Page 78 of Honeyed

“Maybe we can recreate that little scene later because it does sound all kinds of lusty and exciting. But if I don’t get these eight sodas over to the school board’s table, we all might be living with those trailers on the baseball field again next year.”

My father is exceptionally good at holding the town decision-makers hostage with how good his food is. Dangle a buffalo mozzarella pizza in front of certain key players, and he’ll be able to guarantee a school budget that favors what the town wants. With Evan’s cooking now on the menu, I’m pretty sure we could lobby for much more.

“Fine, but I’m holding you to it later.” He kisses my temple before I turn around, holding the tray of drinks.

“I wish I could kiss you without dropping these, but I’m out of practice.”

“Then I’ll do you one better; I love you. That’s not something I used to be able to say when we were teenagers.”

The words from his perfect lips still light me up inside like nothing else. I’m not sure I’ll be used to hearing them even when we’re eighty-five and sipping lemonade on our back patio. For years, I waited for him to validate my feelings, to tell me I wasn’t alone. It’s surreal that out loud, in public, for anyone to hear, Warren Teal could admit that he’s in love with me and only me for the rest of his life.

“I love you, too. So much.”

We stare at each other for a beat, the tension and heat building.

“Jump each other later, please, we have tables waiting.” August breaks up our moment with her teenage eye rolls, and I can’t help but laugh as I leave Warren adjusting himself at the drink station.

Hours later, my arms and feet whine at how much I’ve been using them tonight. It’s possible that I’ve carried more than two hundred plates to and from the kitchen, and I know we’ll all have to break everything down later. Maybe I should require Warren to give me a foot massage later before I let him in my pants.

“Al, can you jump on the mic about the fifty-fifty?” Liam shouts.

I nod, making my way to the DJ booth, and grab the microphone as the song ends.

“Hello, everyone!” I singsong and get a rowdy greeting in return.

“My family and I can’t tell you how much tonight means to us, and we’re so grateful that each and every one of you came out to celebrate with us. Make sure you eat it all, we don’t want anyone leaving with anything less than a bulging belly.” A round of laughs go up. “If you would be so kind as to buy tickets for our fifty-fifty, all proceeds are going to a cause near and dear to one of our own’s heart. We’ve selected a nonprofit that is on the forefront of dementia research, and all the money raised tonight will be donated to their efforts.”

My eyes flit to Warren, who goes stock still as his gaze collides with mine. I watch as emotion washes over his face, and he nods his head solemnly, as if thanking me without words. Arthur and Clara meant a great deal to him, and when Patrick suggested a fifty-fifty to excite the community, I immediately asked if we could donate the proceeds in Warren’s name.

He’s a huge part of our family, one of the integral parts, and it’s time we all show him how much. I try every day to, but reinforcing it over and over doesn’t hurt anyone.

After the claps die down over that little announcement, I thank everyone again and get off the mic to help with the clean-up efforts. The night is winding down, at least here since they’ve eaten us out of house and home, and while Newton Street will light up with bar-goers and people walking the parks during a summer night, we have a heck of a breakdown to do in an hour or so.

My eyes wander over the crowd, loving the energy buzzing off everyone like a natural high. Mom meets my eyes, and hers crinkle with emotion at what we’ve done here, how our family’s legacy has come together. I know that someday soon, she and Dad won’t be able to be here full time or maybe won’t want to. That puts a bittersweet taste in my mouth; they deserve the most peaceful kind of retirement, but at the same time, this is their lifeblood. It’s the place where I watched them work as a team, and so much of their interaction here taught me what marriage was and is.

All of a sudden, the hair on the back of my neck goes up as if someone is standing too close behind me. I whirl around, the feeling making my skin crawl, and I almost run smack dab into Mason Klein.

“Holy shit—” My hand flies to my heart.

Not only does he startle me, but the jump scare is from him being here at all.

“Nice party, must warm your heart to give out all this free food. You guys clearly don’t need the money.”

The sneer of his upper lip has alarm bells ringing in my head, and I want to cower back when his hand comes up as if he might touch me.

“What are you doing here? You’re not welcome.” I try to keep the fear out of my voice.

“It’s open to the public, of course, I am. Can’t a guy trying to learn more about Kyle Teal, see where his son has worked for years?”

The use of Warren’s father’s name paralyzes me. I haven’t heard it mentioned in conversation in … well, ever. Warren refuses to say it. Here is this guy who keeps showing up out of the blue, and something is definitely not right with his fascination.

“No, you cannot. Leave before I get the cops involved.” No one has caught on to his presence yet.

“I’m just trying to tell a true documentary from all sides. Warren doesn’t even know what a bitch his mother—”

“Stop. It. Now.” My voice is pure steel, anger radiating from my pores.

How dare he come in here and say something like that for Warren to overhear? At the same time, what kind of objective documentary maker speaks like this? No, something is definitely not right where this project is concerned.

---