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She gives me her condescending big sister look as she walks past me to the terrace doors. “Sure it is.” She walks out onto the terrace and puts her hands on her hips the same way our mom does when she’s checking something out. “It’s not too bad, but I’m going to make some adjustments.”
She spends about fifteen minutes changing out the candles and then rearranging the flowers. Everything does look just a little bit better now that she’s tweaked it. The napkins are even folded nicely. The table’s cape looks like something out of one of our home and garden magazines. It’s why I called her here, for her expertise in design.
“Okay,” she dusts her hands off, “my work here is done. Enjoy your night with Claire.” She gives me a kiss on the cheek. “Tell Connor soon.”
I nod and follow her back in. I slide the veggies in the oven before I go upstairs to shower and change real quick. I grab a green t-shirt and a pair of jeans. I don’t bother with a watch or shoes or socks. We’re just staying in all night.
I pull the steaks out, season them, grab a beer, and go out on the terrace. Claire texted that she was on her way while I was in the shower, so she should be here soon. I hear the elevator as I’m putting the steaks on the grill. When I walk into the kitchen, she’s standing at the island. Her hair is down in loose waves, and she’s wearing a simple white sundress. If she’s wearing makeup, I can’t tell; her natural beauty just radiates out from her.
“Hi,” she says with a saucy wink. “I’ve never seen you like this.” She points up and down at me. “Barefoot, casual, and cooking. You’re like a normal mortal right now.”
“I hope that’s a good thing.” I pull her to me and kiss her. I meant for it to be a short peck, but it snowballs into a slow and deep kiss, both us moaning into the other’s mouth. The oven timer going off is the only thing that could have stopped us.
“Go on out on the terrace. I’ll be out in a second.”
I dump the vegetables into a bowl and grab a bottle of red wine. I set them on the table and look over at Claire. She’s standing at the terrace wall looking out over the city. We’re high enough up here that the street noise is muffled but occasionally a honk or sirens will pierce the air. The moon above her shines down, casting an ethereal halo around her. She looks angelic.
My angel.
My queen.
Pulling the seared steaks from the grill, I plate them. We don’t speak as I set them with all the other food and pour our wine. A comfortable silence hangs between us as I watch her saunter over to the table and sit in the chair I pull out for her.
“Thank you for cooking.” She smiles as she takes a sip of her wine. “I honestly didn’t think you knew how to cook. I definitely don’t.”
“Yeah, Mom thought it was important for me to learn the basics. Our chef growing up would have all of us help her from time to time. Gwen did come over to help me, though.”
“Ah, that explains the pretty table.”
“I can set a pretty table,” I say with fake offense.
“Not like your sister.”
“Maybe not.” I smile at her over the rim of my glass. “So how was the rest of your day?”
“It was good,” she grimaces, “until it wasn’t. I didn’t know Mom and Dad were back in the city until I got out of the shower and she was sitting in my living room.”
“Oh, how’d that go?”
“About the way you’d expect. She tried to worm her way back in. I said no. She got defensive. I kicked her out.”
I nod slowly, aware that I need to approach this carefully. I really think she needs to consider letting her mom in a bit more, especially with everything going on in her life now. She needs her mom. She needs her dad. She needs Connor. I hope she needs me.
“What’s that look for?” she asks with slightly hardened eyes. She already knows what I’m thinking, I can see it in the way she’s leaning away from me and crossing her leg in the opposite direction of me.
“I’m just wondering if maybe it’d be good for you to have an open line of communication with both of your parents. With the MS and everything…”
“I’m not telling them yet.”
“You need to.”
“After the Midsummer program I’m going to tell them. I just don’t want them to interfere with practice. Just this one opportunity.”
“You’re pushing yourself too hard though.”
“No, I’m not.” Her brow creases in confusion. “How would you even know if I was? It’s not like you watch me practice.” I watch as the realization washes over her. “Wait.” She sits forward with a look of incredulity. “You watch me through the camera, don’t you? You obsessive stalker.”
“I don’t watch all the time.” Lies. I’ve been watching her at practice for weeks. “Just here and there to observe the other dancers. See if anything is off.”
