Page 28 of Welcome Home for Christmas
“Glad I could help. And you can call me anytime, even after our, uh, pretend breakup.” He lifted his brows and Allison smiled.
“That’s right. I hadn’t thought about that yet.”
“Shouldn’t be too hard. I’m not so sure I made the best impression on your mother this morning,” he said.
Something crossed Allison’s expression. Troy couldn’t quite place it. Was it regret? Anger? Sadness?
“She’s hard to please.” She shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. She’ll be civil to you at the party, I promise.”
He watched Allison work. Her posture was suddenly stony. Allison lifted the dishes she’d prepared for them and carried them to the table.
Troy grabbed the last one and followed suit. “I have a little experience in missing the mark when it comes to other’s expectations for my life, too.” He sat in the chair across from her.
Allison met his eyes. “Is that why you’re not going home for Christmas?”
He smiled. “You are one determined woman, aren’t you? You’re not going to let that one go.”
She pushed the lasagna toward his plate. “Guests first. And no, I’m not.”
He shoved it back. “Ladies first. In fact”—he stood and grabbed the serving spoon—“you cooked, so let me serve you.” He cut a generous slice and placed it on her plate. He did the same to his. Then he took the salad tongs and filled her bowl and his. When he was done, he sat back down. “There. I would serve a third dish in case our intruder friend came back, but your town house is rigged up with my best equipment. No one else is getting in here without your permission.” He winked, enjoying the startled look she gave him with the simplest of flirtations. As if it surprised her, and that surprised him. She had to have guys flirting with her all the time. She was gorgeous, with her silky red hair that fell over her shoulders, green eyes, and soft, pink, kissable lips. He’d kissed those lips this morning and he wanted to do it again.
“So, how do I impress your mom on Saturday?” he asked, pulling his gaze away and scooping pasta into his mouth.
“You can’t. She’ll have a diagnosis of some sort for you by the end of the night.” Allison chewed and swallowed. “Which is great because I can use that as the reason behind our pretend breakup.” A little grin spread on her mouth.
“Are you the one breaking up with me then?” He smiled back at her.
“Of course.”
“I see how it is.” He took several more bites as she continued to tell him about her family, this time including the story of her stepfather.
“Jerry has never treated me as anything less than his own daughter.”
“Sounds like a stand-up guy.”
“He is. We got lucky.”
“And your real dad?” Troy asked, treading softly. The fact that she’d neglected this detail until today told him it was a fragile subject.
“He kept up with me for a while, but then it just got awkward. He’d come visit after not seeing me for a year and we’d be like strangers. Eventually he just fell away from our lives, and I’m fine with that. Jerry is the best father a girl could want.”
Troy watched her. She was acting tough, like it didn’t bother her, but he already knew her better than that. “Your mom can’t be all bad, either. She had you for a daughter, and you’re pretty great. Not a bad cook, either. This was delicious.”
Allison smoothed a lock of hair behind her ear, averting her gaze to her own plate. “Thank you.” She looked up. “My mother’s wonderful. She just wants to see me happy.”
“No offense, but you’re an adult. You get to make your own choices.”
Allison stiffened again. “I do make my own decisions. It’s just easier if I appease her sometimes. You don’t know how exhausting she can be when I don’t.”
Troy’s parents had been the opposite. They’d always entertained what he’d wanted, even when he’d told them he didn’t want to run the family businesses right now. He was lucky that they’d encouraged him to follow his aspirations. “Anything else I need to know before I pick you up for the party?”
Allison tapped a finger on her chin. “Don’t drink more than one spiked beverage. My mother will offer, but if you take a second one, she’ll decide you’re an alcoholic. If you refuse the first one, that’s a sign that you’re a recovering alcoholic.”
Troy’s brows dove. “Should I be taking notes?”
“Yes, leave the toilet seat down in the bathroom because leaving it up is an indicator of all kinds of things. And compliment my mother’s cooking no matter if it’s true or not. Don’t compliment her outfit or looks, though, because that could be misconstrued as flirting and mean that you’re going to cheat on me someday.”
“If I do everything right, you’ll have no reason to break up with me, though,” he teased. “And that could be a problem, too.”
