by Ava Miles
“I’m not,” she said, smiling broadly. “I have you and your father. Now, quit talking and chop. I have more for you to do.” But she promptly left the room on some sort of mission.
His father slid him another cucumber with a rare mischievous smile. “Between the two of us, I’d agree your mother’s on a tear. She’s excited to meet your soulmate. You know how us Merriams feel about soulmates.”
“I heard that, Shawn Merriam. You’re supposed to be chopping.”
“I can talk and chop, Assumpta,” he said, shaking his silver head. “I’m glad I can say I contributed. I want Francesca to know we cooked a family meal for her. I imagine she grew up with help.”
“Yeah, more than she liked having around, she used to say.” He stopped chopping and faced his father. “Dad, I wanted you to know why I asked J.T. to step in and not you.”
“He already knows why, Quinn!” his mother called from the other room.
“Is she standing right behind the door?” Quinn whispered to his dad.
“No, I’m setting the table,” she bantered back, although the fact that she’d heard a whisper suggested otherwise.
His father’s shoulders were shaking from quiet laughter. “I appreciate you trying to explain, Quinn. I hope you’ll call on me for help if you need it, but I know you have everything in hand.”
“The Dare Valley contingent is here!” his mother shouted.
“Wonderful.” His father set aside his work and wiped his hands on a towel, which he then tossed to Quinn. “The only way we can get your mom to refocus her attention is for the company to arrive.”
The playful elbow his father gave him as he passed by had him standing up a little taller. It was nice to see this side of his father. Growing up, he’d always been tense or tired or driven, coming in late from work in a suit. He’d tried to be home for dinner, but more often than not he hadn’t been. Some nights, Quinn had pretended to be asleep when his father had come in after lights out to kiss him and tuck him in. J.T.’s comments—and Connor’s—came back to him about his dad sacrificing so much of his family time for Merriam Enterprises. Quinn had to find another way.
Francesca was just the person to help him.
He put his jacket back on and followed the noise to the front hallway. J.T. was stepping away from hugging their father. The grin he shot Quinn should have been enough of a greeting, but J.T. opened his arms wide like Frankenstein’s monster and stepped toward him with a wicked glint in his eyes.
“Come here, big brother,” he said, rushing him.
“Shit,” Quinn said, seeing no play other than to dash off to the dining room. Truth be told, he didn’t want to resist. Their talk about J.T.’s first bike ride had stirred up happy memories of easier days as boys.
His brother’s footsteps sounded on the tile floor, but Quinn was around the side of the table and had a chair out like a bullfighter before his brother could reach him.
Still, for show, he had to say, “What the hell, man?”
“You’re more chill with Francesca back, and I consider it my brotherly duty to encourage you to have more fun,” J.T. said with a grin. “Besides, it got us alone, didn’t it? I wanted to let you know that I’ve got your back. Take as much time as you need to restructure and win Francesca back. Caroline and I agreed she’ll fly out weekends and maybe for some longer visits so we can be together more. Trevor’s on call too, if we need him. Seriously, man. We’ve got you.”
Quinn gripped the top of the chair. “Thanks, J.T.”
“Now come on. Aunt Clara will want to kiss you, I’m sure.”
He hugged his brother more easily than usual and smacked him on the back for good measure. “That’s because I’m the handsomest.”
J.T. reached into Quinn’s pants and yanked his underwear.
Quinn yelped. “A wedgie! That’s really juvenile.”
“Like I care,” his brother said.
Quinn readjusted his briefs and chased his brother into the living room where everyone was congregating.
“Quit your horsing around and come and kiss your auntie,” Uncle Arthur barked. “If I’d known you were going to turn into two hooligans upon seeing each other, I would have checked into a hotel.”
“He’s all blather,” Aunt Clara said, hugging Quinn tightly. “It’s good to see you, Quinn. Observe. I wore my best chaperoning outfit.”
“Clara, you wear black to a funeral,” his uncle said, “not for matchmaking. Quinn, my boy, asking your auntie to help out made her smile, and for that, I thank you.”
