Page 30 of Love on the Edge
"You mean the movies that take an hour just to get out of the damn Shire?" Ryan fires back.
"You have no taste," Nina chimes in, stabbing a piece of chicken. "The Dark Knighttrilogy is superior."
Dad shakes his head, unimpressed, as he spoons mashed potatoes onto his plate. "Kids these days don’t know what a real movie is.Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.That’s cinema."
I smirk, glancing at Valeria, who has barely said a word, just quietly observing the chaos. She’s eating, but slower, taking small bites, like she’s still deciding how she feels about the atmosphere. Or maybe the company.
"What do you think, Val?" I ask.
She looks up, eyes flicking between them all like she’s analyzing a competition. "Objectively?Lord of the Rings.But I’d rather not start a war at the dinner table."
Ryan groans dramatically, tossing his fork onto his plate. "Et tu, Valeria?"
Nina grins, passing her the basket of rolls. "You’ll fit in just fine."
She hesitates for a beat before taking one, fingers brushing lightly against mine as I reach for the same basket. She doesn’t pull away immediately, and neither do I.
"You always this diplomatic?" I ask, voice low enough that only she hears.
She lifts a brow, the ghost of a smirk playing at the corner of her lips. "When necessary. But I can argue with the best of them."
"I don’t doubt that," I murmur, watching the way she studies me, like she’s still figuring me out.
She shifts slightly, pushing her plate forward, finished eating but still lingering. "Do you always ask deep, thought-provoking questions over dinner?"
I huff a quiet laugh. "Nah. Sometimes we discuss life’s biggest mysteries, like whyDie Hardis obviously a Christmas movie or how Ryan ever passed the bar exam."
"Because I’m brilliant," Ryan calls out, clearly eavesdropping.
"Debatable," Drew mutters, dodging a playful jab from Ryan.
Val shakes her head, amused, but there’s something softer in her expression now. She’s relaxed—just a little. I don’t know what I expected when she agreed to come tonight, but seeing her here, actually engaging, is… nice.
She catches me watching her and tilts her head. "What?"
"Nothing," I say, shaking my head. "Just glad you’re here."
Her gaze flickers before she looks away. She doesn’t seem uncomfortable. Just thoughtful.
The conversation shifts again, the table still alive with debate and laughter. But for the first time tonight, I feel like Valeria isn’t just an observer.
Dinner winds down, plates empty except for a few stray bites of mashed potatoes and the last roll CC is still eyeing. I lean back, full, content, until my gaze drifts across the table.
Valeria’s plate barely looks touched.
The others had second helpings, clearing their plates without thinking twice. Hers? A few scraps of lettuce, a couple of berries, nothing else. No dressing, no toppings, nothing that makes a meal feel like a meal.
I frown, watching as she pushes the last piece of fruit around with her fork before setting it down like she’s finished.
Like that was enough.
I don’t say anything yet. But my appetite isn’t as strong anymore.
"Boys, go in the living room while we clean," Mom says.
"Not happening, Mom," I say. "You cooked. We clean. Go relax."
We start clearing the table, passing plates, stacking dishes, the usual post-dinner routine we’ve done a hundred times before. Someone washes, someone dries, someone half-jokingly complains about the mess. It’s quick, efficient, and second nature when you grew up around here.
