Now that the Landrys are back from Monaco, we’ve decided to host a family dinner tomorrow to get everyone together. Our families run in some of the same circles, but as far as we know, they haven’t ever had dinner together, outside of some charity shit. Jordan’s family is in a higher bracket, whereas my family knows senators, her family knows the president. I’m really hoping this dinner party goes well.
Lonan’s wife, Birdie, is one of the best chefs in Minneapolis. She came over and helped us put together the meal, which took some of the stress away. Especially for me, I’ve got enough on my plate already with what I plan to ask her dad. I’ll marry Jordan whether or not I have his blessing, but getting it would make my life a lot easier. I’d like our families to get along.
The Landrys arrive first. They’re early.
As I walk to the door, I give the house a once-over. Jordan has been watering “Chris Smith” for almost four weeks now, by some miracle it’s still alive, and she refuses to take it down until it dies. I don’t even mind, it reminds me of how much fun we had, it was a good day—and an even better night. I open the right side of the large half-rounded double doors and usher them in.
“Good to meet you face-to-face, sir,” I say, holding out my hand to her father. He takes it with a firm handshake.
“Likewise.” Jordan hurries into the foyer with a smile. Chicken Salad isn’t far behind.
“Hi! How was your flight home?” Jordan asks.
“Uneventful,” Frank Landry says, satisfied, hugging his daughter. He passes me a box of twenty-five-year-old Scotch from the Macallan Red Collection. Fucking baller.
We nod to each other. Patricia Landry hugs Jordan, and, surprisingly, gives me one too. “Thanks for coming over on such short notice.”
“Of course.”
Jordan leads them farther into the house. She uncorks a bottle of wine and starts pouring.
We chat in the kitchen, making small talk until Frank claps his hand on my back and says, “Camden, let’s open up that bottle, shall we?”
“Yes sir.” He doesn’t mean here. Shit, he might not even be thirsty. He wants to get me alone to give me some speech about respecting his daughter, which is ironic because I know firsthand how much Jordan enjoys being disrespected. “I keep the glasses downstairs.”
I lead the way, heading toward the open staircase.
“Let’s keep it casual, nix the sir stuff,” he says under his breath. Mr. Landry gets down to business.
“You got it.”
Her mother gasps in the living room as we descend the stairs. “What on earth is that?”
“Our Christmas tree!” Jordan answers proudly.
“It’s March!” she shrieks.
That’s the last I hear of their conversation after passing through the double glass doors to the bar area. I open the plush box of Scotch, pull out the bottle and a couple of snifter glasses from the shelf. After giving each of us a pour, we nod and take a sip.
Frank Landry is from old money, so while he can afford a much more expensive bottle, this is probably his favorite, and that means a lot. Also, it’s really fucking good Scotch.
“She talked you into getting that god-awful tree, didn’t she?”
I bark out a laugh. “There’s not much that’ll stop her when she sets her sights on something.”
His brows furrow. “Is that so?”
That response has me curious. “Does that come as a surprise to you?”
He sort of shrugs and stares into his glass. “Jordana always kept her fire inside. She never wanted to rock the boat. She was the perfect child—no, not perfect—she was an easy child. She obeyed and did what she was supposed to. Though, I always felt like we did something wrong. She had confidence, but zero passion to channel it through. Until lately, it seems . . .” He looks up at me with a smirk.
It’s hard to be humble. “I wish I could take all the credit, but I think Bryan was the straw that broke the camel’s back. She had enough, and she let him know it.” I eye him carefully.
His eyebrows raise. “By herself?”
I nod. She single-handedly designed his downfall.
“Impressive.”
Puffing out a breath, I nod. “I wouldn’t fuck with her.”
He laughs. “That’s good to know . . .” His features turn solemn. “I tried to talk to her over Christmas, but Jordan never gave us the details of their . . . fallout. I can’t help but assume there was more to it than the cheating.”
I clear my throat and avert my eyes. That’s something for Jordan to share how and when she’s ready.
“We should have done more. Been there for her . . .” He reaches across the bar and sets his palm on my shoulder. “I want to thank you for stepping in.”
I nod. I won’t placate him with empty reassurances, because he’s right, they should have done more for their daughter, but being a haven for her allowed me to get to know Jordan better than anyone. And though I wish it happened under different circumstances . . .
“Best thing I ever did. She’s a remarkable woman.” My hands are sweating around the glass. “. . . And you should know I plan on asking her to marry me. It would mean a lot to her if we had your blessing.”
