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Dinner was a delicious. How could it not be, when it had been catered special from Twisted Lemon, a swanky restaurant in the city? The steak was perfect, the lobster exquisite and the grilled vegetables, Parisian potatoes, divine. The wine was well chosen and the dessert cooling on the table looked to die for.
Shane forced the last bit of steak down his throat and glanced around the table. His father had talked very little, answering his wife politely when she addressed him, but for the most part James Gallagher made a show of digging around his plate, and swirling his red wine around his glass like he was some big shot wine taster.
Celia and Bobbi made a good effort, he’d give them that, and kept the conversation rolling, while Eden didn’t say a word other than to tell them that she was a vegetarian and would only be eating the veggies.
He glanced at his watch. It was nearly 7:30. How much longer did he have to stay before it wasn’t deemed impolite to leave? He’d done his thing. He’d come because Celia asked and because he thought that maybe…fuck he didn’t know what he’d been thinking. This felt wrong. All of it felt wrong.
Eden clearly didn’t give a shit about anyone other than herself, but then again, weren’t all teenager’s like that? And sure he felt bad for Celia—he wasn’t that kid anymore, the one who had resented the hell out of her for taking his mother’s place. But it’s not like they were going to be buddies either. He felt bad that the woman was sick but maybe she needed to concentrate on her health instead of some fantasy family that was never going to happen.
Not once had his father uttered a negative, threatening comment. But he felt his father’s eyes on him when James thought no one would notice. He knew something was coming. His father’s threat the other day wasn’t for fun. The guy always followed through and now that Shane was in the process of accepting what his grandfather had left him, he was pretty sure something was headed his way sooner than later.
“Shane, still paints you know.”
Bobbi’s words drew a line down the middle of the table and Shane shot her a look that would freeze most anyone’s blood to ice. Why the hell would she bring that up now? She knew his passion for art and his father’s passion for business was one of the great divides they’d never been able to conquer.
James had loved the fact that his late wife painted, but the same desire in his son was looked upon as being lazy.
James Gallagher, sat back in his chair and took a long drink of his wine. “Yes, I noticed that.”
“He also makes amazing custom furniture.”
Shane’s glare intensified. His personal shit was off limits here. What game was she playing at?
“I noticed you don’t have any furniture in your kitchen yet, Celia.”
They all glanced into the empty space.
“No, I haven’t been able to find the right table. They’re either too small or too wide or…” she shrugged. “I’m not sure if we’ll find anything we like.”
“You should get Shane to design something for you.” Bobbi smiled widely. “He just built Logan Forest a gorgeous harvest table.”
Celia nodded slowly, “I might do that.”
Bobbi, who was sitting to his right, took a sip of wine and leaned close to him, though her eyes were on Celia and he thought she whispered something.
It took a moment for his brain to catch up to his ears. Wait. Did she just say commando?
“You better put an order in soon because I know he’s already got several to work on, including something for Logan’s parents and Doctor Newley.”
“I didn’t know you started your own business, Shane.” Celia said, smiling toward her husband. “Isn’t that wonderful, James?”
His father’s eyes were on him, their depths unreadable. Christ, here we go.
“Commando.”
What? He darted a look at Bobbi and shifted in his seat. Were his ears playing tricks on him?
“Shane works for Logan Forest,” James answered his wife, his eyes still on Shane before he turned to Celia. “He builds motorcycles these days.”
“Oh,” Celia said, her fingers grasped around the stem of her wine glass like it was a lifeline. She had abstained from the alcohol and instead was sipping on water. “But if you love making furniture Shane, why don’t you open your own business?” She glanced from Shane to her husband. “You have your inheritance. There shouldn’t be any issues.”
Shane’s eyes were on his father’s. “Well, there is actually,” he said with a smile. “The whole parole thing does have its limitations.”
“Oh,” Celia said, gulping some water. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”
Shane shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. It is what it is. I make furniture in my spare time. I like using my hands. Keeping busy.”
“And he paints,” Bobbi said cheekily, before she leaned close to him and coughed.
