Chapter 41
Chapter Forty-One
JORDAN
I stare down at the text my pappoús sent me this morning.
Pappoús
Good morning my kouklaki. My apologies for not reaching out sooner. Sometimes I think it’s good to let the dust settle. Can I take you to lunch tomorrow? My treat.
My pulse stutters. It’s exactly what I’ve been wanting—my pappoús to reach out to me.
I want to talk to him. I need to. But I haven’t wanted to reach out first. For one, I haven’t felt the need to apologize.
I haven’t done anything wrong. And two, I haven’t wanted it to seem like I’m asking for permission… to fall into old habits.
What Matt and I did is a done deal. We’re married. And I’m happier, now that I’ve stepped into that role with confidence, than I ever have been.
Ever.
I type, stealing strength from the deepest parts of me.
Hi Pappoús. Thank you for reaching out. Lunch would be great. Just tell me when and where.
He responds almost immediately, like he’s been waiting for my text all day.
Pappoús
Meet me at our special spot. Noon. I’ll see you tomorrow.
I heart the message, then let out a sigh of relief.
I cross the room to the meditation corner I set up at Matt’s and light some incense before settling cross-legged on the pouf in front of it.
I grab the prayer rope my yiayiá gave me when I was little, flip my hands palms up, and rest them on my knees. Then I close my eyes and draw in a deep, slow breath.
It’s what I do when my thoughts get loud or I need peace that actually sinks in.
I don’t usually pray when I meditate. I breathe, hold my rope, inhale my incense, and quiet my mind.
But every once in a while, my thoughts drift into prayer mode, that place where you start negotiating with someone you’re not even sure is there.
I’m not someone who prays often. I only ever do it when I need something.
And right now, I need strength.
To stop feeling unworthy.
To stop asking for permission.
To walk into lunch tomorrow and not lose my conviction.
Matt’s voice cuts through my peace.
“Christ,” he says. “You always break out the incense when you’re stressed.”
My gaze drags toward him. “I’m meeting with my pappoús tomorrow. I could use a little help.”
His brows rise. “Really? That’s a big deal, babe. How you feeling about it?”
I nod toward my corner. “Well… I’m praying. Sort of, so…” I let out a short laugh. “Guess that’s how I’m feeling about it.”
He grins. “Fair. It’s gonna be fine, though. You know you’re his favorite.”
“Between me and Christopher?” I scoff. “God, I hope so.”
He chuckles, walking toward me with a smirk. “Is this a bad time, then, to tell you I feel like sinning?”
The corners of my mouth curve upward, and I stand, giving up on my moment of serenity.
“Is it sinning if you don’t believe it’s wrong?” I ask, meeting him in a kiss, my hands slipping around his neck.
“If it is,” he says, voice deep and low, “then I have been a very bad boy.” He nips at my bottom lip, hands sliding to my ass.
I tip my head back, laughing softly. “Oh, God.” I bring my gaze back to his. “You always have been my favorite bad idea.”
His lips meet mine in a kiss that could swallow my fears whole. I melt into it, the warmth of his mouth, the safety of his arms, reminding me that he’s here, regardless of what my pappoús says tomorrow.
That we’re better when we’re together. That I’m a strength for Matt, just like he is mine.
I don’t need saving. Not in the way I’ve always believed, anyway.
I just have to believe that I am enough.
And I’m working on that.
I open the door to Maria’s, a diner that’s been around longer than I have. It’s where you go if you want eighties comfort food and the smell of fried dough all day long.
The food is fine. That’s not why we come.
Pappoús brings me here because it’s something he’s been doing since I was a kid. Saturday mornings were my favorite growing up. Just me and him at Maria’s. I’d order the same damn thing every week: a Belgian waffle with whipped cream, topped with strawberries.
It doesn’t hit quite the same now, but I’d never tell him that. The smell of scones hits me immediately, bringing back memories I can’t help but smile at as I weave through the restaurant, passing servers in pale blue dresses and white aprons.
My pappoús is in the back, at the corner table by the window. Just like always.
His face lights up when he sees me and he stands, greeting me with the same kiss on the cheek he’s been giving me for thirty-five years.
