Chapter 10
TEN
NADIA
To be clear, Sunday dinner had not been my idea. My mother had heard about Daemon within a week, courtesy of the express line running from Sofia's church group straight to her quilting circle. The invitation arrived with the wording of a request and the structure of an order.
I could have explained that we weren't putting names on anything yet. I could also have saved my breath. In my mother's world, a man either came to Sunday dinner, or he was hiding something, and I'd decided the dinner was easier to manage than the alternative theory.
When we pulled up outside my parents' place, I reached across the truck and straightened Daemon's collar for the third time since he'd picked me up. "You need to stop fidgeting."
"I'm not fidgeting," he said, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.
"You are. And there's no need." I caught his hand, stilling it. "They're going to love you."
"You don't know that." He turned into the driveway of my parents' modest ranch house, the one I'd grown up in. "What if your dad hates me? What if I say something stupid? What if—"
"Daemon." I waited until he looked at me. "Breathe. It's Sunday dinner, not a military tribunal."
"Easy for you to say. You're not the one with a record meeting a veteran."
My heart squeezed at the vulnerability in his voice. This was the side of Daemon Booth that Coogan's Break didn't see. The man who cared so much about doing right that he tied himself in knots over it.
"My dad's going to judge you on who you are now, not who you were." I leaned over and kissed him quickly. "And right now, you're the man who showed up when I needed help. And who fed me lasagna and called in favors and didn't let me face things on my own. That's who matters."
He took a breath, nodded, and climbed out of the truck.
The front door opened before we'd made it halfway up the walk. My mother stood in the doorway, wiping her hands on her apron, her face lighting up when she saw us.
"Nadia! And you must be Daemon." She pulled me into a hug first, then surprised Daemon by doing the same. "Come in, come in. Dinner's almost ready, and Holly's already here with the kids."
Inside, the house smelled like Sunday dinner always did.
Roast chicken, potatoes, vegetables from the garden, and my mother's famous apple pie.
My dad sat in his recliner, reading glasses perched on his nose as he worked through the newspaper's crossword puzzle.
He looked up when we entered, his expression unreadable.
"Dad, this is Daemon Booth. Daemon, my father, Carl Becker."
Daemon crossed the room, hand extended. "Mr. Becker, it's an honor to meet you. Nadia told me about your service."
My father stood and shook Daemon's hand with a firm grip. "She's told me about you too. You work for Lucky Break Construction?"
"Yes, sir. Three years now."
"Ethan Hunter's outfit?"
"That's right."
Dad nodded slowly, still sizing him up. "I've heard good things about the operation. Honest work, fair pay, takes care of his people."
"Ethan's a good man," Daemon said. "Gave me a chance when I needed one. I don't take that lightly."
My father's expression changed. Not approval exactly, but acknowledgment. "A man who values loyalty is worth knowing."
Before the conversation could get more intense, chaos erupted from the kitchen. Jack, Holly's six-year-old, came barreling into the living room ahead of his mother, who followed, looking harried. Emma trailed in behind them, fifteen and doing her best to look like she hadn't been rushing.
"Aunt Nadia."
Emma gave me the typical teenage hug of someone who wanted contact but didn't want to seem too eager. I hugged her properly because I'd been doing it since she was born, and I wasn't stopping now. "Hey, bug."
"Don't call me bug," she said, but she was smiling.
"Never." I looked her over. The swelling was gone, the color was back. She looked like herself again. "Feeling better?"
She glanced away. "Yeah. Sorry about all that."
"Don't be. That's what I'm here for." I steered her toward Daemon. "This is Daemon. Daemon, Emma. And somewhere in this house is Jack."
Jack, never one for shyness, came barreling in from the hallway and walked right up to Daemon. "Do you like dinosaurs?"
Daemon crouched to Jack's eye level, completely serious. "I think dinosaurs are awesome. What's your favorite?"
"Velociraptor! They hunt in packs, and they're super smart."
"Good choice. I'm more of a T-Rex guy myself, but velociraptors are definitely cool."
That settled it. Jack was sold. He grabbed Daemon's hand and pulled him toward the toy box in the corner. "Come see my collection!"
I watched Daemon let a six-year-old drag him across the room without complaint, and something warm settled in my chest. Emma appeared at my elbow, watching the same scene.
"He seems okay," she said, which, from a fifteen-year-old, was practically a glowing endorsement.
