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“I thought you wanted grandbabies?” Papa said innocently. “Unless Nacio accidentally knocks someone up, Piper’s your best chance of getting them in the next decade. I’m just trying to give you what you want,cuore mio.”
Mamma shook her head with an exasperated sigh, and I was pretty sure I heard her mutter “charmer” under her breath. She put down the makeup brush and looked back to examine her work. “You look lovely, sweetheart.”
“Thank you.” I stood from the couch and grabbed my purse. “I’ll see you both later.”
“Have fun and say hi to Shawn for me,” Mamma called after me as I left the living room in search of my whatever-he-was.
I found Sam in the dining room, a laptop open on one end of the large glass-top table. It had one of those privacy screens where it looked black unless you were looking at it head-on, so I had no idea what he was working on.
“You ready to go?” He shut the laptop and slipped it into a briefcase.
“Yep.”
He stood, and his fingers made their way to my hips as he leaned down and pressed a kiss to my hair. “You look gorgeous.”
“Thanks. Mamma’s had a lot of practice with makeup.” Growing up in a family that hosted more balls and galas than the Bridgertons would do that to a person.
“I wasn’t talking about the makeup,” Sam said. “I was talking aboutyou.” His hands left my hips, and he threaded his fingers through mine.
Thomas and Shawn weren’t there yet when we got to the bar where we were meeting them. Sam and I sat at a small table near the front door.
Despite it being halfway through September, the door was propped open, letting in the cool night air and the smell of cigarettes from the city streets outside.
I took in our surroundings while Sam perused the drink menu. The bar wasn’t nearly as nice as Youngblood in my opinion, but I could respect Thomas wanting to leave the building he worked and lived in for our night out. Tables crowded most of the open floor space. A long bar took up one of the side walls, with three bartenders and a row of TV screens behind it. Only about half the stools were filled. This seemed to be a place where people came as a group rather than alone to sit at the bar. The lights were bright and the noise level was high. At least the sound of voices drowned out the less-than-wonderful music that was pumped through the speakers.
“We’re going to need a bigger table when Shawn and Thomas get here,” I said.
“If you see one open up, let me know,” Sam answered without looking up from the list of drinks. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and nothing will so we can go somewhere else.”
I lifted my hand to my lips to hide my smile. He didn’t even bother to lower his voice. Sam’s lack of caring what was polite or what anyone around him thought was one of my favorite things about him. He made me feel like I didn’t have to care either, and I never had to worry about embarrassing him since he was immune to the opinions of others and, by extension, embarrassment.
He tossed the single-sheet menu in front of me. “See anything you want?”
I flipped the menu over to the cocktail section. I was still trying to decide between a Love Potion and a Cape Codder when Shawn’s arms wrapped around my shoulders from behind.
“Sorry we’re late.”
“Thanks for getting a table we can all fit at,” Thomas muttered.
“You see a better table?” Sam drawled, leaning back in his chair and slipping a toothpick between his teeth.
Thomas rolled his eyes before leaving us alone. He caught a waitress, his hand resting on her upper arm. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but his smile was soft and sexy as hell. The poor waitress didn’t stand a chance. They both looked in our direction, and I saw her nod.
“I found us a table,” Thomas said when he returned to us.
“How convenient,” Sam said dryly.
Fifteen minutes later, the four of us were sitting in a booth with drinks and a bucket of homemade potato chips on the table in front of us.
“I think I figured out why you chose this place,” I said, snagging another chip. “These are the best potato chips I’ve ever tasted.” They were the perfect level of crispy with a blend of spices I couldn’t place.
“If I get the recipe for the chips and start serving them at the bar in Youngblood, can we never come back here?” Sam asked.
“What do you have against this place?” Shawn asked. “It’s nice, simple. It reminds me of somewhere that I could have gone to back home.”
“That’s what’s wrong with it,” Thomas answered, pressing a kiss to Shawn’s palm. “Sam doesn’t like places that don’t have that city flare. They also don’t serve his brand of bourbon here.”
Sam glared at Thomas, who seemed to be immune. Jules had looked like he wanted to run and hide when Sam had givenhimthat glare earlier this week.
