Page 11 of Ruthless In A Suit

But there’s no more time to worry, because a knock at the door tells me he’s here.

“Cadence, will you get the door?” Brenda calls from the kitchen, as if I’m not already scurrying over to beat Dad to the task.

I fling open the door and see him standing there, wearing crisp dark jeans and a button-up shirt. He’s left it un-tucked, which I know is unusual for him, but I begged him ahead of time to please oh please be casual. Otherwise I’m one hundred percent sure he’d have shown up in a suit, and the dinner would be over before it began.

Levi takes a quick survey of the room, and seeing it empty, ducks down and gives me a kiss.

“Hello, Gorgeous,” he says, and I blush.

I’ve dated a few guys over the course of high school and college. A couple of them were fine, one of two of them were approaching less than mediocre, but none of them seemed to actually appreciate me.

I love the way Levi seems delighted to see me, to hold my hand, to kiss me, each and every time.

Oh, I’m sure eventually over the course of our lives that passion will turn down to, I don’t know, maybe a nine? But for now, I’m glad it’s hiked up to eleven for the foreseeable future.

We haven’t even slept together yet, and still I feel a sensuality and intimacy with him that’s virtually indescribable.

“Come in and get this started so it can hurry up and be over,” I whisper, already wishing we were somewhere – anywhere – else.

“So this is your gentleman friend,” Dad’s voice booms in the tone I recognize from when I’d bring a date home in high school. It’s his fake authority voice, probably the same one he uses at work when someone yells at him about a lost letter or a late package.

It made Kevin Satterfield nearly pee his pants back in junior year. But Levi doesn’t flinch.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Mr. Fallon,” he says. “I’ve heard a lot about you. Thank you for having me to your home.”

“Well it’s the least we could do, considering you’re marrying my Cady.”

“I only regret I wasn’t able to come over sooner, Sir,” he replies, and my Dad seems to soften at this show of respect.

“Dinner!” Brenda calls from the kitchen.

“My wife made dinner, which, if you’re on any kind of diet, will be perfect,” Dad says with a rueful smile.

“It certainly smells delicious,” Levi replies, which is charitable, since the whole kitchen smells like kale right now. And I’ve always thought the smell of kale bears a striking resemblance to the smell of a gas station bathroom.

Our small apartment doesn’t have a dining room, so we gather around the kitchen table, which Brenda, to her credit, set with the nicest plates and silverware, a pair of taper candles burning in the center alongside a grocery store bouquet in our one and only vase..

“I hope you’re in the mood for turkey kale meatballs and spaghetti squash!” Brenda says, as if anyone could be in the mood for those things, ever.

And when the plates arrive in front of us, my hunger dampens even more. Everything on the plate is sort of beige, save for the flecks of chopped kale that have been added to everything.

The whole meal looks like a mistake, or like the food served in our dystopian future when our overlords take over and provide us with a steady stream of microwaveable “meals.” If Levi manages to eat this without grimacing, I’ll marry him tonight.

When I think of the fine dining that Levi is used to, I wonder if he’s having any second thoughts about his proposal. He’s soon going to be part of this family.

I take a bite and find that if I wash it down immediately with a sip of wine, I might just get through the meal unscathed.

Across the table, I see Levi discovering the same plan. It’s possible we’ll both be completely drunk before the end of the meal, but it turns out, that might just be ok.

“So Levi, do you make it a habit to date your employees?” Brenda asks. Apparently she’s going right for the jugular tonight.

Right for the kill. Excellent.

Levi glances at her as he twirls some spaghetti squash around his fork. “No, actually I never do. But Cadence was important enough to break that rule.”

It’s exactly the right answer, and my heart warms for him to hear it, but Brenda’s eyes just narrow. She’s not convinced, and she’s definitely not done. My eyes dart over to Dad to beam him a silent please stop her, but he’s focused mostly on his plate.

A clever deflection, since I know for a fact he hates spaghetti squash and thinks meatballs shouldn’t be made of anything but beef and pork (and preferably slathered in ultra-garlicky marinara).