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Lu is quiet as she runs a hand over the cover of Chrissy Tiegen’s latest release. Giada smiles at us from the next cover, holding up a bowl of pasta.
Lu opens Gwyneth Paltrow’s cookbook. Flips through the glossy pages. Still quiet, eyes a little unfocused.
My pulse begins to march. “You not like them, or . . .”
“Of course I like them.” Lu glances at me over her shoulder. That’s when I see she’s crying. “Riley, I love them. I love that you thought of me, and that you did this because you . . .” She wipes away a tear. “You care about my dreams in a way no one else ever has. Hell.” She laughs. “You might care about those dreams more than I do.”
I wrap my arms around her waist and drop my head into the crook of her shoulder. “That’s not true,” I murmur against her neck.
She reaches up to play with my hair. “Thank you. Sincerely. This is . . . so thoughtful and, like, ridiculously extravagant. How the hell did you get them all delivered on the same day you ordered them?”
“I know a guy.”
She laughs. “Of course you do.”
On our cruise back home, I’m not at all surprised to see Mom and Marsha waving to us from the deck at Stede’s. Tom goes wild, barking his head off in a bid to get their attention. I see Mom laugh. Marsha smiles.
“Mom’s wife,” I explain.
Lu waves back to them. “You said your mom remarried. I’m happy for her. She was always so kind. She deserves someone great.”
“Marsha is definitely great. Mostly because she makes my mom laugh a lot.”
Lu looks at me. “Should we have them over for some food?”
Tom whines. His version of pretty please.
“I already sent Kurt home with the leftovers from the party—”
“I’ll make something.”
My stomach dips. “You really don’t have to.”
“I want to.” She puts a hand on my chest. “You go get them. I’ll grab one of those cookbooks you got me, then I’ll see what you have in your kitchen.”
Butterflies.
I feel fucking butterflies at Lu’s invitation. Her eagerness to hang with my mom and her wife.
And yeah, the fact that she’s making herself at home on my boat sure as hell don’t hurt either. I see it now, how she asks Tom to head to the kitchen with her, promising him a bite of whatever she makes as a reward.
Stay forever, I want to tell her.
“Okay,” is what I say instead.
Doesn’t take much convincing to get Mom and Marsha to follow me back to Dolly for a late dinner made by Lu Wade.
Marsha puts a hand on my shoulder as we walk down the dock. “So Lu is . . .”
I laugh. “An old friend, like Mom said.”
“Only you’ve never invited us over to meet an ‘old friend’,” Mom replies.
“Lu is a special old friend.”
Marsha wags her eyebrows. “Special friends are the best.”
“They are,” Mom adds with a grin. “Especially if they make my son smile like that.”
“Like what?” I ask, despite the fact that my face hurts from smiling so hard.
“Like you just got laid,” Marsha says. “Multiple times, if I had to guess.”
Mom laughs. “I don’t want to know!”
“What? We all see it. I’m just saying it.”
I hear the whirr of a blender as I help Mom and Marsha onto Dolly. Lu must’ve figured out the sound system too, because Alanis Morrisette is playing softly in the background.
“Y’all hang tight!” Lu calls. “I’ll be right there with an appy.”
Mom looks at me as she takes a seat at the open-air table on Dolly’s deck. “I remember Lu liked to cook. But she must be a very special friend if you’ve let her take over your kitchen.”
I run a hand over the back of my neck. I can’t stop smiling no matter how hard I try. “How ’bout I pour y’all some wine?”
“Sounds great,” Marsha replies.
I head down the stairs at the same moment Lu is heading up, Tom at her heels. Our eyes meet and she grins. She’s holding a pitcher of something red and a stack of plastic cups. In the light of the cabin, I can make out a smattering of new freckles on her nose and cheeks. All thanks to a day spent in the sun.
“Gazpacho, courtesy of my favorite, the one and only Ina.” She holds up the pitcher. Tom sees Mom and Marsha and bolts onto the deck. “I remember your mom being a big tomato fan. Those tomato sandwiches she’d make us? So good.”
I can’t.
I can’t fucking stand her. Her sweetness. Her lips, still swollen from all the making out we’ve done today.
Her radiance when she talks about the things—people—she loves.
I grab her chin and give her a quick, hard kiss. I slip my tongue inside the seam of her lips. She licks into mine, sending a stab of desire straight to my groin.
