Page 18 of In a Pinch

“I already checked with Cal’s mom, and I think she would be more offended if you didn’t go.” From what Isla has told me about her, I know that it is one-hundred percent true. She seems like the light and sunshine of that house.

“Well, if you all insist.” Leaving my bathroom, I grab my boots from my closet and head downstairs with Isla.

“Dinner is at six. So, we probably need to hit the road,” Isla says as we make our way to Cal, who is waiting on us in the living room. He sits in the chair with his ankle folded over his knee, while mindlessly scrolling.

His head pops up from his phone. “Ready to go?” His smile beams toward Isla. We both nod our head yes and head out to the car.

This isn’t my first Reynolds family dinner, but it is my first at their house. Plus, even thinking about being around Cal’s dad makes me sweat. His track record for being a raging douche is still soaring to new levels. Probably why I find myself a little more nervous than usual.

Twenty minutes later, we pull up and are greeted by a waving Anna, on the front doorstep. This house is really nice. The beautiful stone exterior, meshed with the pillars morphs contemporary style with some of the older characteristics that I love so much. It feels cozy and a bit fancy all at once.

“I am so glad you all made it. We are so excited to have you, Addie.” She walks up and wraps an arm around me as we shuffle into the house.

“Oh, wow. And I thought I loved the outside of your house. This is gorgeous.” Wood accents are found all around the room. We are standing in a foyer, and I’ve never been in a house that actually has one.

“Mind if I take your coat, dear?”

“Of course.” I shrug off my coat and Anna saunters down the hallway, where Isla and Cal follow. I look up and around at the house. Through the walkway, I can see into the dining room, where everything is perfectly set. I have to tamper down my desire to stroll through the whole house. It’s giving Rory Gilmore’s grandparents’ house vibes, and I love it.

My nose gets the better of me, and I follow the smell to the kitchen. It smells so good throughout the house. Walking through the dining room, I find a swinging door that leads to a kitchen. Well, that’s nifty. I push it open and almost hop back when I see a familiar face there.

“Sam, what’re you doing here?” Last I heard, he never makes it to family dinners. Maybe Isla and Cal were being dramatic when they talked about it?

“This is my parents’ house. What do you think I am doing here?” Starting off strong with the hostility, perfect. My face fails to hide all my annoyance, and he rolls his eyes and looks away.

“Smells good. What’re you guys making?” I ask, hoping to redirect his anger toward something he clearly isn’t as annoyed by.

“Chicken parm.”

“Practicing for class next week?”

“I don’t need practice, but yes, this is what we will be making next week. Glad to see you can show up to some places on time.”

“Oh,okay. I was like seven minutes late. Get off your high horse and quit being so dramatic and grouchy. It’s annoying.”

“You’re annoying.” I think we both hear how dumb his clapback was because, as much as he tries to hide it, no amount of smooshing your lips together can hide his dimples and the corners of his lips turning up. “If you’re going to be here, you can be helpful. Grab the garlic bread out of the oven.”

“Oh, I love garlic bread! Where are the oven mitts?”

“In that drawer right over there.” He points to the drawer right next to the oven.

The kitchen is large but open. Sam stands on the other side of the large countertop, preparing what appears to be a salad. I make my way to the other side and pull out the oven mitts from the drawer. The second I open the oven door, the smell of garlic hits my nose and my mouth begins to water.

“Oh, my God. This smells so good. Did you make the bread?”

“No, I stole a loaf from work. Baking isn’t in my wheelhouse.”

“Finally, somewhere I have you beat. I could make this from scratch with my eyes closed.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” He doesn’t know what he just did because, at my next opportunity, I will squash him like a bug in a baking competition.

“I hope you’re not a sore loser.”

He doesn’t gift me with a response, just keeps chopping. Here at his parents’ house, he isn’t wearing his chef garb. His short sleeves allow for the perfect view to the coolest tattoo I've ever seen. His upper arm is inked with a chef’s knife and some sort of crest. The veins in his forearm pop with the exertion.

Shit. Am I attracted to him? No, surely not. Well, actually, with my track record of mostly being into assholes, this would be right on par.

Something tells me he isn’t as growly as his demeanor gives off. The faint show of his dimples comes to mind with that thought, and the way I’ve seen him in class. While he doesn’t have the patience of a saint, he does do a good job of trying to make everyone feel comfortable.

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