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“It smells delicious, ma’am. I haven’t had a home cooked meal in a long time.” Vincent gives her a giant smile. How come he can be all nice to her, but with me he’s short? What the heck did I do to ruffle his feathers?
“None of that ma’am stuff. Eden will do just fine.”
“Eden.” He gives her a nod.
“Damn, woman. It smells good in here!” my dad announces as he enters the house. A second later, he appears behind my mom. He spins her around, planting a kiss on her. I groan when he grabs her ass. A girlish laughter bubbles up from my mom. A laugh that only my dad can get from her. I should be used to this by now. I swear those two grow deeper in love as the years go by.
“Let’s eat while it’s hot.” She pats Dad on his chest so he lets her go.
“You made brisket,” Biscuit moans when he enters the dining room next.
“I did, now sit,” Mom orders. I dart back into the kitchen to grab the last platter of food. When I come back, I notice Vincent is in my chair. It doesn’t have my name on it, but it’s where I always sit. I don’t say anything; instead, I grab the one next to it, sitting down with everyone else.
Dad reaches for the food, serving Mom first. That’s our cue that we can all dig in. It’s something we’ve always done. Mom cooks, and Dad serves her first. When I was younger, I thought it was silly, but as I’ve gotten older, I realize how sweet and respectful it is.
I blame both of them for me being single. They have set the bar so high that it’s almost impossible that I’ll ever find someone that lives up to it. I don’t even try to blame my brother and all the threats he handed out before he left to all the boys and men in town. Nope, it’s my parents. I see what is possible, and I’m not going to settle.
Mom and Dad pepper Vincent and Biscuit with questions. I try to pay attention to them, but I can’t help but sneak peeks over at Vincent. I swear I caught him doing the same to me.
“You got a girl back home?” Now that snaps me back to the conversation.
“Yes!” Biscuit answers for him and rather quickly. Mom huffs. The few bites I’ve taken of my food sour in my stomach. Vincent glares over at my brother. I wonder for a second if my brother only said that so my mom doesn’t try to set him up. She loves trying to play matchmaker.
Vincent's thigh brushes against mine under the table. A lick of heat shoots through my body. The hell? My phone starts to vibrate against my ass. I pull it out to check to see who’s calling.
“Hey! She’s got her phone at the table.” My brother reverts back to his teenage tattletale self as I pull it out. Some things never change.
“I’m allowed to have it because of my job.” I stick my tongue out at him. I can act like a teenager too. It’s not my job, though. Melody’s name shows on the screen. “I’ve got to take this,” I say, standing from my seat.
“Are you still on call?” is the first question out of her mouth.
“Nope.”
“Drinks?”
“Yes! Give me twenty. I have to finish this family dinner or my parents will give me hell, then I’ll slip out,” I tell her before I head back inside to the dinner table. My mind is still wondering if Vincent really has a girl of his own. If he does, then he’s a shit boyfriend. Why is he here and not with her?
CHAPTER5
VINCENT
I eatwhat feels like ten pounds of brisket. I wipe my mouth. “Best meal I’ve had in a decade. You’re an amazing cook, Mrs. Charles. If your husband wasn’t sitting there with a knife in his hand, I’d throw you over my shoulder and run off with you. Vegas is only a plane flight away.”
Frank lets out a loud groan while Mr. Charles tightens his grip on the steak knife. “Best put that thought away, son, if you want to eat at the table tomorrow.”
“Dad’s just kidding,” inserts Emma. “Right, Dad?”
He doesn’t answer. At his silence, Mrs. Charles whacks him with her napkin. “You let the boy give me my flowers.” She frames the side of his face with a palm. “Go on. You were saying?”
I grin. “I live to eat, ma’am, so I’m going to keep my mouth zipped, but know that there are only good things going on up here.” I tap the side of my head.
Mr. Charles growls a little while Mrs. Charles laughs with pure joy. “Benson Charles, I did raise you right. Look at the delightful friend you brought home.”
“You make Vincent sound like he’s some neutered pup I found at the shelter and not some fighter pilot whose call sign is Frankenstein,” Frank grumbles.
I kick him under the table to warn him that he can keep the meaning of my call sign to himself. It’s not a topic that we should be discussing at the dinner table. I don’t want them thinking of me differently.
“You’re still a young boy to me,” coos Mrs. Charles. She gives me a wink and then gets up to clear the dishes. I hop to my feet to help. This earns me another beaming smile from Frank’s mom and an equally fierce frown from Frank’s dad.
