by L. A. Witt
A tall man stepped out of the restaurant’s front door, and just like I’d zeroed in on Andreas’s mom, I knew instantly this was his father. Fatigue radiated off him, probably from traveling this morning. Or maybe just from at least forty-some-odd years with Louise. What pinged my radar, though, were the eyes. Andreas had definitely inherited his father’s intensely focused blue eyes.
Andreas smiled more warmly at the sight of his dad. “Hey, Dad.” They did one of those manly handshake-hug things, and then Andreas touched my shoulder. “This is Darren. Darren, my dad—Joe.”
“Nice to meet you, sir.” I tried to hide my nerves as I offered a handshake.
He took it, clapping my shoulder as he did. “Good to meet you too. And call me Joe. Nobody calls me sir.”
I smiled as we shook hands. Andreas’s personality was quickly beginning to make sense. His dad was friendly and warm. His mom was . . . his mom. Mix those together, and you got Andreas—not overly patient, not overly warm, but with a kind heart. He could be a real asshole when he wanted to be, but he’d give the shirt off his back to a stranger and walk through fire for someone he loved.
“Well?” Louise demanded. “What did the manager say?”
Joe made a placating gesture, and in an even tone—one I recognized from Andreas using it on his kids—said, “They’re setting it right now.”
She huffed like she’d been looking for a fight and was disappointed it wasn’t happening. “Did they say why there was such a delay?”
Such a delay? I arched an eyebrow, but quickly schooled my expression. Fifteen minutes is “such a delay”?
“They had a waitress call in sick and a larger party stayed longer than they expected,” Joe said with unwavering patience. “They’re working on it, dear.”
Louise sniffed, and I could also see where Andreas had gotten his scowl. “We have a reservation. I don’t want excuses.”
“Mom.” Andreas sounded just like his dad. “They’re working on it. It isn’t like we have to be anywhere after this. Just relax, all right?”
They exchanged near-lethal glares.
Before either of them could argue, the buzzer in Joe’s hand lit up. So did his expression. He waved the glowing plastic square. “Looks like they’re ready for us.”
Louise muttered something. Andreas rolled his eyes, and I thought I felt more than heard a low growl escape him.
As we filed into the restaurant, I slipped my hand into his and gave a little squeeze. He turned to me and offered a faint, apologetic smile. I squeezed again, hoping my smile was more convincing.
“You’ll be fine,” I whispered under my breath. “They leave on Monday, remember?”
Andreas exhaled. “Oh thank God.”
I laughed. He did too, elbowing me playfully, and we continued across the restaurant behind his parents.
While the waitress took our drink orders, I stole the opportunity to surreptitiously compare Joe and Andreas side by side, and . . . yep. That was my future father-in-law. He was an inch or so shorter than Andreas, and he had more lines, but the angle of his jaw, the shape of his nose, the way he set his shoulders—it was like looking into Andreas’s future. Full head of hair too. Entirely gray, which might have been genetics and might have been marriage, but his hairline hadn’t receded at all. Nice.
Andreas eyed me. “What?”
I blinked. “What?”
His eyebrow arched, and I realized I’d been grinning.
I quickly sobered. “Nothing.”
The eyebrow didn’t move.
“So, Darren.” Louise’s voice made me sit straighter. I fought the urge to swallow as I met her steely eyes across the table. And damn if she didn’t do the same eyebrow thing her son did. It wasn’t nearly as endearing, though, especially when she coolly said, “I’m very curious about what happened to your eye.”
I swear I could feel Andreas gritting his teeth beside me. Out of habit, I put my hand on his leg under the table. Usually that calmed him down, but the muscles turned to steel, and I realized a second too late that his mother’s laser focus had shifted to my arm. Her lips thinned with palpable disapproval.
Clearing my throat, I withdrew my hand and folded my arms on the edge of the table. “It was, uh, just a suspect who got riled up.”
