over his shoulder at Rowe. “Really? At least put the food on the counter instead of the floor.”
“Where on the counter?” Rowe grunted and shoved something onto a shelf. He frowned, then winced at the loud clinking noise. “You made enough food to feed all my employees.”
“I made enough so everyone has leftovers. Thanksgiving leftovers are the best and it’s depressing when they’re not in the fridge the next few days.” He turned, his hand moving as he slowly stirred something in the bowl.
“If you say so,” Rowe muttered, winking up at Lucas when he strolled into the kitchen. “The man has never had Mel’s leftovers.”
“What are you doing on the floor, Ward?” Lucas asked with a grin.
“Trying to get a freaking beer for me and a water for Mel.” He paused and stared at the bottle of water in his hand, a strange expression crossing his face, but before Lucas could ask, Ian bumped his hip against Lucas’s, drawing his gaze back to the chef.
Lucas hugged Ian before tugging on the apron he wore. “I may be short but I cook with wine,” he read, chuckling. “I thought you told me you were a concentrated package of fantastic—that short was never a good descriptor.”
“I love this apron because it makes no sense.” Ian shrugged. “I’d hug you back, but as you can see my hands are busy.”
Lucas leaned over his shoulder and sniffed appreciatively at the gourmet stuffing. Ian made it every year using croissants, sausage and apples. Snow called it buttery death, then ate at least three helpings despite his usual avoidance of carbs.
When the young man looked around him and smiled, Lucas moved out of the way so he could go greet his new guests. He’d been excited about meeting Andrei’s parents. As usual, Lucas’s gaze sought out his ex-bodyguard and he smiled to find him sneaking toward the stairs. Looking around, Lucas saw that Snow and Melissa were busy outside on the deck.
