Grandpa Thompson slipped into the backyard carrying a platter of food while Daniel inched toward me until he stood two feet away, his arms crossed. His biceps tugged at the fabric of his tailored shirt. My insides did all sorts of somersaults. I shivered down to my bones.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, his tone level.
“Your grandparents insisted that I drop by and get some food. I’d planned on getting here earlier and leaving before…”
“Running into me?”
“Yeah.”
“Still avoiding, huh?” he asked sharply.
“I, um, can leave.” I pointed at the hallway behind me like an idiot.
He swallowed, contemplating an answer, which should’ve been an answer in itself. “It might be best.”
Dang if words weren’t sharper than daggers, but what did I expect?
“Unless you want to tell me why you’ve been running from me for six years.”
My body went slack. The truth burned on the tip of my tongue. He deserved to know. It wasn’t fair that he didn’t. But I should’ve spoken up years ago. Let me loose in medical school and residency to tackle the top spot, and I was a bulldog. But leave me to confess why I couldn’t handle things back then, and I was far from tenacious.
How could I tell him? How could I see the hurt and pain unfurl in his eyes?
Oh, gee, Daniel, your father loathes me because you’re too rich for my lower-middle-class, unrefined, immigrant blood. You needed a woman who could fit into your world of business empires and galas and elegant Black society. I could and would never understand your family’s struggles and ambitions and was told that I was a hindrance to your full potential.
Even now my heart ached at his father’s words.
More importantly, had Daniel felt that way? Was that why he never spoke to me about his parents or leading empires or how his family made more in one year than I ever would in my entire life?
Or Gee, Daniel, my aunts are so passively racist that the toxic fumes curled over my family and strangled us? That it sent my mother to the hospital with a heart attack and shoved my father out of the good graces of the one community he felt he fit into? How could I tell Daniel that I chose my parents over him, not because they asked me to but because I couldn’t withstand watching society batter them to pieces? I couldn’t hold his hand and shield my parents at the same time, and the guilt added to the gnawing monster in my head known as anxiety.
Back then, these had seemed like giant, valid, crushing reasons, because I was young and scared and—although it was hard to admit—easily manipulated to cower into myself instead of standing up for myself. But now? I just sounded like a coward, and no coward deserved Daniel Thompson. His father had been right. I wasn’t strong enough for him.
He cocked an eyebrow and waited for an answer.
I frowned. “Now’s not the time.”
“Right. But I heard that a certain person comes with Liya’s apartment, so expect to give an answer soon.”
I swallowed hard, my throat aching. I wished that I could just tell him and get it over with, but not here. “I should’ve given you an answer back then, but let’s not act like you didn’t have something to hide.”
He groaned and rolled his eyes. “Now wait a damn minute. What do you mean by that?”
My gaze followed a couple of caterers passing by, my voice quieting until they were gone so as not to make our argument a spectacle. “You didn’t tell me about…all this.” I waved a hand at everything around us. The lavish food and drinks, the granite and wrought iron, the expensive china plates and heirloom silver, the extravagance.
“My parents’ house?” he asked dryly.
“Don’t play that, Daniel. You lied.”
He let out an exasperated breath. “It was a small lie.”
“It’s the fact that you lied to my face. Several times. And you did it so effortlessly. Did you lie because you didn’t trust me?” And imagine the idiot I felt like when his father was the one to tell me in that condescending voice why I shouldn’t play with fire.
We were starting to make a scene with raised voices and his crossed arms and my flailing ones. “Let’s just forget about this for tonight. I don’t want to upset my grandparents. Things don’t have to be awkward, you know?”
I pinched my brows together. “Do you even remember me?”
He smirked, a bit cocky, a bit sad. “I remember everything.”
He lifted a hand toward the backyard, allowing me to walk ahead before he appeared at my side. He stuffed his hands into his pockets while I tried my best to focus on the doors. Awkward was an understatement. All I wanted was to get away from him—and at the same time, all I wanted was to be glued to his side.
I rubbed my arm, trying to press away the goose bumps skittering across my skin in relentless waves. Why was he walking so close? Why did he smell so good? Like rain and cinnamon.
Daniel cleared his throat, his chest going in and out with heavy breaths. He raised his hand to his neck, maybe to scratch? He used to do that when he was nervous.
Brandy appeared just beyond the sliding double doors, all smiles and looking cute in a dark green knee-length dress. Her dimples were as deep as Daniel’s, her skin shimmering in the evening light.
“You made it!” she said.
“Yeah. Thanks for telling me this was at your parents’ house. And also…a welcome-home party?”
She sucked her teeth. “Yeah, about that…my grandparents made me.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Well, Grandma has a bag of food for you to take home afterward, I kid you not. Complete with an entire pie.”
“Wait a minute.” Daniel’s chest was now a torturous few inches from my back. His warmth seeped through my silk blouse and tingled against my flesh. My brain told me to step away while my body screamed, Merge into him and become a coalesced fusion of sexy flesh.
“Does that mean I’m not getting a pie?” he asked, appalled, while I walked alongside Brandy across the lawn.