“I see.” Her gaze shifted to Andreas. “And where were you during all of this? I thought the two of you were partners.”
“We are.” Andreas touched my leg just like I’d done to his a moment ago, and his eyes dared his mother to say anything about it. When he spoke, his voice was even but icy. “Darren is faster than I am. He chased the suspect down and tackled him.”
“Nicely done!” Joe beamed. “You give as good as you got, kid?”
I didn’t even mind that he’d called me kid, and chuckled. “I got in a few hits, yeah.” I gave Andreas an affectionate nudge with my elbow and didn’t bother looking to see if Louise disapproved. “Probably would’ve gotten in a few more if somebody hadn’t shown up and put the fear of God into him.”
“Oh yeah?” Joe asked with a laugh.
“Yeah. This guy pulls a gun and uses his cop voice, and pretty much everybody does what they’re told.”
Joe laughed again, heartier this time. “That’s my boy.”
Andreas . . . actually blushed. And it was fucking adorable.
I couldn’t resist. “Seriously, you should see it. He gets someone cornered and tells them to jump, they all say, ‘How high?’”
“If you’d known him as a boy, you’d never have believed that.”
“Dad,” Andreas said in a warning tone.
Joe gestured dismissively. “Oh relax.” To me, he said, “He was about as shy as they came when he was a kid. I was worried about him, honestly. Took him to self-defense classes because he wouldn’t stand up to the kids that were bullying him.”
“Bullying—” I blinked. “Bullying him?”
Andreas’s cheeks were so red they were probably visible from orbit.
“Oh, he was picked on all through school,” Joe continued. “I told him to stand up for himself, but he was too shy.”
My jaw was hanging open. “What . . . what changed?”
“Growth spurt,” Andreas said into his water glass. “When we came back to school in seventh grade, I was suddenly taller than everyone. And bigger.” He shrugged. “They backed off.”
“And you finally had a backbone.” Louise hadn’t spoken in a while, and her interjection cooled the nostalgic warmth at the table. “You learned to speak up and not let them walk all over you.” Most parents would be proud of that. She sounded like she was still annoyed it had taken him so long.
Joe sighed and, like Andreas, sought some refuge in his glass.
I glanced around, trying to figure out how to lighten the mood again. Finally, I nudged Andreas. “This is karma, you know.”
He looked at me, eyes wide. “What?”
“For being so thrilled when my mom showed you pictures of me trying to grow facial hair.”
Andreas laughed. Like, really laughed. He took his hand off my leg, wrapped his arm around my shoulders, and kissed my cheek right there in front of his mom. “But you were so cute with all that nonexistent peach fuzz.”
My face burned, but it was worth it to have him smiling again. The sacrifices I made for the man I loved.
Joe seemed to go with it too. He relaxed, and after a moment, gestured at his eye. “Darren, did my boy ever tell you about his first shiner as a cop?”
I sat up. “No.”
Andreas groaned, and now I was definitely intrigued.
Joe smirked. “That was, what, eight months after you got out of the academy?”
“Six,” Andreas muttered.
“Right. Six.” Joe shook his head and laughed. “He was on a call for . . . a noise complaint, wasn’t it?”
Andreas nodded, rolling his eyes.
“After they’d taken care of it, he and his FTO were talking to the homeowners, and their dog com
es into the room. Andreas went to pet it, and it jumped up . . .” Joe made a gesture like he was punching himself in the face. “Clocked him right in the eye.”
I laughed, clapping a hand over my mouth. “You got a black eye from a dog?”
Andreas glared at me, but even he chuckled. “To be fair, she was a big dog. And the owner said she was friendly.” He shrugged. “I just didn’t think she was that friendly.”
“That’s . . . insanely adorable. Just FYI.”
His cheeks got redder. Which was even cuter. I suddenly wanted his dad to come up with more embarrassing stories just so I could watch Andreas squirm.