They hugged, and then Quinn turned to Hargreaves, who stood in his standard black suit with a crisp white shirt, looking ever inconspicuous. “Hargreaves. Thank you for coming as well.”
“Master Quinn,” Hargreaves said, bowing slightly. “Always a pleasure.”
“Well, now that everyone has greeted each other,” Assumpta said, linking her arm through Aunt Clara’s, “I thought we’d start with some mimosas.”
“Clara likes her gin.” Uncle Arthur sent her a wink.
“Oh, don’t listen to him. Assumpta, I love mimosas. When are Francesca and Alice coming again? Hargreaves told me, but I’m so excited, it’s left my mind.”
“The first sign of dementia,” Uncle Arthur said, jerking his thumb at Aunt Clara.
“Oh, you old poop,” Aunt Clara said. “Assumpta, feel free to order him out of your house if he continues on like this. He thinks it’s cute to tease me.”
The glare she shot her husband had real heat, but there was a flicker of amusement behind it. Clearly, she thought the teasing was cute, and they both knew it.
“They’ll be here at noon, Aunt.”
“That’s in about an hour, dear,” Uncle Arthur said, grinning as she gave him another glare.
His father popped the champagne, and J.T. made a show of pouring the orange juice in first so as to not squash the bubbles, something Uncle Arthur was quick to tease him about.
Hargreaves was leaving the kitchen as his father handed out the glasses.
Quinn called to him. “Hargreaves. Please stay. I know you don’t normally join family occasions, but Alice will be joining Francesca, and I’d hoped you would do the same.”
“When they arrive, I would be happy to converse with Miss Bailey. Until then, I have a few things to see to. Thank you for the invitation, Master Quinn.” He bowed and left the room.
Aunt Clara shook her head. “His butler etiquette is ironclad, but we’re working on him, aren’t we, J.T.?”
His brother clinked glasses with her. “Every chance we can get.”
“To family—near and far,” his father toasted.
“To family,” everyone repeated, clinking glasses together right and left.
They settled into the family room with Assumpta peppering Aunt Clara with questions about everything from the Hale family in Dare Valley to the next trip out to Kenya to work with the Maasai.
Quinn did his best to pay attention, but his mind kept wandering to Francesca’s arrival. The fourth time he checked his watch, his mother drilled him with a glance.
“Do you need to resume your chopping duties, Quinn?”
His father laughed and stood. “Come on, son. Let’s finish prepping for brunch.”
Although he didn’t much feel like chopping more vegetables, he followed his father into the kitchen without complaint.
“If you need help…” J.T. called, kicking his feet out playfully.
They didn’t need help. In fact, there was a companionable quiet in the kitchen. His father had moved his cutting board closer to Quinn so there was only a foot between them.
When the doorbell rang, his father gripped his shoulder. “You’ve got this, Quinn.”
That python-like tightness was back, gripping his diaphragm, but he calmly wiped his hands. When he looked up, his mother stood in the doorway.
“Come, let’s meet your girl.”
When she extended her hand to him, he felt a lump in his throat. “You reall
y are the best mom ever.”
“I know.” She waggled her brows. “Your Mother’s Day card tells me every year.”
His father snorted at that, and then the three of them were walking down the hallway to the front of the house. His father opened the door.
Quinn held his breath at the sight of Francesca, framed in the doorway of his childhood home. Her black hair was artfully wrapped in a knot at the base of her slender neck, and in her hands was a box of traditional Lebanese sweets he knew she only brought to dear friends and family. Her violet eyes tracked to his, and she gave a brief smile, a dead giveaway she was fighting nerves too. It made him feel better, knowing that. They were in this together, even on opposite sides of the door. His mother squeezed his hand, released it, and then she was stepping forward to put her arm around her husband’s waist.
“Welcome, Francesca. Alice. I’m Shawn Merriam and this is my wife, Assumpta. It’s an honor to have you both in our home.”
