Page 92 of Sweet Silver Bells
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CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX.
The traditional black tuxedo was ignored, left hanging in a zipped-up bag in the back of his parents' second closet. Hunter fidgeted with a pin on his lapel. The fabric, the darkest of green, highlighted the gold vine-shaped trinket that gleamed in the light of the natural flame in their living room fireplace.
“I know you think you're some kind of dork and all,” Mark told him upstairs, “but you're my son, and we are handsome devils.”
Mark wasn’t wrong; Hunter’s skin was smooth, shaved, his hair textured and pushed back with some product, curling at the ends. A black button-up shirt lay under his jacket, highlighting the blue in his eyes.
The catering staff had begun to set up in the family kitchen for tomorrow’s holiday. Based on the number of crates brought in, Hunter assumed a too-large party was being deliberately left undiscussed around him.
Of course, Mother would want us home for something like that.
A symphony of cozy sounds filled the air: the crackle of the fireplace, chopping from the kitchen, and soft Christmas music playing from a vintage radio across the room on the chestnut armoire.
“It’s getting late.” Hunter checked his gold watch. I should call. We'll be leaving anytime now, and they haven’t even checked in.”
It was just past 7:30 pm, and the ball started in half an hour.
“Oh, you know women,” Mark said as one of the caterers walked into the room with two glasses of spiced eggnog. Mark's eyes lit up as he took both glasses, handing one to Hunter. “What’s the rush anyway?”
“If we get there on time, we can come back earlier.” Hunter shrugged, sipping the thick liquid and grimacing. “That is strong.”
It started faint, a new noise that grew into a crescendo, separating itself from the calming background noise. A calamity of the unmistakable sound of heels skittering across the floor, coming closer to them.
“Your mother’s home.”
Hunter turned, straining to hear another set of footsteps, but there was undoubtedly only one pair of feet hurrying towards them.
“Something is wrong,” Hunter said out loud. Mark’s eyebrows rose, his attention shifting to look for his wife’s face to appear in the entrance to the living room. When she did appear, her blonde hair was more frizzy than he had seen in a while, her breath was fast, and her pupils were large.
“Where’s Olivia?” It was the only thing Hunter could think about, waiting for her to be safely back in his arms.
“What’s wrong, dear?” Mark asked, walking towards her.
Where is Olivia?
“What’s wrong?” Minerva laughed. “What’s wrong? We spent the entire day shopping and sitting at the salon, only for it to start raining. On top of that, we are running late. This is turning out to be a catastrophe.”
Hunter’s shoulders relaxed a little as he sensed no immediate danger other than his mother’s arms flying around as she gesticulated like an actress in a classic black and white movie.
“Yes, we should be going,” Hunter said, setting his drink down. “Is Olivia already in the car?”
“Oh, my heavens, there are so many things wrong with that sentence,” Minerva huffed.
“Wrong?”
His mother was impossible.
“Yes. One, we have to give a lady her proper grand reveal. Two, I have a driver waiting for you. You cannot take her to a formal outing in your beat-up old vehicle.”
“Dad’s truck is older than my car . . .” Hunter mumbled.
“Hey, it’s a Tacoma. It holds its value.”
“Shall we?” Minerva pushed the two men out of the living room. “I made Olivia go upstairs to wait for us.”
“Why is she upstairs?” Hunter shook his head. “It makes zero sense.”
