Page 84 of Obeying the Owner

“Good riddance,” Mom says. “He would’ve done something else eventually. It’s better that you removed the problem altogether.”

“That’s what I figured.” I grab two bottles of water and an iced tea from the fridge, then amble over to take the open seat next to Maeve. “Gwen, this is yours.” I hand over the lemon iced tea, and she thanks me. “And this is for you.” I pass one of the waters to Maeve.

“Thank you, Trey.”

I wrap my arm around the back of her chair. “You’re welcome.”

My parents take their seats on the other side of their granddaughter, and we wait for the game to start.

There’s a knock on the door before one of the serving staff wheels in a cart filled with a plethora of treats: chicken tenders, pretzel bites with beer cheese, nachos, and much more.

“Yay,” Gwen cheers when she sees all the choices. “Can I have whatever I want, Dad?”

“Within reason.”

Gwen fills her plate with more food than she’ll be able to eat, but I don’t say a word. She’s having fun, and that’s what matters to me.

“Your turn, Sunshine,” I whisper.

“I don’t know where to begin,” she says.

“The pretzels and beer cheese are my favorite, so don’t take any of those,” I joke.

“You made my mind up for me.” She snatches one of the salty bites and dunks it in the cheese before raising it to her lips. Her teeth tentatively dig into the dough, and her eyes snap open wide as she chews. “So good.”

“Here you go.” I set the platter on the ledge below the window in front of her.

“I can’t eat all of those,” she says.

“Don’t worry, I’ll help.”

“What if your parents want some?”

“My mom doesn’t eat cheese very often, therefore my Dad doesn’t eat it in front of her.”

Sometimes she makes an exception. Like when she made lasagna for Maeve.

She laughs. “I bet retirement is going to be a lot harder than he thought.”

“Absolutely,” I say, adding some food to a plate and then pushing the cart over to my parents. “This is for both of us, so help yourself to whatever you want.” She eyes the mound of food and reaches for a chicken tender.

“Not that one,” I say. She pulls her hand back, and I laugh. “I’m just messing with you.” She rolls her eyes and plucks a golden tender from the top. I do the same before placing the plate on the ledge.

Another server appears with a drink cart. “What would you like?” I ask Maeve.

“I’ve got water.”

“I’m the one driving.”

“Good point.” She taps her finger to her lips. “May I please have a margarita?”

The server nods. “Salt or sugar on the rim?”

“Salt, please,” she says.

“You’re salty enough already.” My teasing earns me an elbow to the ribs. “Vicious too.”

She turns her head, surveying my face with a cool stare. “Only when provoked.”

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