Chapter 18
TIANA
The dead zone at Willow’s hits right after lunch, the lull before the afternoon rush. I’m wiping down a surface that’s already spotless when my phone buzzes in my apron pocket.
More messages from Markell.
You still mad at me?
Can I at least take you out for dinner or something?
I saw that thing you posted this morning btw. You looked really good.
I stare at the screen for a second too long, equal parts annoyed and flattered.
“Your face is doing the thing again,” Demi says from behind the espresso machine.
I glance up. “What thing?”
“The ‘I know this man is toxic but unfortunately he’s hot’ thing.”
I scoff. “Please. I have standards now.”
Demi snorts loud enough to attract a glance from a customer near the pastry case. “And yet you’re still texting him back.”
“I am not.”
A pause.
“Yet,” she retorts.
I narrow my eyes at her.
Demi just grins and starts wiping down the counter beside me. “You know, if this is about trying to distract yourself from your weird tension with your boss, I don’t think resurrecting your ex is the healthiest route.”
“There is no weird tension with Griffin.”
“Mhm.”
“There isn’t.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
Unfortunately for me, Demi is not entirely wrong.
Which is exactly why I unlock my phone again and type back a response to the man who has absolutely shattered my heart in pieces.
I tell myself it’s nothing, that it doesn’t mean anything, that I’m just bored and looking for a distraction.
And I try to believe it.
When I glance back down at the screen, I see a message from my dad. A smile immediately tugs at my mouth.
Dad
Dinner tonight? Your mother is convinced you’ve forgotten where we live.
I laugh under my breath.
So dramatic
Dad
We just miss you, sweetheart.
I haven’t been home in a few weeks. Between Willow’s, content creation, Sylas, and living at Griffin’s, life has become one long blur of responsibilities.
I’ll be there.
Later that afternoon, I stand on the curb outside Willow’s, staring at my phone and trying to figure out how much an Uber across town is going to cost, because my car is sitting uselessly in Griffin’s driveway waiting for a new battery.
A truck pulls up.
The passenger window lowers and I glance up.
“Need a ride, Jones?”
Griffin is watching me from behind the wheel with Sylas popping his head out the back window. “Hey, TJ!”
I hate that my day instantly improves a little.
“Hey, guys. My parents invited me for dinner.”
Griffin’s expression remains blank. “Congratulations?”
“I don’t have a car.”
“I’m wondering when we’ll get to the actual problem.”
I cross my arms.
Right then, the back door flies open.
“Did you say dinner?” Sylas asks.
I laugh. “Yes, Sy. My mom is making lasagna.”
“No way! I love lasagna. Can I come?” Sylas leans between the front seats. “Can we go, Dad?”
I look at Griffin.
Griffin looks at me.
“Uh... I’m not sure your dad has time with his busy schedule. Maybe next time—”
Griffin cuts off my rambling before I can dig myself any deeper. “Lasagna sounds good. Get in the car, Tiana.”
My mouth falls open as Sylas pumps a fist into the air.
By the time we turn onto my parents’ street, I’ve repeated myself at least three times.
“You really don’t have to if you don’t want to,” I say again.
Griffin glances over from the driver’s seat. “Are you always this chatty when you’re nervous?”
“I’m not nervous.”
“You’ve adjusted your seatbelt six times in the last ten minutes.”
I immediately drop my hand from said seatbelt and glare at him.
Griffin looks suspiciously amused.
“This is a lot.”
“It’s dinner, Tiana.”
“You don't know my family.”
“I know Mya.”
“That should concern you.”
“If anything, it prepared me.”
I groan and sink lower into my seat.
Sylas, completely oblivious to my suffering, presses his face against the window. “Is that your house?”
“Yes.”
“Do your parents have dessert?”
I laugh. “Yes, bug.”
“Good.”
Griffin huffs out a chuckle beside me. It does something stupid to my stomach.
The truck slows and we pull into the driveway. The porch light is already on and through the front window, I can see silhouettes moving around inside.
A knot forms in my stomach.
This isn’t just dinner —it’s my hot billionaire lumberjack boss who makes my knees weak seeing where I come from and meeting the people who raised me and made me who I am.
“Hey.”
I look over at Griffin.
“Take a breath, Jones.”
I let out an exhale.
Seconds later, the front door swings open and my father practically sprints onto the porch.
“Oh no,” I whisper.