"High praise."
"Don't push it." But Emma was still watching him, something thoughtful in her expression.
Holly materialized on my other side. "Okay, that's unfair. He's hot and good with kids?"
"Shut up," I said, but I was smiling.
"Mom said you were bringing someone. I didn't expect—" She gestured vaguely at where Daemon sat on the floor with Jack, the pair examining plastic dinosaurs as if a dissertation were due. "That."
"Yeah, well. He surprised me too."
"How serious is this?" she asked, keeping her voice down.
I watched Daemon help Jack set up an elaborate dinosaur battle scene, running through responses in my head before settling on the truthful one. "We haven't put a name on it yet."
Holly followed my gaze and gave me the look she'd been giving me since we were kids, the one that said she could read the name from where she was standing. "Sure you haven't." She gripped my arm. "Good. You deserve someone who makes you smile like that."
Dinner was the organized chaos that Sunday meals at the Becker house always were. With a guest in the mix, my mother had outdone herself, enough food to feed an army.
Daemon fit in seamlessly. He complimented my mother's cooking, helped Jack cut his chicken, asked Emma about school, and listened when my father talked about the state of the world. He was charming without trying too hard, respectful without being stiff.
And when the sink backed up halfway through dinner, a recurring problem in this old house, Daemon didn't hesitate.
"Mind if I look?" he asked my father. "I've got tools in my truck."
Twenty minutes later, the sink drained perfectly, and my father was showing Daemon his small workshop in the garage.
I watched through the kitchen window as they examined Dad's tool collection, something easing in my father's posture as Daemon asked questions and offered the sort of respect one craftsman gives another.
"He's good for you," my mother said, joining me at the window.
"Mom—"
"I'm not prying. Well, maybe a little." She smiled. "But I haven't seen you this relaxed in years, Nadia. Even with everything going on with the business, you seem... lighter."
"I'm more than a little scared," I admitted. "About the business, about him, about all of it."
"That's how you know it matters." She put her arm around my waist. "Your father was quaking in his boots when he met my parents. Drove around the block three times before he worked up the courage to park."
"Really?"
"Really. The ones worth keeping always scare us a little." For a beat, she said nothing, and I thought she was done. But no. "Speaking of which, Nadia, how is the business? And I want the truth this time."
I sighed. There was no point in lying to my mother. "It's rough. I lost a major account, suppliers are getting pressured by a national chain, and I'm not sure how long I can keep fighting."
"But you're going to keep fighting. Aren't you?"
"Yeah. I am."
"Good." She squeezed me once. "And you're not fighting alone anymore. That man in the garage? He'd walk through fire for you. I can see it."
Through the window, I watched Daemon laugh at something my father said, and my heart stuttered.
"Yeah," I breathed. "I think he would."
After a breather to keep the food comas at bay, my mother brought out pie and coffee. Holly pulled me aside into the hallway.
"Nadia, I need to ask you something." Her expression was apologetic. "And I hate doing this, but—"
"What's wrong?"
"It's the surgery bill." She glanced back toward the dining room, lowering her voice. "Mom called me after she spoke to you. Nadia, I didn't know Emma was in that much pain. She never said a word."
My stomach tightened. "She didn't want to be a bother."
"She's fifteen, not forty-five." Holly's voice cracked. "I'm her mother. I should have noticed."
"She gets the not-making-a-fuss thing honestly." I took hold of her arm. "From all of us."
"The surgery estimate is a lot. I want to help cover it, but I'm stretched so thin right now with Jack, and the hours at the salon have been—" She stopped. "I hate that it always comes back to you."
"It doesn't always come back to me."
Holly gently shook her head. She'd been watching me carry things for years and knew better. "Nadia."
"I'll handle the surgery. You focus on Jack." I forced a smile. "That's what family does." Holly hugged me, and I held on, trying not to think about the spreadsheet I'd been staring at for the past week.
The one that showed Coogan's Catering barely treading water even before losing Pacific Tech. The one that didn't account for helping my parents or my niece or keeping my staff employed.
The one that made Elevate's offer look more tempting every day.
When we returned to the dining room, Daemon was regaling Jack with a story about a construction project gone wrong, complete with sound effects that had the six-year-old in hysterics. Emma had crept closer, listening with wide eyes.
He caught my gaze across the table, his expression shifting from playful to concerned. He could read me too well already.