She clucked her tongue. “You’re such a grandma’s boy, of course you’re getting your own pie. Let’s go! I’m hungry.”
My tongue tied itself into knots wanting to object to staying and eating, and Daniel didn’t make things any easier.
“Are all these people family?” I asked Brandy.
She waved off the others behind us in the house. “Every event is an opportunity for business, so says Dad. Don’t mind them.”
Brandy helped Grandma Thompson set one of the long tables, saying, “Look who’s here, Grandma!”
“Preeti!” Grandma Thompson said, waving me over and then hugging me even harder than Grandpa Thompson had. “Sit right here! Oh, don’t you look lovely in that shade of pink. What a classy fit.”
“Thank you.”
Jackson jogged over from the house and kissed Brandy’s cheek. “Hey, sweetie.”
“Right here, baby girl. Have some Kentucky porch tea.” Grandma Thompson handed me a glass filled halfway with the sweet drink with a bourbon kick.
“Oh, I should get going,” I protested.
“Nonsense.”
There was no denying her. Before I knew it, amid the fuss of making plates and creating a corner for the few of us, I bumped into Daniel as his grandparents orchestrated seating assignments.
“Sorry,” I muttered, our arms brushing. A tingle started at the base of my neck and trickled down my back. Goose bumps. We hadn’t touched in years and one simple accidental brush threw my entire body back in time. Memories floundered around my head, and my skin was on fire.
Basically, I hadn’t been ready for that graze and barely kept my body in check.
He cleared his throat, his chest expanding and then deflating in quick succession, like maybe he hadn’t been ready for that minimalistic touch, either. I wondered if he felt something nice and memorable, or if he was just annoyed.
“Grandma, we can sit right here,” he said instead with a nervous laugh, his focus entirely on her now. Those. Dimples.
After what amounted to a warped game of musical chairs, I ended up settled into a seat between the grandparents and Daniel with Brandy and Jackson across from us. Brandy shrugged, not quite apologetically, as she had just sat there watching our entire awkward interaction, amused. My cheeks flared hot, but when I was cushioned against the grandparents, I couldn’t help but feel their never-ending comfort.
All right. I could eat quickly and get out.
The first bite of warm, crispy, baked tortilla-chip-crusted catfish and savory grits with a smear of spicy, robust creole remoulade speckled with crawfish was a heavenly thing. I ate slowly, against the tendencies that I’d picked up over the years of cramming my face in two minutes flat between classes and cases. My eyelids fluttered and I might’ve let out a soft moan. Wow. There was no mistaking Grandpa Thompson’s cooking.
“Right?” Daniel said as he took a bite.
Ah! Had he heard that? Oh my lord.
“For you, my dear,” Grandma Thompson said as she handed Daniel an icy glass of Kentucky porch tea.
“I’ve been waiting for this all year.” He looked at the floating ice cubes melting beneath a setting sun and drank the entire thing in one go.
“Calm down!” Brandy said. “This stuff is strong.”
He coughed. “Oh, man. It sure is.”
“I’ll get you another, baby,” Grandma Thompson said and kissed his cheek before pouring another glass. “I’ve been waiting for you to come home for six years, young man. You were supposed to come back after grad school, not run off to New York. Don’t you leave again.”
Being away must’ve killed him. He might not have been close to his parents growing up and in college, but he had the most amazing relationship with his grandparents.
“Why’d you stay in New York for so long?” I asked, making small talk, if for no other reason than to appear unaffected by him.
“Why do you think?” he mumbled, giving me a look so cross that it gutted me, and went back to eating.
As I watched him, wondering if I was truly the only reason, he squared his shoulders. His face hardened and his entire body went rigid.
“You stayed away from those appetizers?” Grandpa Thompson asked. “I brought some real food. Right here.” He added another fillet to Daniel’s plate beside a serving of cranberry and almond salad, and I swore Daniel had heart-eye emojis pop out of his head.
He took another sip, leaned toward me, and said quietly, “Listen. You don’t have to stay.”
I gulped down a bite of salad. Was he trying to tell me to leave? “Okay.” I spoke up and announced, “I should really get going.”
“But you haven’t had pie,” Grandma Thompson said as she plopped down a giant piece of…oh my word, was that buttermilk pie? Now who had heart-eye emojis popping out of their face?
“You made buttermilk pie?” I swooned.
“Isn’t this your favorite?” Daniel asked.
I nodded. But why was she making my favorite pie for Daniel’s homecoming dinner?
There were other pies on the table, too, and Daniel was going in for the kill, uncuffing his shirtsleeves and folding them up partway.
It was impossible not to stare at those wide, brawny forearms—like forearm porn. Why was he doing this to me? I had the mighty need to fan myself. Must’ve been the bourbon. Had to be the bourbon.
Grandma Thompson pushed a plate toward me. “Don’t worry, baby girl. You have your own pie to take home.”
“Really?” I squeaked.
Daniel muttered, “Thought I was the favorite one?”
Grandma Thompson gave that heartfelt, musical laugh of hers. “Next time, I expect you to make me a pie, Daniel. I know I’ve taught you how to cook.”