“What’s wrong?” Griffin asks.
“My dad is excited.”
The grin that spreads across my father’s face confirms my worst fears.
“We’re never getting out of here alive,” I mutter.
Before I can stop him, Dad is already halfway down the walkway.
Griffin climbs out of the truck just as my father reaches us.
“You must be Griffin!” my dad says, extending a hand. “I had no idea you were coming but it’s nice to finally meet you.”
I roll my eyes. Finally?
Griffin takes his hand with a polite smile. “Nice to meet you, too, sir.”
“I’ve heard a lot about you,” my dad adds.
“No, you haven’t,” I cut in.
“Why didn’t you tell us we were expecting guests?” he asks, looking between Griffin and me.
The passenger door flies open.
“That’s my fault!” Sylas hops down from the truck and points proudly at himself. “I invited myself.”
A chuckle escapes Griffin, and I press my lips together to hide my own smile.
My dad throws his head back and laughs.
“Well, in that case, you’re my favorite person here.”
Sylas grins like he’s just won a prize. “Really?”
“Absolutely!” Dad claps Griffin on the shoulder. “Come on. Let’s get inside.”
As we reach the porch, the smell of garlic, tomato sauce, and fresh bread drifts out into the evening air. Sylas slips his hand into mine and we step inside together.
“There she is!” my stepmom says, appearing from the kitchen with a dish towel thrown over her shoulder. Then she spots Griffin and stops. “Oh.”
My eyes close. Here we go.
“Oh,” she repeats.
Mom’s gaze travels from Griffin’s head all the way down to his shoes before making the return trip.
“Mom.”
“Hello,” she says.
“Mom,” I reprimand.
“What?”
“You’re staring.”
“I’m observing.”
Griffin, to his credit, somehow manages to keep a straight face.
“Hi.” He takes my stepmom’s hand, placing a short kiss at the top. “It’s nice to meet you, ma’am. I’m Griffin.”
She presses a hand to her chest. “Well, he’s handsome and polite. You hit the jackpot in the boss market, TJ.”
I make a strangled sound. “Mom, stop it.”
“You always act like we’re going to embarrass you,” she says with a huff.
“You are embarrassing me.”
“Oh, hush. I haven’t even started.”
Meanwhile, Sylas has completely abandoned the adults. My gaze follows him to the living room where Jordan is sprawled across the couch with his Nintendo Switch.
He notices us and waves, and I wave back. “JJ, this is my boss, Griffin, and that’s his son, Sylas.”
“Nice to meet you, Griffin and Sylas.”
Griffin nods. “Likewise.”
“What’s that?” Sylas asks my brother.
Jordan glances at him. “Mario Kart.”
Sylas’s eyes widen. “No way!”
“Way.”
Within seconds, they’re sitting shoulder to shoulder discussing the game with intensity.
I barely have time to breathe before Mya appears from seemingly nowhere.
“Oh my God,” she whisper-shouts when she sees who I’m with, dragging me into the hallway and leaving Griffin behind to be interrogated by our parents.
“You brought our boss to family dinner?”
“I did not.”
“He is literally standing in our kitchen, Tiana!”
I glance past her shoulder. Mom is still smiling at Griffin like she just discovered a rare species. Dad has already handed him a beer.
“Well, technically, Sylas invited himself. Which somehow resulted in his father being invited too. And don’t you go out for lunch with him sometimes? It’s the same thing.”
Mya narrows her eyes. “Uh huh.”
“Why are you looking at me like that?” I frown back.
“Because you’re acting weird.”
“I am not, MJ.” I cross my arms and Mya mirrors me. We’ve done this dance enough times that neither of us is backing down.
Mya sighs. “Fine. I’ll let it go.”
I immediately don’t trust that statement.
“For now,” she adds, grinning. Then she abandons me and heads straight for Griffin. I watch in horror as she slides up beside him. “Griffin!” she says brightly.
He looks relieved to see a familiar face. Poor man.
“You survived,” she says.
“Barely,” he replies with an exhale.
“My mom likes you.”
“I noticed.”
I glance at our mother, who is absolutely still staring from across the kitchen.
“Honestly, that’s a pretty good sign,” Mya confirms.
“Is it?”
“No. It’s terrifying.”
Griffin laughs.
And somehow, despite the fact that he has only been here for twenty minutes, it feels like he’s already been absorbed into the family.