The room laughs, including Goldie, who’s smiling wider. It’s like a scene from a movie. Something semi-wholesome and heartwarming. And nothing I’ve ever experienced.
I motion my chin toward her mom. “What I was saying is that you remind me of her because you’re both dry and witty. And you make people feel warm around you. You’re like cozy people.”
Goldie plays with the button just under my collar, staring up from under those long lashes.
“Am I your blankie?” She swipes her tongue over her bottom lip, collecting a drop of red wine.
I chuckle. “Something like that.”
Glancing up to make sure nobody’s looking, I lean in and whisper in her ear, “Now that I’ve passed meet-the-parents, do I get to do dirty shit to their daughter?”
She shivers. “Maybe . . .”
“Why maybe?” I protest, pulling back and staring into her eyes.
She shrugs, and it’s all the foreshadowing I need to know she’s flirting with me.
“Because they were so easy on you. I was kind of hoping they’d believe my sister and put you on the stand. Really grill ya. Peel back the oni—”
I raise my brows, and she changes her direction. “Artichoke.”
“Thank you.” I quietly clear my throat as she mouths, “You’re welcome.”
“But I wonder if Camilla and Stephen know what a bully their daughter is. I should take my present back now that you’ve outed your true self.”
She feigns surprise. “‘Camilla and Stephen’? Really?”
I nod with audacious confidence. “Yeah, we’re best friends now. Duh. I’ve seen all the Facebook albums.”
She laughs, and I memorize it. Her palm touches my chest.
“Yeah, I’m sorry about that. Mom really loves those roses. And don’t you dare threaten to take away my beautiful journal. How else will I record one of my many genius thoughts that will eventually lead to my literary greatness?”
I chuckle quietly. “So humble.”
Her tongue runs just over her canine tooth as she grins with a small shoulder pop. Damn, when she flirts like this, it drives me wild.
“Baby, that’s nothing I’ve ever aspired to be.”
Before I can ask if her aspirations align with my dirty thoughts, her dad disrupts the moment.
“Noah, I don’t know if my daughter told you, but I have this rule ...”
Oh shit. I suddenly feel like I’ve been caught in my underwear half out her bedroom window.
“No, sir. What’s that?”
Goldie laughs because I’m back to “sir” just as Evie throws her hands up, griping over their dad’s Scrabble word.
“‘Caziques.’ That’s three hundred and ninety-two points,” he says with a grin before turning his attention back to me.
“As I was saying. We started this tradition back when the girls would come home to us every school break. They were notorious for bringing home friends.”
I teasingly cut my eyes at Goldie when he says “friends,” grinning when she elbows my ribs.
Stephen chuckles, winking at her as he continues. “We asked they share what traditions are dear to them, whether it’s prayer or a dish they love. We like to incorporate small acts to make people feel at home. I’m a firm believer that family is a choice you make”—his gaze moves to Goldie, and there’s so much love—“so anyone under a Monroe roof becomes ours. So, tell us. How can we make you family tonight?”
My lips part, but nothing comes out. Because, damn. I feel like I’ve been sucker punched. That’s nothing I expected him to say, and I feel unprepared to answer.
