“Isn’t it? He said you liked cider, so I knew I had to bring some. I’d been saving this stuff for a special occasion, and I couldn’t think of a better one.”
“He said that?” I looked at the bottle of cider with fresh eyes. The residual coldness from talking to Mrs. Malone melted; it was no match for the thought of Mitch telling his favorite cousin about me.
Out in the backyard, the smaller children were finally starting to tire out from chasing around the adults. I pointed out there with my bottle. “Any of those yours?” I meant the kids but I wasn’t specific. Was her husband/wife/significant other out there with the gaggle of adults?
But Lulu shook her head. “None of ’em. Who has time? No, I’m here solo.” She didn’t elaborate about her personal life, and I didn’t ask. It wasn’t even remotely my place to pry. We sipped at our ciders and watched the adults form themselves into teams for a touch football game. It was all so . . . upper-middle-class white American. It also seemed incongruous with the ancient house we sat outside. I pictured this kind of thing happening at one of the other houses in the neighborhood—the ones that looked like they belonged in a Ralph Lauren catalog. Which reminded me . . .
“You said something last night about your grandmother being stubborn?” Lulu raised her eyebrows in response, and I continued. “I was asking about the house. This neighborhood?”
“Oh. Yeah.” She tipped her head back, finishing her cider. “This neighborhood was mostly farmland back in the day. Our great-grandparents built this house, and Grandpa was born here. Little by little, the land around them was sold off, and then about twenty years ago? Thirty? They started putting this neighborhood in. Someone came knocking for Grandma and Grandpa to sell. I think if it had been Grandpa by himself he would have caved, but Grandma loves this house.”
“As well she should.” I craned my head to look at the house, where a small patch of paint was starting to peel on the siding. The gray was actually light green up close, giving way to a yellowish color underneath. “It’s a great house. Mitch said something about secret passages?”
Lulu snorted and put her bottle on the deck beside her. “My big brother told him that when they were kids. Sent the poor guy on a wild-goose chase when he was seven. Mostly to get Mitch out of his hair. He was . . . an energetic child.”
I considered that. “He’s an energetic adult.” It wasn’t until the words were out of my mouth that I realized how they’d sound coming from a girlfriend. My face heated and I swigged the rest of my cider to cool off.
“Yeah. Not touching that.” She smirked at me, and the heat in my cheeks became flames. “Anyway. They didn’t sell, so now there’s a whole neighborhood of McMansions and this little house smack-dab in the middle.”
“Little house,” I echoed. “Uh-huh.” But I liked that. I liked people standing up for what was theirs. I liked that Mitch was cut from that kind of cloth. It made sense.
Morning bled into afternoon. Lulu foisted a second cider on me as the day went on, and the air began to smell like smoked meat, making my mouth water. There was no way to tell what the score was out in the backyard, as the rules they used didn’t seem to correlate to anything that any football league would recognize. One attempted touchdown devolved into good-natured shouting and arguing, ending with a teenager jumping on Mitch’s back in a poor attempt to take him to the ground. The attempt ended in a piggyback ride that Mitch somehow made look like a victory lap. Lulu caught my eye as we cheered for . . . someone, and we grinned at each other. Maybe it was the cider, but I liked her. I liked his family. I liked this sense of belonging. In the back of my mind I knew that this sense was only going to last the weekend. But I pushed all of those thoughts aside and concentrated on the here and now, something I didn’t do very often.
It was nice.
Those warm feelings were still coursing through me when Mitch came up the steps from the backyard. He made a beeline for me, slipping an arm around my waist and pulling me close. Before I could even process it, his mouth brushed over mine as though this was something we did every day. As though this wasn’t the first time he’d kissed me.
Which it absolutely was.
As his lips left mine I froze, and so did he. We were both so caught up in this fantasy of being a couple in front of his family that it took our brains a few moments to catch up to what our bodies were instinctively doing. His eyes searched mine, knowing he’d overstepped. Certain I was going to push him away, bring this whole charade tumbling down around our ears.
But that was the last thing I wanted to do. Was it the heat of the day, the slight cider buzz, or the sense of belonging I’d felt around his family? One of those things had made his kiss feel like the most natural thing in the world. One of those things made me curl my hand around the back of his head, pulling him back down for a quick second kiss, punctuating the first one. Something flickered in his eyes—surprise?—but he grinned down at me and tugged me even closer. He was warm, a little sweaty from all the running around in the backyard. But I didn’t pull away. Because I was doing my job. Being his girlfriend. Making him look good in front of his family.
Yep. That’s all I was doing.
* * *
? ? ?
The picnic table on the deck had been filled with snacks, which we’d partaken of all afternoon—veggies and dip, chips, some leftover guacamole—so I had no idea how I was expected to eat dinner. But when the sun started waning in the sky, the main event began. The smoker had eventually yielded racks of ribs and a massive brisket, and the platter of barbecue that resulted made my stomach growl and my mouth water as though I hadn’t eaten for a week.
A buffet line had been set up in the kitchen—where had all this food come from?—and I loaded my plate with shredded beef, ribs, and greens before sitting down at the massive dining room table. I slid my water glass to the place next to me, saving it for Mitch, who was farther back in the line. Except for those brief kisses on the back deck we’d hardly spoken all day, which felt a little weird, but as long as he was happy I was doing my job, right?
Once we were all seated, Mitch looked at my plate with a frown. “Wait a sec. You didn’t get any of the mac and cheese?”
I shook my head as I forked up some greens. “I’ve been pigging out all day. I should probably show some restraint.”
He made a pfft sound of dismissal. “Restraint doesn’t apply when it comes to Grandma’s cooking. Here.” He tipped his plate, scraping off about half of his macaroni and cheese onto my plate. “You need to try this. Trust me.”
I trusted him and took a bite. “Holy shit.” I chewed slowly as cheesy goodness flooded my mouth. I’d found nirvana in Grandma Malone’s macaroni and cheese, and I wanted to live there for the rest of my life.
Mitch nodded in satisfaction. “Told ya.” He took a bite and passed me the squeeze bottle of barbecue sauce. “Here. You need this too. Grandpa is a master at barbecue sauce.”
I didn’t even question it this time, I just slathered sauce on the brisket before taking a bite. The moan that escaped me was indecent. I was a fan of Virginia barbecue—tomatoey, a little garlicky, a little vinegary. But Grandpa Malone knew his shit, and took it to a whole other level. “Do you cook like this?” I asked. “Because you’ve been holding out on me.”