Page 191 of To Catch a Sub

She looked nervous. He’d never seen her nervous before.

Colette met them halfway. “Bonjour, Mrs. Malik.”

Nana burst into a spate of rapid-fire French.

Ah fuck. He’d forgotten his grandmother was fluent. It was easier to track the languages his grandmother didn’t speak.

Colette smiled, then winced, touching the cut on her lip with her tongue before replying.

Nana pointed at Colette’s lip, the end of her sentence raised in question.

Colette looked at Landon, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“It wasn’t me!” He blurted out before she could say something to get him in trouble. “I didn’t…I would never hit…” Well, fuck, that wasn’t exactly true. But it was always consensual.

Colette laughed, then shook her head. “Non, ce n'était pas Landon. Il m'a sauvé.”

“Stop trying to get me in trouble,” he muttered.

“You don’t remember any of your French?” Nana demanded.

“I do, I’m?—”

“If you did, you would know she just said you didn’t hit her. That you rescued her.”

Colette was looking off to the side, and he thought she was blushing, just a little.

“I’m sorry, Nana. I should have kept up with my French.”

“How is your Urdu?”

“Uhhhh.”

Nana released him, instead taking Colette’s arm and starting towards the house. “He’s a smart boy. He’ll remember his French if you refuse to speak to him in any other language. That’s how I taught Ali Pashto.”

Landon gave his grandfather a second hug, then unloaded luggage and paid Mr. Brown. He shortened his stride to match Nani’s as they walked into the house.

They slipped off their shoes just inside the door, the tile floor warm under his feet, thanks to the under-floor heater his grandmother almost never turned off.

The front door opened into a small foyer lined with benches and coat hooks, the ubiquitous rubber boots and dark jackets necessary in this part of the world neatly tucked away. Beyond the foyer were two wide double doorways, one to the right, one to the left.

Nana steered Colette through the right-hand doorway, into her and Nani’s wing of the house. The first room was the main living space. Elegantly carved and painted wood tables imported from their native Pakistan were paired with overstuffed couches and recliners decorated with bright khaddar pillows.

There was an oil-burning lamp in the corner, and after a pointed look from his grandmother, Landon walked over and made a quick prayer.

Ten minutes later, they were seated at the kitchen table as Nana and Nani puttered around preparing food and tea.

“Should I offer to help?” Colette asked.

“No. You’re a guest, let them treat you like a guest.”

“Landon, I don’t know how to do this,” she whispered.

“Do what?”

“Be around a family.”

His heart ached for her. “Your family…?”