Page 130 of Mr. Wicked

To know that, finally, this was what he wanted.

His gaze narrowed while he studied my lips. “I want to kiss you so fucking bad right now, but I’m about to ask your dad to marry you, and I can’t walk into your parents’ place with red lipstick all over my mouth.”

I laughed. “No. You can’t.” I grabbed the cloth bags off the floor in front of the passenger seat. “Come on. We have three flights of stairs to climb.”

Grayson took the bags from my hand as I met him on the sidewalk, and I used my key to open the front door, leading him to the stairs and up the three long flights. The final one ended directly in front of their door, and I gave it a quick knock, letting them know we’d arrived, before I opened it with another key.

“We’re here,” I sang.

Since the door opened into the tiny dining room, where the kitchen was on one side and the living room was on the other, a hallway in between that led to the bathroom and two bedrooms, it was easy to see where everyone was located.

Mom came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her pants, opening her arms to hug me. Dad rose from the couch, making his way over.

“Oh honey, I told you not to bring anything and it looks like poor Grayson has his hands full.” Her hug was hard, but her voice was as soft as a cloud.

It didn’t matter what time of day it was, she always smelled like cinnamon.

“I just threw together an appetizer. Nothing major. And wine—of course, I brought all the wine.”

She kept her hands on my shoulders as she pulled away, taking an inventory of my face. When I was little, she used to tell me she was counting my freckles, checking to see if there were any new ones. Now that I was older, I knew better.

She was looking through me.

Seeing the secrets that I held inside.

“You look happy, baby.”

I nodded, smiling. “I am.” I turned just as Dad took the final steps to reach us. “Mom, Dad, meet Grayson.”

“I’m a hugger, I hope you don’t mind,” Mom said to him, first taking the bags from his hands, and then wrapping her arms around him.

While they embraced, Dad gave me a look.

His brows were up, stretching beyond his forehead and into his semi-bald head, which was nodding.

He seemed impressed so far.

But that was just with Grayson’s physical appearance. Once my father dug into Grayson’s personality, that was another approval process.

Once Mom released him, Dad said, “I’m not a hugger,” and he shook Grayson’s hand. “Nice to meet you, son.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Winters.”

“Ernie, but I like effort.” As their hands disconnected, Dad wrapped his arm around me and kissed the top of my head, my arm resting across his Santa belly. “Missed you, baby girl. You’re so busy now, you don’t come around as much as you used to.” He nodded toward Grayson. “Looks to me like that’s your reason why.”

I grinned. “He’s a lot of my reasons, Dad.” I took the bag of wine from Mom’s hand. “How about I open a bottle? What’s everyone in the mood for, red or white?”

“Red for me,” Grayson said.

“You know I don’t drink that shit. Babe, grab me a Sam Adams, will ya? I need something cold going down my throat while I get to know this boy. Why don’t you join me on the couch, Gray.”

I was laughing on the inside at Dad making up his own nickname for him.

I squeezed Grayson’s arm. “Have fun. I’ll be there in a minute to save you.”

“You act like I’m going to whip the boy,” my father joked.

“Well, aren’t you, honey?” Mom teased.

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