“Kouklaki, you look beautiful.”
Same thing he always says, too.
“Hi, Pappoús,” I say with a soft smile. I’m happy to see him, but I’m still angry about the way we were treated at dinner—Matt, specifically. That, and the fact that no one has reached out since.
Except my mamá, who told me I owed everyone an apology.
I wasn’t surprised by anyone’s reaction when it came to me. I expected it.
But the way they all treated Matt?
It makes me upset all over again just thinking about it.
Pappoús pulls out my chair and gestures for me to sit. I slide into the chair and he takes the seat across from me.
“Beautiful day, isn’t it?”
“Pappoús,” I say with a hint of warning. “Please don’t make me sit and talk about the weather while we dance around the real reason we’re here. You invited me to lunch to talk.” I pause, softening my tone. “What is it that you want to say?”
He lets out an exasperated sound. “You sound just like your yiayiá,” he mutters. “Fine. I can’t bullshit her or your mother either.”
He takes a moment, brows furrowing. Then his eyes meet mine, a hint of moisture in them.
“You know—you’ve always marched to the beat of your own drum.
Stubborn. Defiant. A real spitfire. But…
it’s something I’ve always loved about you.
” He chuckles softly, shaking his head. “Remember when I tried to convince you to order the French toast?”
A small laugh escapes me.
“You bit my head off at the ripe old age of seven.”
I lift a brow and shrug. “You should have known better. French toast doesn’t compare to the waffle.”
We both laugh, and a familiar comfort settles between us.
“My sweets, I… I owe you an apology. For not standing up for you at dinner. Your yiayiá means well. She loves you. She just has a hard time accepting things that aren’t in her plans. She wants you to be happy. We all do—”
“But Pappoús, I am happy. Matt makes me happy. He’s always made me happy. You know that. Everyone should.”
He nods slowly. “I do know that, my sweets. I do.” His eyes glisten.
“I’ve always liked Matthew. It’s not that I don’t like him.
He’s a fine man.” He raises a brow. “Not Greek, but a good man. And if you’re determined to go against tradition and marry someone outside our culture and faith, then there’s no one else I’d rather it be than him.
I know you don’t need my permission. Hell, you’ve already gone and done the damn thing.
” His chuckle turns into a deep cough, the way it does sometimes with old people. “But you have my blessing. Regardless.”
Warmth stirs in my chest. It’s not excitement, but… it’s acceptance. And I’ll take it.
I raise an eyebrow. “And what about Yiayiá?”
“Let me worry about your yiayiá,” he says with a wink. “This old dog still has a few tricks up his sleeve, if you know what I mean.”
My eyes go wide. “Oh my God, Pappoús. Don’t ever say that again,” I deadpan.
He just laughs, his eyes sparkling. He thinks he’s so damn funny.
My pappoús sobers, still smiling. “I’m happy to see you happy. Now please tell me I can assure your yiayiá there will be a big wedding soon. It’s the only way to smooth things over with her.”
“I’m sure there will be,” I say. “But honestly, Matt and I haven’t talked about it yet.
” I hesitate, then meet his eyes. I trust him.
“We’re actually trying to get guardianship of his godson, Cole.
Nate’s son. His cousin who died.” I take a breath.
“It’s why we got married so suddenly—not why we’re married or staying married, but why we did it the way we did. ”
I wipe my damp palms along the fabric of my pants. “I hope you’ll keep this between us,” I add quietly.
He nods, thoughtful. “I think that’s really wonderful. You’ll be an excellent mother to Cole.” He pauses. “Now tell me you’re in love. I know Matthew has always loved you. It’s been obvious for a long time. But tell me you love him too.”
I smile softly, my eyes stinging. “I love him so much. You know I do.”
“I know,” he says. “But I had to hear it.”
He stands and opens his arms. “Come here,” he says, pulling me into a hug. “You have a beautiful soul, Jordan. You deserve all the happiness in the world. I hope you know that.”
A cry bursts out of me. The kind that breaks through a smile, happy tears soaking my cheeks.
“Thank you, Pappoús. I love you.”
