Page 137 of The Pucking Date
I press a kiss to her temple. “Every damn one.”
33
SUNDAY DINNER
JESSICA
The white clapboard colonial rises behind the row of turning maples, just the way it always has—green shutters, wraparound porch, light flickering on it as we pull into the drive. But the knot in my stomach is new.
Finn’s hand rests warm and steady on my thigh. We haven’t spoken since we left his house, and we don’t need to. I’m wound tight. He’s coiled calm. We balance.
As we step out of the car, the front door swings open.
“There you are!” My mom greets us, tall, poised, dressed in a soft gray cashmere sweater and tailored dark jeans, hair swept into a low twist.
Then her gaze lands on Finn, and something wicked flashes in her smile. “So this is the man who made my daughter quit her jobandglow like she’s fresh off a yoga retreat.”
Finn straightens but doesn’t flinch. “Ma’am,” he says smoothly, offering a bouquet we picked up on the way. “For the hostess.”
She takes it with a pleased little hum. “Thoughtfulandtall. My, my.”
We kick off our shoes in the entryway, laughter still lingering from something Finn whispered on the drive over. From the front room, sharp words cut through in Mandarin: “Tell him to take off his shoes! No street outside in the house!”
Wai Po. Of course.
“She’s already judging you,” I murmur.
Finn just grins. “Good. Means I got a shot to win her over.”
“She doesn’t impress easy.”
He leans in, tone low. “That’s all right, darlin’. As you well know, I’ve got range.”
We step into the living room where Wai Po sits like a queen in her wingback chair, perfectly composed in a slate-blue blouse and dark slacks, her silver-streaked hair twisted into a sleek clip. One hand wraps around a porcelain teacup. A stack of bamboo steamers rests on the console beside her, still warm under a folded cloth napkin. Her expression says she’s already dissecting Finn’s soul.
She doesn’t speak right away. Just sips her tea, sets it down gently, and tilts her head.
“So,” she says in Mandarin, calm but pointed. “This is the one who wouldn’t give up.”
Finn doesn’t catch the words, but the tone makes his posture shift, shoulders squared, voice smooth as silk.
“It’s an honor to meet you, ma’am,” he says with an easy smile. “I’ve heard you’re the real boss of this family.”
Wai Po narrows her eyes. Not disapproving, just measuring.
Mom appears behind us with a tray of glasses, glancingFinn’s way as she passes. “She says she understands now why it was impossible to resist you.”
Finn chuckles. “That’s high praise. I’ll try to stay worthy.”
Wai Po lifts her teacup again. “Smart boy.”
Mom sets the tray down and shakes her head. “Careful, Mama. He’s got all the girls wrapped around his finger. Don’t be next.”
“He’s working on it,” I mutter.
Wai Po stands slowly, still graceful, and waves a hand toward the dining room. “I want him seated next to me. So I can monitor his aura after the chicken.”
Finn offers his arm, playful. “I’ll try not to disappoint.”
