that….”
His eyebrows melded together in a very cute way.
“Well….” My arm flailed, giving voice to my frustration level. “My family’s a bit of a problem.”
He seemed amused as he propped himself up on one elbow. “Oh?”
My lips twisted, not wanting to let the words pass. But in the end, it was better just to admit it. “My mom’s not very easy to get along with. She doesn’t approve of my…appetites.”
That made him scratch his chin.
“I mean….” The air left my lungs in a loud depressed sigh. “She thinks I’m fat.” Way too fat to get as good a man as him for instance.
“Oh no, no, no, mon amour .” His hands drew me back down on the mattress. I narrowly avoided spilling the coffee once more. “Nothing could be further from the truth.” Moist lips left trails of kisses on my bare neck and shoulder. “I assure you, she’s wrong. And I’d be more than happy to convince her.”
The snort I emitted turned into a low rumbling laugh. Picturing mom versus Max in a boxing ring practically made me hysterical. “Well, after you meet her, you might just change your mind.” I secretly feared he’d change his mind about a great many things, but held my tongue. I’d been wrong before.
But did lightning strike twice in the same lifetime?
***
Mom answered the doorbell wearing an apron and a shocked look on her face. I’d wager Max was far from the “little man” she’d been expecting. Truthfully, I’m not sure what she’d been expecting—a cross between a marmot and an alien species perhaps? Well no matter. Max grasped her hand, kissed it in a very French manner, and murmured “ Bonsoir, madame .” Mom fanned herself and shot me a look containing equal parts disbelief and suspicion. I bit my cheek to keep from saying something snotty, turned, and gave Dad a hug.
Mom grabbed Max’s arm and led him into the kitchen. I fought the urge to grab his belt and pull him back out. He’s mine damn it . I clenched my teeth as she fanned herself again, all gooey-eyed over Max. “Well…it’s certainly getting hot in here.”
Groan. My mom, the ham .
“It’s always hot in the kitchen,” Max said, flashing me a wink.
“Yes, well, I’m sure your roast chicken is much better than mine; I hope you don’t take offense at my inferior cooking skills.”
My eyes rolled to the back of my head. If they could have rattled out my ears, they would have.
Max placed a hand on the small of my back. “I wouldn’t call them inferior at all. After all, you instilled a love of good food in your very pretty daughter. Any woman who could pass on such a robust culinary appetite to such a gorgeous young woman deserves my thanks.”
“She does?” Mom squeaked.
“She does?” My eyebrows rose. Good Lord, Max was complimenting my mother?
“As you know, a woman without a healthy appetite is merely a clothes hanger.” He placed a possessive hand on my ass. “So unattractive, don’t you agree?”
Mother glanced my way, issued a cross between a choking and gurgling sound and nodded. A few seconds later, she busied herself stirring gravy. I never thought I’d live to see it: my mother…defanged. Victory at last was mine.
I beamed at Max with my most radiant smile, the one reserved for only the most perfect pastry. “Thank you,” I whispered.
“Not at all,” he murmured. “The pleasure is mine.”
As my gaze roamed down his form and back up to his eyes, I contemplated his pleasure. I think he knew exactly what was on my mind.
He picked a garlic-stuffed olive off the relish tray and pressed it to my lips. “Hungry, my little dove?”
Hungry? Oh yes, I was hungry. And he knew exactly how to satisfy my needs.
Epilogue—Twelve months later
Six months after that first dinner at Mom’s, Max asked me to move in with him. He didn’t bitch when I took up all his closet space. He didn’t complain about the way I squeezed the toothpaste tube. We spent Saturday mornings
His eyebrows melded together in a very cute way.
“Well….” My arm flailed, giving voice to my frustration level. “My family’s a bit of a problem.”
He seemed amused as he propped himself up on one elbow. “Oh?”
My lips twisted, not wanting to let the words pass. But in the end, it was better just to admit it. “My mom’s not very easy to get along with. She doesn’t approve of my…appetites.”
That made him scratch his chin.
“I mean….” The air left my lungs in a loud depressed sigh. “She thinks I’m fat.” Way too fat to get as good a man as him for instance.
“Oh no, no, no, mon amour .” His hands drew me back down on the mattress. I narrowly avoided spilling the coffee once more. “Nothing could be further from the truth.” Moist lips left trails of kisses on my bare neck and shoulder. “I assure you, she’s wrong. And I’d be more than happy to convince her.”
The snort I emitted turned into a low rumbling laugh. Picturing mom versus Max in a boxing ring practically made me hysterical. “Well, after you meet her, you might just change your mind.” I secretly feared he’d change his mind about a great many things, but held my tongue. I’d been wrong before.
But did lightning strike twice in the same lifetime?
***
Mom answered the doorbell wearing an apron and a shocked look on her face. I’d wager Max was far from the “little man” she’d been expecting. Truthfully, I’m not sure what she’d been expecting—a cross between a marmot and an alien species perhaps? Well no matter. Max grasped her hand, kissed it in a very French manner, and murmured “ Bonsoir, madame .” Mom fanned herself and shot me a look containing equal parts disbelief and suspicion. I bit my cheek to keep from saying something snotty, turned, and gave Dad a hug.
Mom grabbed Max’s arm and led him into the kitchen. I fought the urge to grab his belt and pull him back out. He’s mine damn it . I clenched my teeth as she fanned herself again, all gooey-eyed over Max. “Well…it’s certainly getting hot in here.”
Groan. My mom, the ham .
“It’s always hot in the kitchen,” Max said, flashing me a wink.
“Yes, well, I’m sure your roast chicken is much better than mine; I hope you don’t take offense at my inferior cooking skills.”
My eyes rolled to the back of my head. If they could have rattled out my ears, they would have.
Max placed a hand on the small of my back. “I wouldn’t call them inferior at all. After all, you instilled a love of good food in your very pretty daughter. Any woman who could pass on such a robust culinary appetite to such a gorgeous young woman deserves my thanks.”
“She does?” Mom squeaked.
“She does?” My eyebrows rose. Good Lord, Max was complimenting my mother?
“As you know, a woman without a healthy appetite is merely a clothes hanger.” He placed a possessive hand on my ass. “So unattractive, don’t you agree?”
Mother glanced my way, issued a cross between a choking and gurgling sound and nodded. A few seconds later, she busied herself stirring gravy. I never thought I’d live to see it: my mother…defanged. Victory at last was mine.
I beamed at Max with my most radiant smile, the one reserved for only the most perfect pastry. “Thank you,” I whispered.
“Not at all,” he murmured. “The pleasure is mine.”
As my gaze roamed down his form and back up to his eyes, I contemplated his pleasure. I think he knew exactly what was on my mind.
He picked a garlic-stuffed olive off the relish tray and pressed it to my lips. “Hungry, my little dove?”
Hungry? Oh yes, I was hungry. And he knew exactly how to satisfy my needs.
Epilogue—Twelve months later
Six months after that first dinner at Mom’s, Max asked me to move in with him. He didn’t bitch when I took up all his closet space. He didn’t complain about the way I squeezed the toothpaste tube. We spent Saturday mornings
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