Page 95 of Voice to Raise
“So what are you fussing about? The roast chicken is almost cooked. You have hamburgers and hot dogs for the grill. Heck,you even ensured the gas was set up to flow to the grill—even though it has never let you down before.”
“The entire three times I’ve used it.” I’d invited the Murthi clan over three times since spring had sprung, and each time they chose barbecue. My vegetable kebobs were a particular favorite.
“You worry too much.” She pointed to the fridge.
I pulled out the plate of vegetable kebobs as well as the meat one. Then I handed her the marinade.
She got to work. Twenty minutes later, she hustled out to the barbecue to cook everything, even planning to start on the burgers and dogs.
I remained in the kitchen to watch over the chicken while mixing the salad dressing with the lettuce and croutons to make the Caesar salad. Then I pulled the plate of cut veggies from the fridge and added a container of dip to the platter as well. I restrained myself from checking the fridge for the tenth time to ensure I had everyone’s favorite drink. Mama was right—I was going overboard.
Just…seven months was a fucking long time.
As the sound of the front door opening reached me, Malik’s bellow of, “We’re home,” resonated.
I took a deep breath before I headed toward the front hallway.
He met me halfway.
For just an instant, we stared.
Then he threw himself into my arms.
I vaguely noted everyone else coming in, even as his lips pressed to mine.
The kiss was graphic, dirty, and everything I hoped for.
He grabbed my ass and hauled me against him. He pressed his erect cock against mine. He didn’t even pull back when Mama Murthi tsked her disapproval.
“Hi, Mama.” Creed’s tone was part amusement, part relief. Even I could hear the love as he embraced his mother.
“Do I smell barbecue?” Freddie toed off his sandals and headed toward the kitchen.
Reese did the same.
Pauletta stepped into the house and immediately to the side so Lydia could film the reunion.
We agreed today would be informal shooting—nothing scripted or pre-planned.
So when Malik dropped to one knee, I couldn’t have been more shocked.
He grasped my hand. “I wanted to propose before I left. I didn’t want to tie you down, though. I wanted you to feel free to meet other men—”
“There’s only ever been you.” I wasn’t going to mention Paul the asshole or the few other guys—what I felt for them paled in comparison. I could barely remember wanting to marry Paul and start a family with him. Thank Christ we never had.
Malik grinned. “Well, that’s good. It’s the same for me.”
Since he’d dated more than I had, his words carried a larger impact. He’d sampled what was out there and had known he wanted to come home here. To me.
I knelt.
“Hey.” He tried for indignation, but that totally fell flat as he continued to hold my hand, this time looking into my eyes. “I’m a bad bet.”
“You’re not.”
“I get into all kinds of mischief.”
“You won’t.”
