Chapter 14 #3
She nodded charmingly, giving me a graceful smile, and asked, “Now, what can Mo get you to drink?”
“I’m having a John Collins. Make her a John Collins, Mo,” Marte ordered.
“Sidecar,” Signe demanded. “Mo makes the best sidecars.”
“Singapore sling,” Lene declared. “But let Taylor make it. He’s the master of the sling.”
“Margarita,” Trine said. “I already made a pitcher, Mo.”
Mo let them all say this then looked down to me and lifted his brows.
“Margarita sounds good,” I told him.
He nodded, gave me a small smile, bent to me and touched his lips to mine.
He then walked to the bar cart.
Ingrid had an actual bar cart.
Total class.
Totally the shit.
“Can we eat now?” Taylor demanded to know.
“Yes, Taylor,” Ingrid said serenely.
Instantly Taylor, Rick and Paul fell on the hors d’oeuvres like they hadn’t eaten in a year.
I almost burst out laughing.
“Would you like me to wade in and make you a plate, Lottie?” Ingrid offered. “Before the trough expires.”
“Don’t you eat all those corn muffins, Rick!” Lene snapped at her husband before I could answer her mother. “Those are Mo’s favorites.”
“They’re mine too,” Rick retorted to his wife, mouth full of corn muffin.
“Save him five,” Lene returned sharply.
Rick gave a harassed look to Taylor.
Taylor didn’t field it. He was busy shoving a muffin in his mouth.
“Mo, now that you’re seeing someone famous, you need more shirts like that,” Trine decided, eying her brother’s awesome shirt.
She then turned to me.
“You’ll probably be doing fancy stuff and he’ll have to come along, which he won’t want to do because it’ll be stuff like book signings and movie premieres.
But he’ll do it because he’s Mo and you’ll be wearing hot dresses like that one.
Though probably it’ll be more because you’ll be wearing hot dresses like that one.
We’ll go shopping. He looks fabulous in blue.
He needs more blue. He’s always wearing black. Or gray. I blame Hawk for that.”
I didn’t tell her I didn’t attend book signings or that there hadn’t been any movie premieres.
I didn’t because I didn’t get the chance.
“Hawk doesn’t buy his clothes, Treenz,” Marte rejoined.
“He promotes an environment that’s manifestly male , Marz,” Trine shot back. “If given the choice, men would only wear black, gray and army green.”
At that, Paul looked down at his burgundy shirt before he muttered to Rick, “Could have sworn I hauled my own fuckin’ ass out to buy this.”
Rick grinned before shoving a mini-smoked salmon sandwich in his mouth.
“Speaking of that,” Signe put in, ignoring this exchange, “when is Hawk going to hire a female commando, Mo?”
Walking back to me with my margarita that was in an actual salt-rimmed, stemmed margarita glass that was the only one of the pure-class variety I’d ever seen, Mo didn’t have a chance to answer.
Lene did it before him.
“Never. He’s never gonna hire a woman. Except Elvira.”
“This is because Elvira’s more woman than fifty women,” Marte mumbled under her breath.
“That’s for certain,” Trine agreed.
“I would not wish those boys on any woman,” Marte said. “Except Elvira. She’s the only one who can handle them.”
“It’s still hardly equal opportunity,” Signe pointed out.
“Seenz, you think Hawk has ever given the concept of ‘equal opportunity’ even a second’s thought?” Lene asked.
The four sisters looked among each other, and then on a sister wavelength, in unison, they burst out laughing.
Though I didn’t know Hawk very well, I did have firsthand knowledge he was a purveyor of quality badass and I wouldn’t think he’d discriminate if he thought the job would get done.
I decided not to share this.
“Mag’d tap their ass before they even were assigned a flak jacket,” Rick murmured.
“Rick!” Lene abruptly stopped laughing to snap.
“Am I wrong?” he asked.
“No!” she kept snapping. “But Danny is Mo’s roommate. Don’t give Lottie the impression he’s a player.”
That cat was out of the bag.
And…
Danny?
I was so going to give him shit by calling him that from this moment on.
And sharing it with Evie when the time came.
I had a margarita in my hand and Mo’s heavy arm slung around my shoulder, so I coasted mine around his waist.
“Get out of my way, Paul, I’m making Mo a plate. And Lottie. I’m making Mo and Lottie a plate,” Signe announced, nudging her husband out of the way and picking up a small, delicate, china plate with a graceful gold design on the edges.
“The man can feed himself,” Paul muttered.
“No he can’t, with all you boys guarding the food like rabid dogs,” Signe fired back.
I heard Mo’s quiet sigh.
I also again beat back laughter.
And last, I was understanding how Mo learned to communicate nonverbally.
He grew up with four older sisters who wouldn’t let him get a word in edgewise.
I took a sip of my drink.
“Perhaps, if my girls can give Lottie the impression we’ve got a modicum of manners and aren’t one step down from lunacy, I could sleep tonight.
