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“That’s easy for you to say. You look good in your apron breaking down a side of beef,” I tell him.
“How baby? It’s your parents,” he says looking at me like I have grown an extra head. “When you meet my parents, I don’t care how I look. They have seen me at my worse.”
“Ugh, does anything get to you?”
“Not really. Life is too short to let things get me upset. Come on, let’s go,” he says, grabbing my arm and literally dragging me out the house.
My stomach is in my throat when Jaasiel opens my door after we park in my parents’ driveway. My feet barely touch the driveway before the front door swings open, and my mother steps out on the porch.
“What is taking you so long,” Partricia King says looking at me in exacerbation.
“Momma, he just stopped the car.”
“Hush, girl, and you must be Jaasiel.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replies, holding my hand in one hand and the caramel cake he made in the other.
“Is that for me?”
“Yes, ma’am. Parker mentioned your love of all things caramel, so I whipped up a little cake for you.”
“You made it? You didn’t buy it?”
Jaasiel cuts his eyes at me so hard I am tempted to make sure I am not cut somewhere.
“No, ma’am, I made this with my own two hands,” he says with a knowing smile. I did not tell my parents that Jaasiel cooked because I did not want them pressuring him to cook, that is his safe space, and I won’t let anyone encroach on that.
“We’ll see about that,” my mom says. “I am not sure if you can cook, but I am sure you are a handsome devil. I can see what my daughter sees in you.”
“Umm, thank you?” he says with a questioning lilt.
“Are you out there flirting again, Trixie?” my dad asks from the doorway.
“You know I only have eyes for you, Kerring,” she says without missing a beat.
“So, you are the infamous Jaasiel,” my dad says to Jaasiel.
“Yes sir, I guess I am, although I am not sure what that means,” He says, taking my dad’s hand in a shake.
“Oh wow! It smells amazing in here; what do you have cooking?” he says walking towards the smells leading him to the kitchen.
“Jaa!” I call him. “No, you are not about to get lost in the kitchen with my mother!”
“And why can’t he? Come on, young man, I’ll show you where to put the cake,” she says, taking his hand to lead him to the kitchen. Huffing out a breath because I know I will not see him again. “Watch it, young lady!” My mom admonishes me.
“Yes, ma’am,” I reply immediately because I am not too old to get a whooping, and I do not want that smoke.
“I have never seen you so happy, not even before,” my dad says.
“Daddy, we do not talk about that other time,” I very gently remind my dad.
“I know, ladybug; I am just making an observation that it seems like he makes you very happy,” he says, studying me.
“He does, Daddy, he really does,” I say, blushing.
“And your mother must like him since she hasn’t kicked him out of her kitchen.”
“True.”
