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He’s still a jerk, but at least he’s willing to help out. Sometimes.
Farrah comes bounding at me, wrapping her arms around my neck. “You made it!” She pulls away, beaming. “I thought Sterling was lying. I can’t believe you willingly came to this.”
“What?” I laugh and shake my head. “You don’t like family dinners?”
Considering that I’ve been begging my family to sit down with me—and how happy I am that they’ve finally accepted—I can’t fathom it.
“I do, but…” She gives me a look. “It’s a lot. I hope Sterling warned you.”
“He didn’t.” I lift an eyebrow at him.
“I didn’t have time,” Sterling says, already sounding exhausted. He rests his hand on the small of my back and leads me through the room. “Someone interrupted me.”
His fathers have spectacular taste. The house looks like something from a magazine, with high ceilings, burnt-orange accents, funky paintings, and plenty of plants. I sniff the air—garlic, onions…
“Pasta?” I ask.
Sterling nods. “Lasagna.”
The moment we enter the kitchen, his fathers cheer. The family is already sitting around a large, rectangular table, drinking and plucking food from a grazing board—hummus, fresh vegetables, beautiful flowers, jams, honey, and expensive-looking cheese.
“I made that,” Farrah says proudly.
I nudge her with my elbow. “Good job. A feast fit for Aphrodite.”
His fathers approach, each hugging me in turn, and I can understand what Farrah meant. It is overwhelming to be here, but in the best possible way.
“It’s so good to meet you properly,” his Pops says, wiping away a fake tear. “We thought Sterling would never bring you around.”
I laugh nervously, tucking my freshly washed and dried curls behind my ear. “Well, here I am.”
“Sit, sit.” His other father, the one he calls dad, leads me over to a seat.
Sterling lingers at the little makeshift bar.
“What will you have to drink?” His dad asks as I sit.
“Um…” I glance over at Sterling.
“I have it under control,” Sterling says smoothly, mixing me a drink.
“A tequila woman?” Pops chuckles. “We’ll have to keep an eye on this one.”
“Guilty.” I exchange a smile with Auggie and Val—Sterling’s siblings, whom I don’t know as well as Farrah.
Auggie is naturally a little more on the quiet side, smiling feebly, but Val leans across the table.
“When Sterling fumbles you—” he says.
Sterling sets the glass down in front of me and glares at his brother. “I don’t plan on fumbling anything.”
“Don’t bicker in front of guests,” his Pops says, sitting in his chair and waving a piece of cheese in warning.
The doorbell rings, a simple chiming sound that makes me jump.
“No need.” Val rises smoothly from his seat. “That would be my date.”
“Your date?” Pops’s glasses slide down his nose.
