“Hello?” I called into the void. “What? There’s a party happening right now?”
Mom blinked then focused on me but not my question. “Couldn’t see it in my head but there it is right in front of me. You two look real cute together.”
Sam chuckled.
I snapped, “Mom!”
“What?” she asked.
“Party?” I prompted.
She nodded, flipping open her phone, muttering, “Margaritas, beer, brats, Essie’s world famous homemade onion rings and Nutter Butter, hot fudge, ice cream parfaits for dessert.”
There it was. Mom’s world famous homemade onion rings were double dipped in beer batter which meant they not only had twice the batter, that batter absorbed twice the fat and thus they were awesome and Nutter Butter, hot fudge, ice cream parfaits were wicked good. They had crumbled Nutter Butters in them, hot fudge she made that had two sticks of butter and half a bag of sugar in it and my mother actually wrote to a frozen yogurt manufacturer once to request them to provide her with the knowledge of what was the point so, suffice it to say, the ice cream would be premium.
I looked at Sam and said, “Told you so.”
Sam smiled down at me.
“Freaking, freakity freak, that smile is good,” Paula whispered and my head jerked to her.
“Would you stop perving on my boyfriend right in front of me?” I snapped.
“Babe, your boyfriend is Sampson Cooper, you gotta get used to that shit. I’m doing my best friend duties and helping,” Paula fired back.
“Ford,” I heard Mom say and looked to see her talking on the phone. “Yeah, they’re here. They made it, safe and sound. They needed a little…” she paused, took in my robe, her gaze gliding over Sam’s half-buttoned shirt but studiously avoiding Sam’s eyes and she kind of but not totally lied, “rest. Kia needs to spend half an hour on her hair and twenty minutes on her makeup and they’ll be over.”
“Yep, that’s your mother,” Sam muttered.
I shot him a look.
He ignored the look, let me go and took Memphis from me, lifting her up so they were eye-to-eye.
“You Memphis?” he asked my dog and Memphis yapped her affirmative while I stared at them thinking that no one, but no one, but no one but Sam could make talking to a King Charles spaniel eye-to-eye cool.
Sam curled Memphis into one of his arms and rubbed her head with his other hand, Memphis panted happily and Sam’s eyes came to me. “She’s cute.”
“Told you that too,” I said softly.
He grinned at me.
“Right!” Mom stated loudly, snapping her phone shut and instantly shoving it in her bag. “Your father says the match has been struck, the grill has been lit. This means I need to get home and man the deep fat fryer. You’ve got half an hour. Bring your camera.” Her eyes went to Sam. “Very nice to meet you, Sam and see you in half an hour.” Her eyes swept through the girls. “Out to the car, Kia has to get ready and iron Sam’s shirt so we need to leave her to it.”
“I’ll iron your shirt,” Teri offered, her eyes on his chest and I could be wrong but it looked like they were glazing over.
“I think I got it, Teri,” I told her.
I watched her body jerk.
“Spoilsport,” she muttered to me on a grin.
“All right! See you guys in half an hour,” Paula stated, hooking Teri with an arm and moving to follow Mom who was already out the door, this because she knew from experience when Dad was at the grill, the whole world began revolving around his grill efforts and she was part of that world so she had to get her ass in gear. “Rudy’s at your Mom and Dad’s. He’s psyched. This is gonna be so fun.”
“Later!” Teri called on a wave.
“Later!” Paula pulled her out of sight.
“Later, guys,” I called as Sam’s arm curved around me again and curled me into him and Memphis.
I tipped my head back to look up at him.
We heard the front door close.
“You don’t have to iron my shirt,” he informed me and I felt my eyes widen in shock at his intimation, not capable of wrapping my head around the thought of Sam standing at an ironing board much less ironing.
“Are you going to do it?”
“Fuck no.”
Well, there you go. I couldn’t wrap my head around it because it wasn’t going to happen.
“Sam, just a reminder, you’re in Indiana,” I told him. “Mom’s hint was not a hint so much as a command. We’re considered a couple. I might be flogged if I allow my man to go out with a wrinkled shirt. I’m jetlagged, feel weird, am about to face a party where everyone is going to not act cool with you so I’m not in the mood to fit being flogged in that schedule.”
He chuckled and through it offered, “How’s this? You get ready but tell me where the ironing board is. I’ll set it up.”
“That’s a plan. The ironing board is in the mudroom off the kitchen.”
“Right,” he muttered, dropped his head, kissed my nose, Memphis yapped and then he let me go and strode from the room, again rubbing Memphis’s head as she panted happily.