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CHAPTER36
He’d been caught with Calista by his parents. Ronan jolted backwards, dropping his hands from her waist as if the world press was outside. Heart thumping, he processed the implications, and then his mind shifted, and his posture eased. His parents wouldn’t know her name, and when he explained who she was, they’d be all over setting him straight. Mixing a relationship with business, that was what had gotten him tossed from Washington. This was what he needed, perspective. He touched her cheek. “Can you stay another night?”
“Sure.” Calista beamed up at him with hope in her eyes.
His heart pounded. He needed to tell her he was leaving, but to do so, he had to be able to let her go.
Calista turned her head to the door, her eyebrows arched. “Who’s out there?”
“My parents.”
“Aw, I want to meet your family.” Calista hesitated. “Wait, we’re supposed to be—” she gestured from his chest to hers, “a secret.”
“My parents won’t be a problem.” He needed this. He needed the reminder of home and his goal. He needed his parents take on Calista. His parents always met his girlfriends with open hearts but clear eyes. Their viewpoint aided his, and they would know to smash a front office relationship. He was his own man, but when the people who he respected most in the world spoke, he listened. This would likely sting, but he needed a helping hand out of the chemistry and fascination lake he was swimming in.
Flashes of times past shuttled through his mind. Sure, son, you think Bria wants to stay home with you, but she’s never in town. His mom’s probing questions to his third girlfriend had her admitting she hated hockey. He’d had no clue. With his fourth, he’d learned that she would hate to travel and never come to his games. His fifth didn’t want kids. None of the things had been deal breakers. He’d even stayed longer with two of them, but once one truth came out, others had followed. Those combined lingered in his head, saying they were not right together. Ronan needed that now.
Because on a very real level, Ronan knew, clear as the Texas sun shined, that Calista was no ideal hockey wife. He just needed his parents to tease out the one critical flaw that would topple his fascination. The one that would erase her vanilla scent from his mind and creamy skin from his tongue, because his body and his common sense were warring. Normal for a man, but his future, his life picture – that was the stuff on the line here, that’s what he was risking.
“Are you going to let them in?” Calista whispered.
Ronan hurried to the door and let his parents inside. Dad carried two overnight bags that Ronan took from him and set on the stairs.
After the hugs and introductions were over, Mom turned to Calista. “You must think we’re the worst, showing up as a surprise like this, but we had a longing to see our boy. And it’s just an overnight. We’ll watch the game and be home for bridge tomorrow evening.”
Calista nodded. “Of course, you’re family.”
“Have you had dinner?” Mom headed to the kitchen. “No, of course not.” She answered her own question. “Ronan looks like he’s starving.” Mom went to the fridge and waved to Calista. “My boy loves a home-cooked meal. Come help me.”
Calista’s eyes went wide.
This was good, very good. They all headed to the kitchen, and Dad sank down into the dining room chair with easy familiarity. Ronan leaned against the peninsula.
Calista trailed Mom. After digging through the fridge, Mom said, “I’m thinking turkey Dijon casserole.” Mom set out ingredients for the dish she had in mind on the dark quartz countertop. “Healthy, but a tad indulgent.” Mom held out the carton of eggs to Calista. “We’ll need four in the small mixing bowl.”
Calista got a bowl from the cupboard and centered it on the counter in front of her. She freed an egg from the Styrofoam carton and balanced the end in her palm. She tilted her head, and Ronan knew she was feeling the wobble, but from here, he couldn’t see what she was looking at. He leaned against the edge of the counter. A tiny white feather stuck to the brown surface.
Calista stared at it, transfixed. “There’s a feather on the shell.” She sounded appalled.
His mom plucked the egg from her, ran it under the running water, and cracked the shell with one hand, and then quickly added the other three to the bowl. Mom nodded to the measuring cup. “Fill that with almond milk.” Mom’s every comment was a test, though Calista didn’t know it. Would Calista argue about the type of milk or praise the healthy choice to suck up?
Calista measured the milk into a clear glass measuring cup. “To the line, even with the middle, or above?”
Mom shook her head, took it from Calista, splashed the milk in, and then poured the liquid into the bowl. “Why don’t you set the table, dear?” Her voice said it all. Setting the table was men’s work, in her opinion.
Ronan breathed easier. Calista hadn’t morphed into a five-star chef in front of his eyes, his adolescent dream woman. She’d surprised him so many times, that even though he knew she couldn’t cook, he wouldn’t have been shocked if she’d exceeded his expectations.
Calista washed her hands and went to the silverware drawer with almost a skip. Yes, this was what he needed, but damned if Calista’s scurrying feet and relieved expression weren’t making him smile. He moved over to help Mom, falling into an old routine by her side. Mom was traditional, but she enjoyed him helping.
Calista went chair by chair, laying out the flatware while eying him. “You cook?” Her voice was shocked and her green eyes admiring.
He liked that. She wore that expression to varying degrees when he was on the ice, or they were in bed. Nice to know his other skills could provoke it. He’d definitely cook a full meal for her sometime, the two of them, candlelight, music, the works.
“He’s single, he has to,” his mom said. “He can’t only eat out.”
Calista shrugged. “We mostly do, supports local businesses.” Calista sat across the table from Dad, who’d been checking sports scores on his phone. She put her heels on the edge of her chair and wrapped her arms around her knees. She was always more comfortable in small groups. “Tell me about Ronan.”
“Great kid,” Dad said, putting his phone down.