He smirks. “I wondered if that was coming. After seeing your grand gesture on the ice, your intentions were pretty loud. Jordan said it wasn’t a proposal, but it looked official all the same.”
I nod.
“You were there for her when we weren’t. You protected her, and she’s very happy with you. That’s all we’ve ever wanted for her.”
“I appreciate that.”
He takes another sip and slaps his thigh. “Well, we should probably get up there before they come looking for us.”
I close the decanter and follow him out.
“I hear you collect bikes,” I say as we climb the stairs. I’d love to see what he’s got.
The corner of his mouth tips up. “I hear you ride them.”
I chuckle. “Are you looking for lessons?”
“Possibly. Jordan told me beautiful bikes should be ridden.” He quirks an eyebrow at me.
Fuck. Cue nervous laughter. “I was talking about the bike.”
“Uh-huh. In the future, let’s leave my bikes out of your pickup lines, huh?”
“Understood.” Normally, I wouldn’t give a fuck, but knowing my future-fiancée’s dad heard my double entendre, has the room temperature going up a few degrees.
“Camden, this tree is an atrocity.” Patricia laughs.
“I tried telling her,” I say.
“No, he didn’t,” Jordan says. “He was entirely supportive!”
Her dad laughs, rocking on his heels and taking in the giant shrub thing that takes up a good portion of the living room.
My parents show up minutes later, letting themselves in. The introductions go well, and apparently, our mothers are both involved in supporting the arts and have more in common than we knew. They are becoming fast friends, and I can tell it gives me Patricia Landry’s full approval. That’s a relief. Once they realized that Jordan no longer backs down and is comfortable enough with me to make waves—not a double entendre—I won them over.
We were made for each other. I needed Jordan to open my heart, and she needed me to heal hers. She changed my life, and I’m a better man because of her. This woman taught me how to love with my whole chest. Together, we’re unstoppable.
At dinner, I make a small toast, then we dig in. Everyone is impressed by the dinner, including myself; Birdie can fucking cook. Within minutes, the moms are interrogating us with questions regarding our relationship. I look at Jordan and smile, we’re in love and going at our own pace.
“Your sisters are thrilled you are settling down with someone,” Mom says. “They really like you, Jordan. Have you two figured out what you’re going to tell people when they ask how you two met?”
“I’ll say we met at her wedding.”
She tsks me. “This isn’t a joke.”
“People are going to ask,” her mom adds.
“I don’t know . . .” I rub the back of my neck. “I’ll say . . . we met through a friend.” I throw up my hands.
Jordan laughs, and her dad coughs, trying to suppress a grin. At least someone thinks I’m funny.
“Camden, the Lakes are doing quite well this season, do you think you’ll be making the playoffs?” Frank Landry asks. Thank Christ, a change of topic.
“We’re at the top of the standings, if we can keep it up, we’ll certainly get there.”
“Camden is an incredible captain. He’s already made improvements to the lineup, and it’s made a real difference. I’m very proud of him.”
I thread my fingers in hers under the table. Her praise fills me with pride. Being the Lakes captain has been one of my greatest accomplishments, and I take the role seriously. That C on my chest has been the catalyst for a lot of my growth over the year.
“I’m going to do my damnedest to get us there. The boys deserve it.”
“We’re also proud of you, son,” my dad adds.
By the end of the dinner, everybody is tight and we have plans to grab dinner at Demi. At the Landry table, unreal. We stand in the foyer, and thankfully, neither of our families are big on the Midwest goodbye. Jordan waves them off and leans against the door with an exaggerated sigh and a relaxed smile. “We did it.”
“And nobody threw a punch.” I reach under her thighs and pick her up, pinning her to the door. “God, I love you. How did I get so lucky?”
“I have low standards,” she whispers. I slap the side of her ass, and she giggles.
“You think you’re real cute, huh?”
“I’m adorable.”
I slide the tip of my tongue up her neck and nip at her ear. “You are pretty fucking adorable. What do you wanna do now?”
“Honestly?”
“Yeah.” I trail a line of kisses down to her shoulder.
“Watch a movie, get high, and maybe plow through a box of Little Debbie Zebra Cakes.”
I laugh. “Vanilla or chocolate?”
Her lips tip up in the corners. “A respectable hockey girlfriend always buys both.”
“A respectable stoner buys both.” I chuckle.
“Okay, you get your stash, I’ll get a movie queued up.”
