Page 69 of Fighting the Forbidden

She slides her arms around my neck and tips her head, waiting for me to close the distance. I lean in and brush my lips over hers. Way too short.

Like a puppy left at doggie daycare, I stand and watch her jog out to Hayden’s car and fling herself into the front seat.

“Your buddy know about that?” Jerry asks.

How the fuck’d I forget that he’s standing like ten feet away? “Not yet.”

He whistles, low and teasing. “I don’t want to be around for that conversation.”

I jam my hands in my pockets and stare at Hayden’s car until it disappears around the corner. “You and me both.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Molly

Most of my friends hate dinner-night at home with their families.

Not me. I love it when Remy’s home for dinner instead of working at the bar until closing.

Even better when Griff’s here too.

No fights at The Castle. No clandestine motorcycle club meetings. Just dinner and movies on the agenda.

Since we’re all together, I pull out one of Nana’s cookbooks to celebrate. I search through the cabinets and drawers until I find her prized blue enameled cast-iron Dutch oven. Many Sunday dinners for our family were made in this heavy pot. Fond memories of my mother and grandmother flow through my mind. I wish I’d paid more attention when Nana tried to teach me how to cook. Usually I preferred sitting on the stool next to the counter and chattering away.

Tears sting my eyes. Why couldn’t we have had a few more years with my mother and grandparents? Why did cancer have to choose my mom? She was nothing but sweet, loving, and patient. Our father never really wanted kids and boy, did Remy and I feel it, especially after Mom died. As time passes, I remember her face less. Thankfully, all I have to do is look at the photos in the hallway to remember. Remy’s changed a lot of things since he moved into our grandparents’ house, but he’s never touched the photos.

Damn, cooking shouldn’t make me weepy.

“What’s all the noise out here?” Remy grins at me from the doorway.

I sniffle and force a bright smile. “Since we’re staying in tonight, I thought I’d make chicken and dumplings.” I pat Nana’s red-and-white cookbook with all the notes in the margins written in her precise script. Little tabs and sticky notes mark favorite recipes, and I flip through until I find the right page.

“Yeah?” Remy raises an eyebrow with interest. “You got everything you need?”

“I think so.” I took the morning shift at the grocery store and brought home supplies. Chicken, celery, onions, carrots, half-and-half, butter, garlic, fresh thyme, sage, and rosemary. I scoop each item out of the fridge and into my arms, then carry them to the prep counter.

“Need help?” Remy asks.

“I could use someone to chop veggies.”

“Griff! Get your ass in here!” Remy shouts.

I grab the bunch of celery and point it at my brother, fronds waving in the air. “God forbid you do any work in your own kitchen.”

“What?” Remy widens his eyes as if he’s perfectly innocent. “Two sets of hands will get it done faster than one, right? Then we can eat quicker.”

Laughing I set the vegetables on the counter in front of him. “Sure, big bro. You’ve got an answer for everything.”

“You called?” Griff steps into the kitchen, staring at me.

My lips part but no words form.

“No, I did.” Remy throws a bag of carrots at Griff, who lifts his hand and catches it without taking his eyes off of me.

My lips curve slightly. “Impressive.”

“Yeah? Try and catch this next.” Remy waves a chef’s knife.

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