Chapter Twelve #2
"We didn’t have much space, so we couldn't each have our own room.
My parents wanted to give me their room when I hit puberty, but no way could I let them sleep on the couch.
Anyway, we came up with creative solutions so we could have some semblance of privacy.
My mother painted this gorgeous partition for me and put it in front of my bed.
I still have it in my apartment. My parents always had artists' souls.
They did their best to take care of us, though we never had a lot.
As soon as my brothers and I were of legal working age, we also pitched in to the family finances. "
There was absolutely no accusation in her voice or resentment about her parents' financial situation. I was surprised about that. Some would be very bitter.
I'd never met someone with such a positive outlook on life.
"I'm happy that they stuck with their art because now it's paying off. I think. My brother's trying to figure out if they're really doing well, financially speaking, or if they need our help. When we were kids, it was easy to tell if things were good based on how much food was in the house."
I stilled. "What?"
She nodded. "We had some really tough years when they went through a bit of a dry spell.
They took other jobs to be able to support us, but it wasn't really enough. They both studied art—that’s actually how they met—so they didn't have any other marketable skills.
But we made it through. I'm so happy they finally found some success.
They're both very devoted to their art." She tilted her head. "Why are you looking at me like that?”
"I didn't realize you had such a tough time growing up.”
"Well, maybe we didn’t have a lot of toys and things, but our house was full of love. We had one another's backs. My parents gave their very best, and that's all we can ask of someone, isn't it?"
"I'm not used to people having your positive outlook."
She grinned. “You'd better get used to it. Anyway, my brother is better at gauging the situation than I am. I'm meeting them both tomorrow, and we'll see what Dean has to say."
"You see them every week?" I asked.
She shook her head, and I leaned in, kissing her shoulder. "Depends on how much time we have. How about you?"
"I'm actually meeting my family for breakfast tomorrow at my grandparents' place. It used to be a regular thing, but now with a few of my brothers having families, it's not as easy to coordinate."
"And they all got help from Jeannie, huh?” She smirked.
I raised a brow. "Why do you find that so amusing?”
"I don't know. I would have enjoyed having a meddling grandma. All my grandparents passed away when I was young. Jeannie seems like fun. My mom was so happy about the picture."
She straightened up, tilting her head from one side to the other.
“More wine?” I asked.
She nodded. “Yes, please. I like that you can anticipate my needs."
I wanted to do more than that—I wanted to anticipate and fulfill them all.
I'd never had this impulse to take care of anyone who wasn't related to me before, but Zoey had this inexplicable effect on me.
I didn't want her to go without anything.
She wanted to look after her parents. I wanted to take care of her.
The food arrived quickly. I tipped the delivery guy generously and brought the food to the kitchen counter. Zoey immediately took it out of the cartons, opening it and inhaling deeply.
"Ahhhh, I love good Chinese," she said. “Although Greek food is my favorite.”
“How come?”
“I went to Crete once to visit a friend from high school, and I fell in love with the food. Revani cake is my favorite dessert ever. But now let’s eat. I’m starving.”
I'd ordered mushroom pork. She'd ordered something with chicken. I put it in two bowls, and we ate right there at the kitchen counter.
She grinned. "I wouldn't have taken you for someone who enjoys Chinese."
"Why not?" I asked.
"I don't know. It's not very fancy."
I pinched her ass. "Are you calling me a snob?"
She pressed her lips together. "No, not at all. I don't know, I guess your fancy shirts with cuff links suggest you're not a Chinese takeout type of guy."
I lifted a brow.
She grinned. "Am I wrong?"
I kissed her cheek, wrapping my fingers in her hair. It was so damn silky and smelled so good. I wanted to bury my nose in it and lose myself in her scent—in her.
"Colton," she said, "your food is getting cold."
"I know, but I haven't gotten nearly enough of you."
She shuddered. "Hmm. I'm so tempting that you even forget your food, huh?"
"You’re so tempting that I even forget my damn thoughts, what I'm doing, or what I'm planning."
She straightened her shoulders, looking up at me and licking her lips. I kissed her forehead and then returned to my food.
"Do you want to talk about the email from your brother?" she asked.
I took a mouthful of pork and, after swallowing it, said, "Sure. Why not? Maddox received an email from Father. He’s… asking us for money. Maddox just forwarded it so we’re all aware and can decide what to do."
"Do you often hear from your father?"
"Never. As far as I know, he hasn't been in contact with anyone for years. I’m surprised he reached out now. And also pissed."
She nodded. "So you're mad at your father, not at Maddox."
"I think Maddox reacted well by informing all of us."
"Are you going to do something about it?"
"I have no intention whatsoever of ever seeing or hearing from Father again."
"You got tense in the past few seconds," she said.
"How can you tell?"
She put her hand on my back, pressing between my shoulder blades. "See? Right here."
I could feel that the spot had cramped up. But I completely relaxed when the heat of her palm seeped between my muscles and loosened them.
"Huh. I can feel you relaxing. The wine is helping, isn't it?" she asked.
I turned around, taking her hand, and kissed the back of it. "No, it's you."
She grinned. "You know, normally, a guy sweet-talks a woman to get in her pants. But you were a total grump before and are charming me now. I don’t know what to make of it.”
Neither did I. But talking about other men, in any context, didn’t sit well with me. Not one bit.
“But you do things your own way, huh?” she asked.
“Hell yes.”