Page 77 of Covetous

“Join us,” the senator says, inviting us further into the house. Laughter ensues from the kitchen. It seems like everyone is having a good time. I hear Fatima say something that makes everyone laugh, and I can’t wait to join in on the fun.

The evening Texas breeze caresses our skin as Victor and I share a lounger on the rooftop of his loft. A few candles flicker nearby, their warm vanilla scent mingling with the fresh air. They were Victor’s idea, a romantic gesture that gives me all the feels. The smooth R&B vocals of Coco Jones’s “ICU” drift from my phone, setting the perfect mood for a cozy night under the partly cloudy skies.

The Jameses’ Sunday dinner wasn’t the formal, stuffy affair I thought it would be, regardless of everyone being dressed to the nines, a team of wait staff, and an extravagant table setting. To my surprise, it was a down-to-earth gathering of twelve: family, church friends, and even their priest. The vibe was cozy and welcoming, and the food? Oh my God, the five-course meal was to die for. We started with delectable appetizers, moved on to a soul-warming soup, and then a fresh, crisp salad. The main course, a pan-seared beef tenderloin with red wine reduction and truffle-infused risotto, was absolutely divine. And don’t even get me started on the desserts—I’m still dreaming about that warm white-chocolate lava cake.

And can you believe they do this every Sunday? Sign me the hell up.

Victor promised his mom we’d be back next week, which brought happy tears to her eyes in an instant. She pulled me into a massively tight hug, thanking me over and over as if I were the one responsible for us being there. Well, maybe in a way. Victor had invited me, wanting to introduce me to his family and their friends—something he’d never done before with any of the women he’d dated. But I like to hope he would’ve shown up with or without me.

“I haven’t eaten that good in a long time,” I confess, my stomach full and satisfied.

Victor nods, a content smile playing on his lips. “Mom goes all out for her Sunday dinners.” He wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me closer.

A yawn escapes my lips, and I nestle into him, resting my head on his muscular chest. “I didn’t have Sunday dinners growing up, but my mama was a great cook,” I reminisce as a fond memory of my childhood floods my mind. Despite the many challenges we faced, there were moments when I truly believed she loved me, even if she didn’t always know how to show it.

Victor’s fingers pause their gentle exploration of my arm, and he turns to face me, his blue eyes filled with curiosity. “What was your favorite meal as a child? I mean, what did your mom cook that you liked the most?”

“I loved her ham hocks,” I answer without hesitation. “It’s the only dinner I’m confident I can make as well as she did. My dad loved them too, believe it or not. He hasn’t always been a die-hard vegan.”

A mischievous grin spreads across his face. “Do you think he’d give up veganism for one day for a plate of your ham hocks?”

I consider his question, a smile tugging at my lips. “Nope,” I conclude, shaking my head. “He’s all in. And I respect him for it, but I’m a carnivore—one hundred percent.”

Victor holds me tighter, his lips brushing against the side of my head in a tender kiss. “That’s my girl,” he murmurs, his voice filled with affection and pride. “Your dad is cool, though.”

“He likes you,” I say. Victor had shown up at my home for a vegan breakfast with my dad and me. My dad grilled him over the meal, but Victor handled it well—calm and confident, even though I could tell he was nervous, which was adorable. After breakfast, we all went to church together.

“He told you that?” Victor looks hopeful, like he genuinely cares what my dad thinks of him.

“No, we haven’t had a chance to talk yet. But I can tell.”

“Good. One less person against us,” he says, attempting to joke, but I can hear the melancholy in his voice.

“Yeah,” I say after a moment, my thoughts drifting to Esme. A wave of sadness washes over me, making my chest tighten.

He notices the change in my demeanor and gently cups my face, his thumb brushing over my cheek. “I’m sorry, Skylar. I know how much you miss her.” His eyes fill with understanding and a hint of guilt. “I hope you guys can work things out.”

I lean into his touch, finding comfort in him. “Me too.”

He nods, holding me tighter. We stay like that for a bit, just holding each other close and taking comfort in the warmth of our bodies pressed together. When we finally pull back, he tries to lighten the mood by changing the subject. “You’ve been slacking,” he teases, a playful grin on his face.

I pull back slightly, with a wry grin, grateful for the distraction. “How so?”

“You haven’t made me ham hocks.”

I laugh, the sound breaking through the somber moment. “What are you going to do for me?”

He arches a brow. “I’ll show you what I’m going to do in about”—he checks the time on his Apple Watch—“thirty minutes.”

I tilt my head, my brows knitting together as I study his face. “Why thirty minutes?”

“Because I’m too full to move at the moment.”

“Same,” I giggle, snuggling closer to him and trailing my fingers up and down his abs. “I’ll make you ham hocks next week when I move into my place. It’ll be our first meal there together.”

“Can’t wait.” He captures my lips in a long, slow kiss that sends shivers down my spine.

As we break apart, I whisper, “What are you going to do in thirty minutes?”

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