Thirty-Seven
Rowan
The vibration against my thigh hasn’t stopped for three hours.
Nine texts. Six missed calls. Two voicemails I refuse to open.
“Beckett deals with gunshot wounds, but he can’t keep his mouth shut for five minutes?” I throw my hands up. “He’s a snitch.”
“You basically announced yourself.”
“I broke my toe.”
“Your toe is fine. I checked it.”
I pull my phone out. Another text lights up the screen.
Madison: I KNOW YOU ARE WITH HIM. ANSWER ME.
I shove the phone back into my pocket.
When Hudson told me over coffee that Beckett knew, I panicked.
To distract myself, I suggested we go somewhere for breakfast. He drove me home so I could change and feed the cats, and I figured we were heading to a diner downtown where I could eat waffles in peace.
Instead, Hudson turned down a quiet suburban street and pulled into the driveway of a house I’d never seen before.
“Where are we?”
“My parents’ house,” he says, unbuckling his seatbelt.
I freeze. “Your what?”
“My parents. We’re having breakfast.”
“Hudson.” I grab his forearm. “Look at me.”
He turns to me, totally calm. “I’m looking.”
“Are you insane?” I whisper-hiss. “You brought me to meet your parents? Today? I haven’t even processed that we’re having sex yet.”
“You wanted breakfast. They make a good one. And my mother texted this morning to say that if I didn’t bring you, she was sending Josh to my house.”
“Josh knows about us?”
“Josh knows.”
“I hate Josh.” I slap my hands over my face. “I hate Josh, I hate Beckett, I hate Madison, and I’m having doubts about you.”
Hudson laughs and pulls my hands away from my face. “Breathe.”
“I can’t breathe.”
“It’s just breakfast,” he says, his thumb pressing gently against my wrist.
“I look like a mess,” I mumble.
“You look fine.” He gets out, opens my door, and wraps an arm around my waist. “Ready?”
“No.”
He walks me up the path anyway, and the front door swings open before we even reach the step.
A woman in her sixties sits in a wheelchair right in the entryway. She has silver hair, sharp blue eyes just like Hudson’s, and a look that says she’s been waiting there all morning.
“About time,” she says, rolling forward. Her eyes take in my red hair and the way I’m gripping her son’s arm. “So, you’re the woman who calls my son Shrink Wrap?”
I let go of Hudson’s arm like it burned me. “I’m so sorry,” I blurt out. “I was stressed, and I actually respect his degree.”
Hudson lets out a quiet chuckle behind me.
His mom stares at me for a second, then throws her head back and laughs. “Oh, you poor thing,” she says, wheeling closer and holding out a hand. “I’m Eleanor. Ignore Hudson. He’s boring. And don’t trust Josh. He’s a mommy’s boy and the reason I know everything about you.”
“Mother,” Hudson sighs.
Eleanor pulls me into a gentle hug. “Come in, Rowan. I want to hear all about the gallery.”
I blink. “You know about the show?”
“Of course I do,” she says, backing her chair down the wide hallway. “I saw your reviews in the newspapers.”
I look back at Hudson, who just shrugs.
“There they are,” a man’s voice calls out from the kitchen.
“I’m Ed.” He sets a plate on the table, then pulls me in for a quick hug. “Great to meet you.”
I laugh, startled. “You too.”
When Eleanor rolls up to the head of the table, Ed steps to her side, leans down, and kisses her forehead. She pats his cheek without looking up and takes a sip of her coffee.
Ed looks at her like taking care of her isn’t work. It’s just part of loving her.
Suddenly, everything about Hudson makes sense. The quiet way he watches me, the cushion he put on the chair in the observation room, the way he holds my weight when my hip gives out without ever making a big deal of it—he learned that patience right here at this table.
I end up asking them how they met and how they made all of this work. They bicker over who made the first move and talk about the early days like they were yesterday, making years of marriage sound easy, even when it clearly wasn’t.
“So,” Eleanor says, leaning in. “There’s something I’ve been dying to ask you, Rowan.”
I swallow. “Okay?”
“Did he really put you in the guest room, or was that just a cover story?”
Hudson drops his head into his hands.
“He really put me in the guest room,” I say.
Eleanor claps her hands. “I knew it! The boy has no moves.”
Ed sets a plate of eggs in front of me and squeezes Hudson’s shoulder. “Don’t listen to her, son.”
Under the table, a warm hand slides onto my knee.
Hudson’s fingers grip my leg, his thumb pressing into the tight joint to work out the stiffness. He’s reaching for the toast with his other hand, totally poker-faced.
Heat climbs up my neck.
Before I can kick his shin, the front door opens.
“We brought pastries!” Josh’s voice echoes down the hall.
A second later, two-year-old Maya tears into the kitchen, dark curls flying everywhere. The second her eyes land on me, she skids to a stop.
“Ro-an!”
She launches herself straight into my lap. My heart melts on the spot.
“Red,” she announces happily.
“Red,” I agree, grinning at her. “Hi, kiddo.”
Josh walks in behind her carrying a coffee tray, followed by a bright-eyed woman with a blonde ponytail who has to be his wife.
She takes one look at me holding Maya, dumps her purse on a chair, and slides straight into the empty seat beside me.
She leans in. “Hi, I’m Sophie. We’re going to be best friends.”
Eleanor shakes her head from the end of the table. “A little less enthusiasm, Soph. We’re trying not to scare her off.”
“Nonsense,” Sophie says, waving a hand. “She survived Hudson, and she likes my kid.”
Maya jumps off my lap to go play.
Under the table, Hudson’s hand moves higher. His palm presses flat against the inside of my thigh, squeezing lightly.
I kick his ankle.
He doesn’t budge. He just takes a bite of toast and cuts his eyes toward me.
Alright, Shrink Wrap.
While Ed and Eleanor argue about their roofing guy, I slide my foot out of my shoe under the table. I drag my arch slowly up Hudson’s calf.
His toast stops halfway to his mouth before he exhales and tightens his grip on my thigh.
I nearly choke on my food.
“You okay?” Eleanor asks.
“Fine!” My voice is way too high. “The eggs are… spicy.”
“It’s just a little black pepper,” Ed assures me.
“Rowan is sensitive to heat,” Hudson says, his voice dropping low. He turns to me, his eyes gleaming. “Aren’t you, baby?”
I glare at him, but I keep my foot right where it is, even when my phone buzzes on the table.
Madison: I’m standing outside your house. Where are you?
I look at the screen, then at Eleanor, who’s trying to pass me more food. I look at Hudson, whose thumb is still moving against my thigh.
I type back one line.
Me: Having breakfast with my future in-laws. Leave a message.
I drop the phone face-down, take the food, and lean into Hudson’s shoulder as he laughs.