Page 24 of Sweet Bred

Later, as we drive away, Juliet can’t stop talking about how wonderful the visit was.

“I had a really nice time, too,” I say, reaching over to squeeze her thigh. “You were great with Ari, by the way.”

“She’s a very sweet baby.”

“Believe me, she’s also got a good pair of lungs. If she wasn’t happy in your arms, she would have let you know.”

“Well, that’s nice to hear.”

I glance over at Juliet, hoping she really is as content as she seems to be. “Is it too much if we keep this date going into the evening? Because I’d really like to have dinner with you tonight.”

She eyes me suspiciously. “This isn’t all just a dare or something, is it?”

“What?” I laugh. “No. What would make you think that?”

“I don’t know. I just feel like most men wouldn’t want to spend this much time together on a first date.”

“Well, I think by now we’re somewhere in third-date territory, so…”

She laughs. “Still.”

“You’re right,” I say. “This probably doesn’t happen very often. But I don’t really care what’s ‘normal.’ All I want to do is keep spending time with you.”

“What a coincidence. I want to keep spending time with you, too.”

“So is that a yes to dinner?”

“It’s a yes to dinner. And dessert, if that’s an option.”

“Dessert’s always on the table. You should know that about me by now, Juliet.”

I’m feeling damn good as I drive us the rest of the way into town. I know exactly what I want to cook for Juliet tonight, but I need to grab a few things, including a bottle of wine that will go with the meal. As we pull into the little parking lot behind the wine shop, Juliet warns me that she’s extremely easy to please when it comes to wine and that I really don’t need to get anything fancy on her behalf.

“You’ll give it a try, though?” I say as I hold the door of the wine shop open for her.

“Oh, of course,” Juliet says. “I just wanted to tell you that, in case—” Then she suddenly draws in a quick breath, her eyes snapping to something behind me. “Mom. Dad. Hi.”

I turn and see an older couple standing a few feet away from us. They’re both well-dressed, and are giving off an air of affluence.

“Juliet,” the woman says, the surprise coming through more in her voice than her expression.

There’s an awkward beat of silence, and then Juliet places her hand on my arm. “Mom, Dad, this is Shaw. Shaw, these are my parents.”

I hold out a hand. “Nice to meet you both.”

But neither reaches out to shake my hand. It doesn’t feel great to drop my hand back to my side.

Juliet’s dad gives his throat a hard clear. “Excuse us. We were just on our way out.”

8

JULIET

Mortified only begins to describe the way I feel about our little run-in with my parents.

“I’m so, so sorry my parents were rude to you, Shaw,” I say, my voice cracking. We just walked into his apartment, and I’ve already apologized many times over, but no amount of words feels like enough.

Shaw carries the bags of groceries into the kitchen and drops them onto his counter, the contents of the bags noisily jostling against each other. “It’s not your fault.”

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