He presses a kiss to my forehead. “I love you.”
Then he smiles.
And the pressure that’s felt like a goddamn straightjacket my entire life finally splits open.
I step off the elevator into Matt’s foyer, my heels announcing my arrival.
“Hey, babe!” Matt calls.
I round the corner and come to a stop, taking him in.
I almost laugh because the side of him I’m seeing right now is so far from the side he shows the world.
He’s sprawled on the couch, one hand resting on his dick, the other holding a beer.
He’s shirtless—gray sweatpants, his grandfather’s necklace, a backwards hat, and… damn. He looks hot. Really, really hot.
There are very few people who get to see this version of Matt.
The world sees business Matt—the suit and tie, the Boss, the I’ve got my shit together Matt.
The Matt who can have any woman he wants.
Hell, he can practically make a woman come just by looking at her.
Just snaps his fingers and they’ll be naked.
But this Matt?
This Matt will work for it. He’ll make you dinner, bring you wine, rub your back when your neck’s tight, and bring you tea in bed. He’ll have you laughing until you cry and wondering why he chose to spend the night with you.
This Matt—my Matt—is one of a kind.
He makes me feel big things. Things I don’t always know what to do with, because I’m not sure if he feels them the way I do.
He sits up straighter. “How was lunch with your pappoús?”
“It was really good. I’ll tell you all about it. I’m just going to grab something to eat real quick.”
He furrows his brows, one eyebrow lifting higher than the other. “Didn’t you just eat?”
“Yeah, but we went to Maria’s... for lunch.”
He makes a face, and I laugh.
“Exactly. I ordered a salad because it was either that or a grilled cheese. All it came with was tomatoes and cheese, and the cheese was that thick, rubber-like crap, like they’d taken a Kraft Single and grated it. Anyway, I ate around that. So I’m hungry.”
He takes a sip of his beer. “Too bad we don’t have an In-N-Out. That place slaps.”
I laugh. “Oh my God. Did you just say slaps? Are you twelve?”
“No.” He chuckles. “But I’ve been hanging out with a twelve-year-old. You should hear all the weird shit Cole says. It doesn’t even make sense.”
I walk to the fridge, pull it open, and grab a premade vegetarian meal that Matt’s chef made.
“Do you mind grabbing me another beer?” he calls out.
I grab a beer, then turn and make my way to the living room. I sit beside him, pull the ottoman closer, and set my food on the wooden tray in the center.
“So tell me about lunch,” he says.
“Long story short,” I say, turning toward him, “Pappoús likes you, he’s happy to see me happy, and he gave me his blessing.”
Matt grins. “That’s great, babe.” He leans in, giving me a quick kiss. “I knew things would work out with him. And Yiayiá?”
“He said not to worry about it.” I shrug. “Even made a sex joke about having tricks up his sleeve.”
“Christ.” He huffs out a laugh. “You still going to put up with me when I’m his age?”
I shovel a bite of food in. “Of course. I might be plotting ways to kill you in your sleep when you annoy the shit out of me, but…” I glance at him, smothering a smile. “I’ll need you to open the spaghetti sauce jars for me. So, you’re probably safe.”
“Oh, is that all I’m good for?”
“I can think of a few other things you’re good for.” A smile curves my lips as I scoot closer, gliding a hand across his bare stomach.
Good God, these abs. Every divot turns me on.
He smirks. “I like where this is going.”
I set my fork down and straddle his lap. “You look hot,” I say, taking the beer from his hand. I take a quick sip and set it on the side table. “This hat is doing something for me.”
His grin stretches wide. “Am I about to get lucky?”
I press my lips to his. “Maybe,” I whisper. My hands glide up his chest, slow, sensual, until they slide around the back of his neck. I can already feel him growing hard beneath me, and that alone has my stomach kicking. “Unless you’d rather watch your football game.”
His abs flex beneath me as he lets out a chuckle. “You might be the only thing worth missing the football game for,” he says. His hands smooth up my thighs, grip my ass, and tug me closer, mouth coming in for more.
I grin against his lips. “Well then,” I say, reaching into his pants, “I’ll try to make it worth your time.”