But then Louise reminded me she was still here. “Your timing could have been better with that black eye.” She tsked. “His cousin was getting married two weeks later, and Andreas was a groomsman. Every single picture . . . that damn black eye.”
“Oh come on, Louise.” Joe sighed. “Everyone thought it was funny. Did you hear all the stories people came up with to explain it? It was like a game.”
Andreas laughed dryly. “I still think my favorite is that the stripper head-butted me when she jumped out of the cake at the bachelor party.”
We all laughed. Louise didn’t.
“It wasn’t funny,” she spat. “It was embarrassing, and looked terrible in the wedding photos.”
Joe and Andreas both deflated.
The waitress rescued us by showing up with our drinks. “And have we decided on what we’re going to eat?”
Wait . . . we hadn’t even ordered yet?
Oh God. This was going to be the longest dinner ever.
“Pregaming already?”
Glass in hand, I glared across the kitchen at Darren.
He came closer, holding out his own hand and making a “give it to me” gesture. I ground my teeth, drawing my glass back protectively.
Rolling his eyes, he pushed out an exasperated breath. “Not the glass, idiot.” He reached past me for the bottle.
With a laugh, I opened the cabinet, which was closer to me, and got an empty glass for him. “And here I thought you were going to try to cut me off.”
He snorted. “Yeah right. If I cut you off, you’d cut me off, and . . .” He shook his head as he uncapped the bottle. “I’m about to spend an evening surrounded by people, including colleagues and my future mother-in-law. And that’s after I spent an evening in her insanely pleasant company. You better believe I’m drinking.” He poured a generous amount of bourbon for himself, then held up the glass.
I clinked mine against his, and we threw back our respective drinks. It was tempting as all hell to pour another. Or, well, several more. But the meds I was on didn’t mesh well with too much booze, and Darren’s tolerance was a lot lower than mine. My mother was going to be insufferable enough tonight without the two of us staggering in smelling like we’d had a threesome with Jim Beam.
Darren grimaced, eyes watering a bit. “Jesus. I always forget how strong this shit is.”
I chuckled as I put my glass aside, then reached over and wrapped him up in my arms. “Think it’ll be enough to get us through the evening?”
He put his own drink aside, and when he smiled up at me, it warmed me more than the booze ever would. He slid his hands up my chest. “I think what’s going to get me through the evening is thinking about all the dirty things I plan to do to you when we get home.”
The shiver that ran through me was anything but subtle, and it brought a wicked grin to his lips.
I pulled him closer and kissed him lightly. “Keep talking like that, we might not get to the party at all.”
“So if I told you I wanted to rip off your pants and—”
I kissed him to shut him up. He was obviously trying not to laugh, which in turn made me laugh, so I just pressed my forehead to his and sighed. “You’re making it very tempting to blow off the party and stay home.”
“I know. That’s the idea.”
“Uh-huh. Nice try.”
He laced his fingers behind my neck. “We still have to go, don’t we?”
“We still have to go.”
“Even if skipping it means having the kind of crazy sex that’s probably illegal in a few states?”
I smoothed his hair and kissed him again. “As hot as that would be . . . No.”
“You suck.”
“So I’ve been told.” I tipped his chin up and went in for a long, gentle kiss that made me seriously reconsider my stance on the party.
About the time I was on the verge of changing my mind, Darren drew back and sighed. “Okay. We’d better get rolling. My mom is probably already trying to knock the restaurant’s doors down so she can decorate.”
I laughed again. “Good idea. Let’s go.”
The restaurant Jessica and Darren had picked out for the engagement party was, I had to admit, impressive as hell. The main dining area downstairs was nothing to write home about, but the room upstairs was gorgeous. It reminded me of something out of a European palace—high ceilings, wide pillars along the walls, enormous paintings and windows flanked by heavy red curtains. Soft classical music played in the background, and it soothed my nerves.
As I watched Jessica, Darren, and the wedding planner fret over table settings, music choices, and how dim the lights should be, it was hard to believe this was just the engagement party. Christ. Would we have to top this for our actual wedding? It all seemed kind of redundant to me, but our respective mothers had insisted.