Rather than tossing and turning at the thought my son’s new girlfriend is buying a one-way ticket somewhere very far from here to get away from us ,” Ingrid suggested smoothly before taking a sip of what appeared to be a martini with olives from a stylish glass.
Clearly, after my intro to the Morrison women, she’d retrieved her cocktail.
Actually, probably because I was receiving said intro, she’d had to retrieve her cocktail.
“And he can feed himself, Signe,” Ingrid continued. “And as it appears Lottie has full use of all her limbs, I’m sure she can too.”
Mother spoke, Signe gave big eyes to her sisters, all three of them, put a corn muffin and salmon sandwich on her plate and retreated from the coffee table where all the food was laid out.
When she did, Paul dropped a heavy arm on her shoulders.
Rick cleared his throat and started, “Lottie, if you could?—”
“Don’t,” Lene interrupted him.
“I’m just—” Rick tried again.
“Nope,” she cut him off.
“Laynz, she won’t be?—”
“Shut it,” Lene bit.
“I’d be happy to sign your poster and ask the Rock Chicks to sign your books,” I offered. “I even know the author and can ask her too. They all like doing that, so they’ll be happy to and so will I.”
Rick smiled big at me. “Thanks, Lottie.”
“Not a problem,” I told him.
He gave a look to his wife.
She rolled her eyes.
“Lottie, now that we have some calm in the storm my girls are so adept at blowing, why don’t you tell us a little about you?” Ingrid invited, and then, class act that she was, guided my way, “I hear you have a mother and sister that live in town.”
“Yes,” I agreed.
“I’d enjoy meeting them,” she replied.
“And they you. They already love Mo. I’m sure you’ll be fast friends.”
Her gaze darted to her son and came back to me. “They’ve met?”
Uh-oh.
Mo hadn’t shared.
He also didn’t share now.
He was nonchalantly drawing off a bottle of beer.
This meant I had to do it.
“He came to dinner at my mom’s house.”
“Of course they love Mo,” Trine butted in. “Mo’s lovable. Tammy’s parents adored him. I think her mother is still wearing black in grief that Tammy messed that up.”
“ Treenz ,” Signe clipped. “Don’t mention Tammy .”
“He wasn’t in a monastery before he met her, Seenz ,” Trine shot back.
“Lord save me,” Ingrid whispered.
“Not that we’re Catholic,” Trine said over her, aiming this my way. “And not that we have a problem with Catholics. We don’t. We’re just not Catholic.”
“I’m Catholic,” Lene put in.
“Because Rick’s Catholic,” Trine returned.
“I’m Catholic because I’m Catholic,” Lene retorted. “I just converted prior to marrying him.”
“Because Rick was Catholic,” Marte butted in.
“It doesn’t matter,” Signe snapped. “Talking about it is making Lottie think we think it matters when it doesn’t.” Signe looked to me. “We’re cool with all races, religions and creeds. I promise.”
“I wasn’t worried,” I assured her.
“Except white supremacists. We’re not cool with that,” Trine declared.
“No one’s cool with that,” Marte replied. “And that isn’t a religion.”
“It is a creed ,” Trine fired back.
“Right, would you four freakin’ shut it ?” Mo demanded.
All four turned to him.
Or five, since I did the same.
But he was looking down at me.
“Rewind to our talk in the truck. You got nothin’ to be worried about. It seems I had somethin’ to worry about. You findin’ out my sisters are a bunch a’ kooks and runnin’ for the hills.”
My mound of hunkalicious boyfriend looked hassled.
I smiled up at him.
“ Ohmigod ,” Marte breathed, moving toward me. “You were worried, Lottie? That’s so sweet.” She threw a look over shoulder at her sisters before she drew me out from under Mo’s arm and toward the coffee table. “Isn’t that sweet?” she asked her sisters.
“That’s so sweet,” Lene said, crowding into me. “We don’t bite, promise.”
“We’re just a little crazy,” Marte told me, reaching to get a little plate and handing it to me.
Signe snatched up a square cloth cocktail napkin, also handing it to me, doing this saying, “We’re not crazy. Crazy makes it sound bad. We’re zany .”
“Yeah, zany. Zany is good,” Lene agreed. “Now let’s get you some corn muffins. Mom’s corn muffins are to die for . And she only pulls them out for the special occasions.”
Special occasions.
I looked back at Mo, who had eyes on me.
He no longer looked hassled.
His sisters fussing over me, he looked happy.
I then turned my gaze to Ingrid who was moving toward Mo.
She had a small smile on her lips and this was pointed at her son.
In other words, she looked happy.
A corn muffin landed on my plate and females babbled around me while their males gravitated to Mo.
As for me?
I had Mo.
Mo had a great family.
He was giving it to me.
And that meant I was happy.
Mo
They were on meringue cake, eating it in the living room, the women sipping Amaretto and Kahlua from his mother’s snifters, sitting on his mother’s couches, absorbed in woman talk.
Mo was standing with the guys, having already devoured his cake and setting the plate aside when his phone vibrated.