“Mr. Merriam, it’s wonderful to meet you,” Francesca answered. “Thank you for the invitation. It seems you already know of Alice, my dear friend and personal assistant.”
Quinn studied the younger woman, aware of Francesca’s use of the word “friend.” The twinkle in her brown eyes wasn’t as distinctive as it had been in the photo he’d seen, but there was no snuffing it out entirely. She turned her head to the side and shot him a coy smile, which amused him. Game on, Miss Bailey.
“I brought you some sweets from my favorite bakery in Lebanon,” Francesca said. “The ones on the far left are made with orange blossom water.”
“Oh, we’ll have to tell our new daughter-in-law, Annie, Flynn’s wife,” his mother said. “She’s crazy about orange blossoms and includes them in a lot of the skincare products she makes. Using them in sweets might be new to her. Thank you so much. Alice, I hear you’re another girl from the Chicago area. My heart is still in South Side, although this one”—she nudged his dad—“got me to move out here for love.”
“That’s so romantic,” Alice said, extending her hand. “I’m from Naperville myself, Mrs. Merriam, but don’t hold that against me. Mr. Merriam, it’s wonderful to meet you. Both of you.”
“It’s Shawn and Assumpta,” his mother said. “Please, come inside. We’ve just started with mimosas, but we have a full bar. Shawn’s a good bartender, but I expect my other son J.T. is better. Quinn, please show Francesca into the kitchen. We can put out the delicious sweets she brought. I’m sure everyone will be eager to try them. So, Alice… Tell me where you went to high school, dear.” She linked her arm through the woman’s and led her toward the family room.
His father lifted his brows and followed the two women, leaving Quinn and Francesca alone in the entryway. Artfully done, you two.
“You look beautiful,” he said, sweeping his eyes over her. “The sweets weren’t necessary, but they’re a nice touch. I remember their significance.”
“The sweetness of life,” she said, extending the box to him. “Your mother arranged for us to have a few minutes alone. I suppose I can’t disappoint her.”
“What about disappointing me?” He opened his arms. “Would you crush my ego?”
“I’m still thinking it over,” she said, her gaze sweeping up his body with equal candor. “The kitchen, Quinn.”
Taking his mother’s cue, he linked their arms and started walking.
“You could have led the way,” she said, tension present in her arm. But she didn’t try to pull away, and for that he was grateful.
“This is more fun. Plus, no chaperone on earth could say I’m not being a good boy.”
Her laugh was as rich as the sweets in her hands. “Quinn Merriam, you were never a good boy.”
“No, I wasn’t. And you loved it.”
“Maybe.”
It was a playful response, but the look in her eyes told him it had brought up some heavy emotions, so he nudged her with his hip. “Come on. Admit it. You missed this.”
Because he surely had.
“Some days,” she said softly as they reached the kitchen.
He reluctantly let her go and went to the cabinet for a plate.
“Do you have a serving plate?” Francesca asked. “That’s a dinner plate.”
“Seriously? What is it with women and plates? They’re a flat surface you eat off.”
“Darling, sometimes I wonder about you.” She glared at him. “You know what a serving plate is.”
Yeah, he did. To appease her, he went over to the cabinet with the china, kept apart from the regular dinnerware. She washed her hands at the sink, and when he placed the gold plate in front of her, she opened the box and began to arrange the sweets.
“Is this one still your favorite?” he asked, gesturing to the pumpkin sweet covered with pistachio nuts, almonds, and walnuts.
“Yes. I’m surprised you remember.”
The catch in her voice told him how much it meant to her that he did. He picked the sweet up and held it to her mouth. Their eyes locked, and desire coiled in his belly as her gaze lowered to his mouth.
“I can’t eat the first sweet.” The rasp in her voice drove him wild. “They were a gift to you and your family.”
“Always polite,” he said, “so let’s see if you remember my favorite. I’ll take the first bite, freeing you from etiquette.”
“You liked all of them, but you loved the ones with dates covered in powdered sugar the best.”
