“Chicken tagine—don’t get used to it. Sara doesn’t know how to cook. I saw you got a dog. You’re better off feeding it whatever she makes.” She laughs, and I do too. I don’t miss the implication hanging between us, as if I’m planning some future with her daughter. This woman doesn’t miss a beat.
She sits across from me, pours herself coffee, and studies my face like I’m a dossier she’s reviewing. “You care for her.” It isn’t a question.
“More than I should,” I admit.
Her eyes soften just a touch, the corners folding into a private smile.
“I asked her not to see your brother again, or you, but she wouldn’t listen.”
I sit up straighter. “Would you like me to stop seeing your daughter, Yoyo? Because if you do, I—”
“She told me you are dangerous, and I told her all men are, but the difference is what you do with that danger.” She leans closer. “So, Liam, tell me: what are you going to do with that danger?”
“For starters, whoever’s after your daughter doesn’t care about rules, and neither do I,” I say confidently.
She smiles with her eyes—a haunting approval crossing her face. “You look like your brother. I’m deeply sorry for your loss, Liam.”
That hits like a sucker-punch. “Thank you,” I say roughly, “and I’m sorry for your son.”
Tears well up in her eyes, but as quickly as they appear, she pushes them down, and I understand a little better where Sara finds her strength.
Her gaze flicks to the window. “Sara is… adrift. She’s angry because anger is easier than hurting, and I’ve damaged her with my grief. But I’m doing better now.”
“What do you mean?” I ask genuinely.
“I’ve said and done things… she didn’t deserve.” She looks down at her silver rings on her fingers. “Grief is a beast, but losing a child is like absorbing pain you can’t escape.”
She looks back at me, silently judging if I understand the path she’s on. She stands and heads to the kitchen, as she settles back with a fresh pot of coffee.
“I understand—” Footsteps pad down the hall, and I feel Sara’s pulse in the room, her eyes narrowing on me like she’s spotted a three-headed monster at supper with her mom.
“Sara, honey, you have a guest,” Yoyo calls, and I hide my grin behind my hand.
“Mom, what is he doing here?” Sara hisses through clenched teeth as her mother casually pours me a cup of coffee. Sara lunges forward, closing the distance, and her presence presses down on me.
“Mom, that’s not coffee you should pour him,” she snaps, snatching the pot away. “It’s poison.”
“Oh, honey, don’t be dramatic—he was hungry,” Yoyo says, her eyes hiding a plea with a “look at that poor puppy dog”as she reclaims the pot and walks off toward the kitchen.
“So what? You let hungry wolves through the front door?” Sara demands, dumbfounded, following my gaze. A mixture of amusement and longing twists something hot in my chest.
“Sara, please,” Yoyo sighs, and Sara whirls on me.
“Of all the manipulative—” She stops, watching the deliberate way I set down my fork, in disbelief that I’m infiltrating her life a little more every day.
“Your mom is hard to say no to, Sara. I’m a polite man—”
“I’m a polite man,” Sara mocks, her face contorted.
“Both of you, be quiet. I have to go to dinner. Liam, you’re welcome to take the guest room. Sara, behave,” Yoyo says finally.
My face breaks into a triumphant grin as Sara’s jaw drops.
“Guest room?” Sara asks stupefied. “Did he mention he’s the reason I haven’t slept in weeks? What the fuck, Mom!”
She storms off to get her purse. “I’ll leave the two of you to talk.” The door clicks shut behind her.
“Haven’t slept for weeks, huh?” I can’t help needling her.