And I supposed it didn’t hurt to have a dry run of our families and friends in the same room, just to see if there were any factions that needed to be kept apart at the real thing. This was how Marcy and I had discovered that my sister-in-law and my ex-girlfriend couldn’t be within ten feet of each other. After the almost-fistfight at our engagement party, we’d very carefully seated them on opposite sides of the room at the reception, and there hadn’t been any drama. It was also how we’d figured out that perhaps it would be wise to ask the bartenders to be “out” of tequila at the reception. The less said about that, the better, and hell, it was probably just as well my brother and his wife hadn’t been able to make it to this. I didn’t need any conflict.
“Brings back memories, doesn’t it?” My ex-wife’s voice spun me around.
“Marcy. Jesus.” I laughed. “Way to give a man a heart attack right before he gets married.”
She smirked. “Eh, it’s still far enough ahead of the date for Darren to get the deposits refunded.”
“Bitch.”
“Asshole.”
We both laughed, and I hugged her tight. “Thanks for coming. It’s great to see you.”
“You too.” She gave me a squeeze, then let go and met my gaze, smiling. “And I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.”
“You do know my mother is coming, right?”
Marcy wrinkled her nose and rolled her eyes, but then that smirk came back to life. “Fortunately, she’s not my problem anymore.” Nodding in Darren’s direction, she added, “I’m just here to pass the torch.”
I chuckled. “Just don’t tell him what he’s getting himself into, all right? I don’t need a runaway groom.”
Marcy’s eyebrows climbed her forehead. “He’s met her, hasn’t he?”
“Briefly. We had dinner with my parents last night.”
She watched Darren for a moment, then gave a slow nod. “He’s still here, so that’s promising.”
“She was behaving last night,” I muttered.
“Of course she was.” Marcy laughed. “She’ll wait till the first or second Christmas to really let the flying monkeys go.”
I chuckled. The Wicked Witch of the West comparisons had annoyed me when Marcy and I had still been married, but they were funny now. Sort of. “Just don’t tell Darren that last night counted as her behaving. I swear he sprouted a few extra gray hairs before dessert.”
Marcy nodded solemnly. “I won’t tell.” She paused. “Darren’s lucky, though.”
“Yeah? Why’s t
hat?”
“He’ll never have to experience a baby shower with her.”
I burst out laughing. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Because you didn’t have to experience it either.” She rolled her eyes again. Our oldest was almost twenty-five, and I doubted Marcy would ever forgive my mother for the nonstop bitching and badgering at the baby shower. Marcy wasn’t terribly emotional, not even when she’d been drowning in hormones, but she’d come home from that stupid party in tears, and I’d known it had nothing to do with hormones the instant she mentioned my mother. Once she’d collected herself, she’d warned me—threatening life, limb, and the body parts I’d used to get her pregnant in the first place—about my mother knowing when she went into labor.
“That woman comes within five miles of the hospital,” she’d snarled, “and there will be blood, Andreas. Blood.”
Ben had been almost a year old before my mother forgave me for not telling her he’d arrived until after he and Marcy had come home. Worth it.
People were starting to arrive, so Marcy and I shared another brief hug before I went to greet guests with Darren. Before too long, he and I had wound our way through the room and I was once again chatting with my ex-wife, this time with her husband and my fiancé. The guys hadn’t met before tonight, and they hit it off right away, going on about Game of Thrones while Marcy and I quietly sipped our wine. Every so often, she and I exchanged smiles. I wondered if she was as relieved as I was that our partners got along. We had worked hard to maintain a good relationship, and this made it a hell of a lot easier.
As we stood there, I knew the moment my mother walked into the room. My back was to the door, but my ex-wife’s eyes darted in that direction, and no one else on the planet could prompt her to mouth, Oh fuck, before taking a deep swallow of wine.