Page 51 of The Late Hit
The last thing I want is for anything to be awkward. Our family dinners are a tradition, and I don’t want to be the cause of any problems. Causing drama is not my vibe. Us girls started having planned weekly dinners when we moved into our town house last year.
College is crazy, and schedules are even crazier. Between classes, jobs, and extracurriculars, it felt like we never saw each other, even though we lived together. Sure, we saw each other at home, but it was always passing by as someone was going somewhere or collapsing on the couch exhausted.
One Sunday night, the three of us were all home, we were actually able to sit and have a meal together. It was the best time, sitting, eating, and catching up. Real conversations happened outside of our group chat. Standing in the kitchen, the three of us were cleaning up the dinner mess when Macy suggested we make family dinners a weekly thing.
And thus, family dinners were born.
No one makes plans on Sunday nights. We enjoy a home cooked meal with no phones while we eat, and everyone chips in to help cook and clean.
Over time, our dinners were joined by some friends, and it grew. Now we keep dinners on the calendar for any of our friends who are craving “family” time or a home cooked meal. Chloe is the one to thank for the incredible food. While all of us can cook, Chloe is the one who grew up with a chef. Her dad is one of the top chefs in Dallas, and Chloe spent her time at home in the kitchen playing sous chef.
Lifting my arms up and over my head, my muscles groan at the movement, a blush heating my face. Immediately, I’m transported back into the spare bedroom at my parents’, my arms above my head tangled in my shirt, Quinton’s mouth devouring me.
Macy rips off my covers, slapping my ass as she stands up. “Go shower, you dirty ho.”
Laughter fills the room as I stick my tongue out at her like a child.
“Damn, girls, it smells hella good in here,” Jeremiah shouts from the front door.
He makes his way into the kitchen with a bouquet of the most beautiful flowers in his hand. JP always brings us a fresh bouquet of flowers when he comes for Sunday dinner. It’s a sweet gesture that shows how much he appreciates the meal. Placing the bouquet on the bar, he comes over to where the three of us are finishing cooking dinner. He wraps each of us in his arms, leaving soft kisses on our temples.
“Thanks again for doing this.”
Jeremiah didn’t have the best home life growing up. We’ve gathered some information over the years and pieced some things together. He’s one of five kids, and his dad left them when he was ten, forcing his mom to work three jobs to keep them fed and clothed, and a roof over their heads. Family dinners never happened, and homemade meals were few and far between. Having our weekly family dinners means the world to him, and we’ll continue doing it to see him happy—all of us happy.
Family doesn’t have to come from blood.
Family can come from a strong bond and a loving relationship.
We are each other’s family.
“Yeah, girls, it smells so good. I’m starving,” Grant adds, striding into the kitchen.
Glancing around him, my eyes scanning to find the one guy I’ve been nervously waiting for. My eyes land on his dark, muscular frame as he walks through the doorway. He’s hesitant about what to do. Before this weekend, he would’ve been right behind JP leaning down and showing his appreciation with affection. Our eyes lock, both of us trying to read the other. After what feels like forever, a grin tugs at the corners of my lips. He returns the smile with a wink, turning to look at the front door that’s opening behind him.
It’s already changing.
Dinner is served family-style around our patio table, since it’s the only table big enough to fit us all. Our town house has a long, fenced-in yard with a concrete patio right off the kitchen. We put a large table and extra, comfy chairs out there. The furniture isn’t anything elaborate, but it works. I’ve been sitting on pins and needles since we all sat down. JP, Chloe, Hudson, and Tyler sit on one side, Macy and Grant sit at the ends of the table, and I’m sandwiched between Cody and Quinton, with Crew on the other side of Q. Freaking awkward.
Macy and Chloe cooked three pans of lasagna, enough breadsticks to feed an army, and a large garden salad. The boys were right. The food smells amazing, only my appetite is gone. Lasagna is one of my favorites, too.
Everyone digs in, shoveling forkfuls in their mouths. The boys carry the conversation, talking about this week’s game, girls on campus, and the upcoming baseball season.
I’m so proud of them.
“Thanks, B,” Grant says. Confusion must be reflected on my face, causing Grant to continue. “You didn’t mean to say that out loud, did you?”
“Oh yeah, totally,” I joke, winking at Grant. “But seriously, you guys are playing amazing.”
“We comin’ for that Natty,” JP adds.
“And we’ll be in the front row cheering,” Macy says, moving her arms in a little cheer.
Cody slides his arm across the back of my chair, his thumb brushing my exposed shoulder. My body stiffens at his touch. It’s not that Cody is touching me, that’s not uncommon, our relationship is very touchy-feely. But that was before Chicago. Everything has changed in just three short days, and I don’t know where anything stands.
“How did Chicago go?” Cody asks, scooping another bite of lasagna on his fork.
“Is that where you guys were?” Crew asks, joining our conversation. “I’ve only been once, for a field trip in middle school. Did you guys have fun?”