“Mamoul, right?” His mouth went dry as she selected the sweet and held it a fraction of an inch from his lips, the scent of semolina and dates filling his nostrils.
“You remember the word.”
“I remember everything,” he said in a hoarse tone, and then he leaned forward and took the sweet into his mouth from her fingertips. The sugary pastry couldn’t appease his hunger for her. Not in a million years. And they both knew it.
Arousal was hot and ripe between them as he fed her the sweet, letting his fingertips linger against her lush, rosy lips. They were locked into watching each other, and it was one of the most erotic moments of his life.
He had to put his hands on her. And when he caught her hips and held them, she didn’t back away. No, she looked up at him with a hungry but direct stare that told him everything he needed to know.
She wanted him to kiss her.
His head lowered, watching her. Always watching her. She kept her eyes open too, as if she shared his need to memorize this moment. When he touched her lips, her breath rushed out slowly, and he knew to take his time. Desire was rising between them, and after so long, anything could snap the control holding it back.
When their lips curled into each other in what Quinn could only describe as the sweetest, most perfect kiss, it felt like a shard of glass was being forced out of his heart. Then she put her hands on his back, and the pain dissolved. Warmth began to return to that battered part of him, and he lifted his hand to cup her cheek as they kissed slowly, learning each other again after so long.
He seemed to sink into her, and in her total surrender, he was equally filled by her. It had always been so between them, and his head spun with relief and then awe that it should still be so.
She was the one who ended the kiss, but she pressed her cheek to his for a moment, her hands still clutching at his back, before she stepped away. She looked at him, her eyes wells of emotion.
He couldn’t think of a single thing to say. He also knew nothing needed saying. That kiss had said it all.
She sighed audibly, and then her freshly kissed mouth tipped up on the right. Shaking her head, she turned and walked out of the kitchen, leaving him to gather himself and bring the plate of sweets after her.
He knew he wouldn’t be able to eat any more of them in front of his family. They would only remind him of what had happened in the kitchen, and those memories were for him to savor when he was alone later.
He finally had hope that he could win her back all the way.
Chapter 7
It didn’t take a genius to know something had happened in the kitchen between Quinn and Francesca. They entered the room separately, but the air around them burned like it did in the Arizona desert where Clara and Arthur had spent their first honeymoon.
Assumpta’s arrangement of four love seats with a coffee table in the center suited a large family, but it was less conducive to matchmaking. Francesca had taken the seat Alice had kept open for her on one of them. The only seat left for Quinn as he set the sweets on the coffee table was next to J.T., on the other side of the coffee table. Strategically, Clara should have seen the problem earlier, but it was easy enough to rectify once they moved to the dining room, she supposed.
Clara liked the energetic Alice, but they needed to come to an understanding about this whole chaperoning gig. “Assumpta, let me summon Hargreaves. Maybe it was the long flight, but I’m suddenly starving.”
Arthur gave a harrumph.
She shot him a look. He knew she was full of it—Hargreaves had prepared them a lovely repast for the airplane—but he didn’t need to give her away.
“Yeah, Mom, I’m as hungry as a bear,” J.T. said with his usual winning solidarity.
Assumpta stood immediately. “Let’s wrap up the final stages, and we can eat straight away. Shawn, if you’ll help me.”
Clara pulled her phone out of her pocket and texted Hargreaves.
Would you please help Assumpta finish preparing the brunch? Also, you might mention to her about seating Quinn and Francesca together. I’m going to handle Miss Bailey.
She tucked her phone away without waiting for a reply. Arthur’s bushy white brows were raised when she looked at him. “I was just letting Hargreaves know he was needed.”
“I’ll bet.”
“Alice, dear,” Clara said, rising. “I wanted to introduce you to Hargreaves. Would you mind coming with me a moment? I bet we can catch him on the way to the kitchen.”
Alice glanced at Francesca before standing. “Of course, Clara. After everything you’ve told me about him, I’m eager to meet him.”
