Page 84 of Perfect Pairing
“Absolutely not,” she said firmly. “You’re a guest in my home—”
“And guests don’t cook,” Brie finished for her from across the room. With a wink at me, she added, “No matter how good they are.”
I grinned at her. “Then what do you expect me to do with myself?”
“Go down to the den,” Lena said, pointing to another archway down the hall. “All the guys are in there watching the Mustangs game.”
With a shrug and a final imploring look at Brie, who onlyoffered me a demure smile and shake of her head, I made my way toward the guys, finding both my son and father sprawled out on one part of the large sectional—my dad with a bottle of Molson, Hansen with a juice pouch—watching the game and shooting the shit with the rest of them.
Well, Hansen wasn’t shooting the shit so much as he was exclaiming loudly with every hard tackle or big play, peppering Owen with endless questions about how football was played.
My heart swelled in that moment, grateful for these people who had easily welcomed us into the fold and acted like we belonged with them.
Fuck, how badly I wanted to make that a reality.
“Grab yourself a beer, kid,” my dad said, gesturing at the fridge cleverly concealed under a bar top along the back wall. I had to chuckle at the sight he presented, manspread across the couch, fingers lightly gripping the neck of his own drink while he watched the game and conversed with Owen, Leon, Logan, Calvin, and Liam like they were all old friends.
I grabbed a bottle of craft IPA and dropped onto the couch next to my son and Liam.
“Hey man,” Liam said, lifting his own bottle over Hansen’s head in a toast.
“Hey,” I said. “Surprised to see you here.”
Liam chuckled. “I could say the same.”
Liam Danvers was a bit of a wildcard in my opinion. As the winery’s vintner, he was directly involved in the growing of the grapes and production of the wine. Early the past summer, he and Amara had even teamed up to create a line of ready-to-drink, wine-based cocktails that hit the market in June and made amajor splash. Personally, I was obsessed with the Lena’s Best Sangria—named, of course, after the Delatou matriarch—as was everyone else. In addition to his job as the CD vintner, he was also an insanely talented mixologist and had some sort of agricultural engineering degree.
The dude was wicked smart, but you’d never know it by the beard, flannels, and tattoos.
“Figured after three years, I could take Lena up on her invitation,” I said noncommittally.
Liam nodded in understanding. “My family lives in Vancouver, and I couldn’t take time off to go home.”
I blinked, surprised. “I didn’t know you were Canadian.”
“Really?” he asked, quirking a brow. “Everyone tells me it’s obvious by my accent.”
“You don’t have an accent,” Hansen said helpfully, and Liam chuckled, reaching out to ruffle my son’s hair.
“I don’t?”
“Nah,” Hansen said, his eyes never straying from the TV. “You sound normal to me.”
I barked out a laugh at my son’s confidence and decided it was nice having Liam here, reminding me I wasn’t the only odd man out around this family.
Plus, I was happy to see him for a different reason.
“So,” I said conversationally, and Liam glanced at me, brows shooting up. “There’s actually something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about. You think maybe after the holiday season, we could set up a meeting with Amara to discuss an idea I’ve got?”
Liam shrugged, easy-going as ever. “I don’t see why not.”
“Did I just hear my girl’s name?” Cal asked from across theroom.
“Simmer down, Ryder,” Liam said. “It’s work stuff. None of your concern.”
Cal slapped a palm over his heart in mock hurt. “You wound me, Danvers.”
“You say that like you didn’t get yourself fired from the company for being a jackass,” Owen mumbled, and I couldn’t help but chuckle.
