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“A few times.” He gives me a look so full of affection that I have to avert my gaze. I didn’t realize that cooking was such a big deal to him. But after meeting his mom, I get it. That’s how she shows she cares.
“All right then. You have the kitchen. I’ll just putz around.” She leaves the kitchen as Tommy starts pulling ingredients from the fridge and pantry.
As we cook together, I take every opportunity to touch Tommy. I need to know that nothing’s changed. Need to feel him lean into my body, to hear him say he loves me again and again. He is still shirtless, and my favorite thing is quickly becoming his abs. They're practically stacked on top of each other. It's like a ladder of sexiness that I'm ready to climb again and again. It's not that I haven't seen them before, but they're mine now, and I seriously love how they feel. Licking, touching, biting, I'll take anything he'll give; I'm not picky. Since his mom is in the room, I have to settle for grazing my fingertips down them every chance I get.
“You better stop that, or this is gonna burn,” his voice has the growl in it that gives my body all sorts of inappropriate ideas.
I put my hands on his shoulders and lean over to his ear. “Then take it off. Now.” Repeating his words from the night before has the intended effect. I watch as the tips of his ears redden.
“You’re such a tease,” he says in a breathy whisper. I tilt my head up and capture his lips in a long kiss. Before long, his hands are exploring my body, the two of us growing more tangled up even with the spatula still in his hand.
Henrietta cuts us off with a loud throat clear. “I do draw the line at ruining breakfast, kiddos.”
Tommy pulls away but keeps his eyes trained on me. “Sorry, Ma.” He places a peck on my nose, then flips the final piece of French toast onto a plate. With Tommy’s helpful directions, I find more plates and set the table. Before long, we’re all sitting down, with Henrietta dumping syrup on her plate before taking a bite.
Though I’m not typically an insecure person, I can’t help watching for her reaction. For some reason, I want to impress Tommy’s mom. She squints as she chews, then reaches for a napkin to dab at her lips. "Nutmeg and… cloves?" she asks. I nod, almost too eagerly. A broad grin breaks out on Henrietta’s face. "Imagine adding a little pumpkin puree to this. It would transform into a fabulous pumpkin French toast."
I beam at her across the table, my fork poised in her direction. “Yes! Exactly!”
Henrietta is clearly pleased, and I feel pride sweep through me. "You might just have the makings of a chef, baby,” Henrietta says.
Tommy's fork clatters to the plate as he puts both hands on his head. "Ma, don't call her that, Jesus."
But I smile, placing a reassuring hand on Tommy's knee. "No, I love it. It's like being that girl in Dirty Dancing.”
Tommy shakes his head like he can’t believe I just said that. "That girl hated being called Baby!"
"Okay, but she also got to dance with Patrick Swayze, so I’ll take it."
Laughter comes from both Tommy and his mom. For a while, we enjoy the breakfast and the company in pleasant silence. Everyone is too busy chewing to say much else.
When we finish, Tommy starts to clear the table, but Henrietta waves him off. "No way. You guys cooked, I'll clean up. Just a heads up, I've got some errands to run afterward. You'll have the place to yourselves until after lunch."
Her wink sends a flush of warmth through me. Everything about her is so welcoming. It's a complete flip from the distant, often formal interactions I've had with other parents of my boyfriends in the past.
Wait. Boyfriend. Is that what Tommy is?
The term swirls in my mind, settling with a delightful fit. It's a title I decide to embrace wholeheartedly, especially now. As Henrietta busies herself with the dishes, Tommy hunts down a charger for my phone, which had been dead since the night before. I'm anxious to check on Sam. She’s still a few weeks from her due date, but I know these things tend to happen on their own timeline. Once the phone is plugged in and begins to charge, I settle in to wait for it to power up.
A knock at the door pulls Tommy away, and he calls out to his mom, "You expecting deliveries, Ma?"
She confirms she isn't, but Tommy opens the door regardless. At that moment, my phone springs to life, inundated with a barrage of dings. Text after text floods in from Miranda. Reading the first message sends a jolt of panic through me, halting my heart mid-beat.
Then there's shouting at the door, and I'm on my feet in an instant, darting over. Keaton and his goons stand there, menacing as ever.
"You leave her the fuck alone. You hear me! Do this again, and I'll kill you myself!" Tommy's face is a storm of fury, a crumpled manila envelope held tightly in his fist.
I shove myself in front of him, pressing against his chest. Though I have no idea what's happening, Tommy really can't say things like that to my family. They take even the smallest of threats seriously, and that wasn't exactly small. "Tommy, don't."
Henrietta appears, drying her hands with a towel, bewildered. "What in the world is going on?"
As she grasps the situation, she nudges past me and Tommy, confronting the trio head-on. "Is there a problem?"
"If she doesn't leave, this house burns," Keaton sneers, spitting on the porch before they all turn to leave, throwing dangerous looks over their shoulders as they saunter back to a waiting car.
Steam is practically pouring from Tommy’s beet red ears. Both fists are clenched at his sides, his shoulders scrunched up like he’s already rearing to let loose a fury of punches. "Let me go, Tilly. I'm going to rip them in half!"
But then Henrietta spins, her eyes ablaze. "Thomas Hillcrest, you will get in the house, or so help me…"
