Page 38 of Fourteen of a Kind

“Sorry about that,” I said, picking up my drink.

“Why would you be?” Graham asked.

“Because it wasn’t a coincidence. Sebastian probably sent a group text telling everyone we were here, and my dad couldn’t help himself. The one thing about my family is that nothing is sacred. Everyone knows everybody’s business. It’s literally impossible to hide anything from any of them.”

Graham chuckled. “Life is family, and family is life, right?”

“Right.” I smiled.

We finished our dinner, and I took the last sip of my wine.

“I’m craving ice cream.” Graham smiled. “How about you?”

“I’d love some. There’s this great ice cream shop ten minutes from here in Santa Monica,” I said.

“Let’s go.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet.

“You can put that away. Dinners here are free for the family.”

“Then I’ll leave an extra large tip for our server, and ice cream is on me.” He winked. “How about I follow you to your house to drop your car off, and then I’ll drive to the ice cream shop.”

“Sounds good.” I grinned.

We stood up from our seats. As we walked through the restaurant, I narrowed my eye at my dad as we passed his table.

“Enjoy your dinner,” I said.

“Always do, sweetheart.” A grin crossed his lips.

Graham walked me to my car and then went to his. When I reached my house, I pulled into the garage and climbed into Graham’s car.

“Nice house.” Graham smiled.

“Thanks. I can give you a tour when we get back.” I smiled.

“I’d like that.” He glanced at me as the corners of his mouth curved upward.

We went to the ice cream shop, got two double-scooped cones, and took them outside. It was a beautiful night with a light wind sweeping across our faces.

“Where did you go to school?” I asked.

“Columbia,” he said as we walked down the street.

“If you don’t mind me asking. Who took care of you after your father passed away?”

“My aunt, who was my dad’s sister.”

“Have you always lived in New York?” I asked.

“Yeah. I have.”

Graham

I didn’t like lying to her, but the one thing I never talked about was my father’s death.

“How did your father pass?” she asked.

“Heart attack.” I glanced at her. I needed to change the subject. “You said you paint, right?”

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