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.