“That’s the truth,” Daniel countered. “I would love to make you all the pies from now on.”
“And cobbler,” she added.
“And cobbler, Grandma.”
I savored another bite of buttermilk pie and recalled how every time I’d seen Daniel with his grandparents, he was cooking with them. Baking, marinating, grilling, smoking, sautéing. No wonder he cooked like a chef. He’d learned from the best.
“Going to make some young woman very happy,” Grandpa Thompson added.
Daniel stiffened, glancing at me with his head lowered, and poked at his slice of pie. “Let’s not go there, please.”
My stomach sank. Yeah, some woman would enjoy the food that Daniel made with his own hands, and then enjoy those hands all over her body.
I tried to focus on the soft, delicate sweetness of the pie, but it turned a bit sour in my stomach at the thought of Daniel’s future wife.
“You know who doesn’t love pies, though?” Brandy cocked her head toward the house. “Can you trust a woman who doesn’t like pies?”
Grandma Thompson clucked her tongue. “Bless her heart.”
“Grandma!” Brandy snickered.
Grandma Thompson swatted the air. “Hush, now.”
To the left, Alisha emerged from the house in fluid motion between businessmen, chatting, laughing, drawing a small crowd, which didn’t go unnoticed by Grandpa Thompson. “She’s quite the woman, that one. No fear. Look at how she wraps those vultures around her finger,” he said with a hint of admiration.
Grandma Thompson, on the other hand, responded, “I thought this party was for Daniel, not another reason to talk about work. What she should be doing is sitting over here and eating. Or at least sitting near the man of the hour.”
“I don’t mind,” Daniel mumbled, casting a glance at me from the corner of his eye.
“Now, why can’t y’all get back together?” Grandpa Thompson asked, looking from me to Daniel.
I froze midbite.
Daniel had gone motionless, too.
Brandy smirked from across the table and Jackson just watched the entire exchange with that goofy grin. “Awkward” was an understatement. So was “setup.”
“Let’s not go there,” Daniel said in an even tone.
“Whatever made you two split, anyway? Can’t y’all work it out?” Grandma Thompson prodded.
I stuffed the rest of the bite into my mouth and almost choked, much like Daniel, who had a coughing fit before he downed half a glass of tea, blushing as hard as I probably was.
“You sitting here, welcoming Daniel home, enjoying our company, appreciating my food? And where is Alisha, huh? Talking business over there. You know priorities,” she said to me.
Daniel interjected, “Now’s not really the time or the place, Grandma.”
She plopped some more salad onto his plate as he protested, “I can’t eat much more. But I can’t stop, either!”
She laughed. “I already set aside enough leftovers for a week. Where are you staying, by the way?”
“Don’t worry, Grandma,” Brandy promised. “I found him a nice temporary place closer to north Houston.” Oh? So Brandy had set him up with Liya’s apartment. That made more sense than Daniel directly asking Liya for a place, seeing as Liya and Brandy were still friends and kept in touch.
“That’s so far. Why not stay here? Or at our place? Or at Brandy’s? Honey, did you offer your extra room to your brother?”
“Of course! He wants some privacy, I guess,” she said, but shot a subtle glance at me.
“You mean you need some privacy,” Daniel retorted, contorting his face.
I finished my pie before Grandpa Thompson could circle back to why Daniel and I hadn’t worked out, and insisted, “I should really get going. I have a busy day tomorrow, starting early.”
“Okay,” Grandma Thompson relinquished, and then asked Brandy to grab my bag of food.
When Brandy returned a few minutes later, handing me a generous amount of goodies secured in a cloth bag, she gave me a sly smile. I wasn’t sure if that look was aimed at the food that would last for days or at my predicament with Daniel. I gave all the thanks and praise and was almost home free when Grandpa Thompson nudged Daniel. He pushed his seat back and stood, watching me with those intense, soulful brown eyes.
“I’ll walk you out,” he said.
Before I could decline, his hand landed softly on my lower back. He pulled away and apologized.
I bit the inside of my cheek, annoyed by how his touch still incited flutters in my stomach. I could be irritated, angry, tense, awkward, anything in the world, but his touch never disappointed. Which wasn’t a good sign. Not when I was on a path to get engaged to someone else. I could count on my fingers everyone in the world whose touch I didn’t mind, and Daniel was still one of them.
We went around the side of the house. Without running into his parents. There was that, at least.
“So, you’ve moved back? Permanently?” I inquired on the walk down the driveway.
“Current plan. Have to join my family business sooner or later. Your residency almost over?”
“Yes. A couple more months.”
“Congrats.”
“Thank you. How did you know?”
He leaned his head back and whistled. “Think my grandparents don’t give me an update on you during every phone call?”
Eek. Did they tell him about me hanging out with them once in a while, too?
I unlocked my car from afar and Daniel opened the door for me, gripping the top so that I couldn’t just jump in and drive off.
“I’d better get going,” I said and slipped into the car.
He smirked. “See you at home.”
Oh, crap. What had I gotten myself into?
