Page 76 of Chosen Road

Amber

Sunday morning, for the first time in as long as I could remember, we would not be going to Yiayia’s for dinner. We were going to my house for dinner. And I guessed I was cooking? How did this work?

I roused Alex earlier than usual. I knew Ruby and Vander would be taking Jace out for breakfast, and I further knew Yiayia would not be up doing early morning preparations. What would I cook?

“Alex! We have to go!”

I rushed around getting showered and dressed and then shuffled Alex into the car.

“Okay, mom, okay! Why are we rushing?” He asked, exasperated.

“We have to go to the grocery store. I think I’m cooking today and I’m not sure what I’m going to make. Salad for sure.”

“Salad is going to be difficult for Yiayia to eat with her left hand,” Alex commented.

I looked at him in astonishment. “You’re right!”

At the store I bought the ingredients for an antipasto platter instead of salad. Hopefully that would appease Yiayia.

I opened the front door and stumbled inside, tripping on my damn flip-flops.

“Whoa,” Gus exclaimed, grabbing my elbow.

I laughed as I found my footing and straightened up. “I’m not a horse, Gus.”

“No, but I’m going-”

His voice cut off and his grip on my elbow tightened. My eyes shot to his face expecting to see chagrin, or an apology, but there was none of that.

He stared down at me, his jaw hard, eyes almost feral.

I stood still, like a statue, as I held his gaze, waiting for him to release me. He stepped closer and my head fell back, a tiny, involuntary whimper in my throat.

“Amber,” he whispered harshly, desire etching deep lines onto his face. He pulled me sharply forward by the elbow just as Alex barreled into the house with the last of the bags.

“Got them all in one trip!” he crowed, then abruptly stopped. “What’s going on? Are you guys mad?”

Gus laughed. “Mad? No. Possibly a little insane. Your mom tripped on her ridiculous flip-flops again.”

“Dad.” Alex stood with his hands on his hips. “We gotta get Momma some comfy winter shoes. What size are you, Momma?”

“Eight. But I hate shoes,” I answered lightly, slowly creating space between Gus and me.

He slanted me a dark look at my maneuvers, and I swear I heard something resembling a growl rumble deep in his chest.

From the look on his face, I was in for it.

Part of me wasallin for it. Unfortunately, that was the part he could read.

I took a deep breath, and Gus picked up the bags as I followed him into the kitchen.

“What’s going on here?” I demanded, suddenly irritated, motioning to the simmering pans on the stove.

“I thought to make pasta with meat sauce for today,” he answered, his voice soft and controlled.

“You didn’t think I’d cook?” I asked, more sharply than I intended.

“Why would I think you would cook? I didn’t know what to expect and I didn’t want to assume,” he answered evenly.

---