“Determined to achieve as much as they have?”
“Maybe. And while we’re on that topic, I’ve been thinking about the menu.” She winced when his arms tensed. “I know you need creative control, but I still think we can add one or two basic items.”
“Why bastardize the menu?” He stared at the headboard and breathed slowly rather than look at her.
“Because not everyone’s a foodie. If we expand the menu, we could capture groups that otherwise wouldn’t come because one or two people don’t like fussy food.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my food, Colby.” He rolled off her body, propping himself up on his elbow. She immediately missed his warmth. “My ‘fussy’ food wins awards.”
“I know that’s important to you, but not everyone likes haute cuisine.” She stroked his cheek. “Do this and I promise: no happy hours.”
She could tell he was holding back but decided not to push.
“Let’s table this for another time.” He trailed his finger down her arm. “I can’t make career decisions when you’re naked.”
“Well, perhaps you’re not so single-minded that you can’t make time for things like this, after all.” Her thoughts hovered around the vision of an imaginary young family, but then retreated. Way too soon. She turned on her side and traced her fingertips over his shoulder and along his chest, her insides tightening with a rising need.
“There’s always time for this.” He kissed her again, this time a little roughly. When he flattened her with his weight again, his erection, hot and hard, rubbed against her thigh.
He nuzzled her neck, and then his tongue trailed down to her breast.
“Alec,” she whispered, threading her fingers through his hair, urging him on.
Then the doorbell rang, stilling them both.
“Who’s that?” she asked.
“I don’t know.” He hesitated. “They’ll go away.”
He kissed her again, but then the knocking began. “Alec, are you in there?”
He popped up, his face now stricken. “It’s my mom.”
Colby reached out to him. “Alec, what’s wrong?”
“I don’t know.” Without another word, he bolted out of bed, pulled on his sweats, and left the room.
Colby slid out from under the covers. Lifting her discarded dress off the floor, she wondered whether she should stay hidden or join the conversation. His mother’s voice carried through the open bedroom door.
“Let’s go get his car from the bar before he wakes up,” she said.
“How’d he get home?” Alec asked.
“Craig drove him in his car and carried him into the house.” His mother’s sad tone seeped into Colby’s chest, where it turned to ice.
“He’s that drunk?” A blend of disgust and worry rang out.
“Passed out. Now, please, let’s hurry.”
Colby heard Mrs. Morgan’s light footsteps on the tile entry, but then Alec said, “Mom, wait. I’m not alone.”
Colby’s pulse skipped. Did he want her to come out of his room? What would she say to Mrs. Morgan when it seemed a fair bet she was the reason Mr. Morgan got so drunk?
“Oh?” Following a brief pause, his mom said, “Oh! Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt, but I don’t have anyone else to turn to without embarrassing your father.”
“It’s okay. Just give me a minute.”
Alec whitewashing his dad’s reaction to their relationship painted an unwanted similarity between Mark’s and his ability to lead a double life. Worse, a tug-of-war between her and his family might distract him from his professional goals, like Joe’s death had done before. Could Alec be happy without more awards, or would he become depressed by the failure to recapture that glory? How would that disappointment affect them?
When Alec came into the room, she remained seated on his bed, rattled by her thoughts.
He grabbed a shirt and some shoes. “I assume you heard?”
She nodded. “I wish you would’ve told me how your dad reacted earlier.”
“You pretty much guessed it, anyway.” He shrugged, as if his sugarcoating conflict wasn’t a problem. “Do you want to wait here?”
“Your mom needs you now.” Colby couldn’t help him with this family problem tonight, nor was it the time to discuss it. Instead, she’d focus on their mutual goals for A CertainTea and the memorial fund, with a few hours of research and planning. “I don’t want you to feel rushed, so I’ll go home.”
He hung his head. “Okay.”
“I’m sorry we got interrupted.” When she hugged him, his rigidity proved a level of tension he was trying to brush off.
“Me, too.” He clasped her hand and tugged her out of the room. Summoning her courage, she followed him, hand in hand, to see his mother.
“Hi, Mrs. Morgan.” Colby reached for her purse, which she’d dropped by the front door earlier.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Colby.” The woman pressed her hand to her heated cheek.
“It’s fine. Really. I have a list of things to research tonight for the fund.” That and the criteria for James Beard Awards.
When Mrs. Morgan’s gaze skittered away, Colby regretted mentioning the fund. Itching to leave, she gave Alec a quick kiss. “Call me later.”
On her way past Mrs. Morgan, she touched her arm. She wanted to apologize for Mark, for Joe, for being an ongoing source of irritation, and for selfishly taking up with Alec while knowing all the above. In the end, she merely said “I’m sorry” before rushing out the door.
Alec watched Colby retreat, knowing this incident did nothing to strengthen their relationship. Even passed out, his father managed to chip away at Alec’s happiness.
He went into the kitchen to grab a box of coconut water and some blueberries. When his mother questioned him, he grumbled, “For his hangover.”
She flinched, then held out the car keys. “I am sorry I interrupted your night.”
The last thing he wanted was to make his mother feel worse than she already did. He needed to be the son she deserved.
“Always come to me.” He hugged her before taking his father’s keys. “Let’s go get Dad’s car.”
Twenty minutes later, Alec pulled his father’s car into his parents’ driveway. Inside the house, they discovered him still asleep on the sofa. His neck was bent at an awkward angle against one arm of the couch, and his legs dangled over the other. Alec mustered little compassion for him—certainly not enough to move him to a bed. The man deserved to pay some price for his obnoxious behavior.
“Go home, honey.” His mom set her purse down. “You look tired.”
“I’ll wait until he wakes up.”
“It’s not necessary. He’ll be groggy and disoriented, not aggressive.” She sighed. “I know you worry that he’ll hurt me, but he won’t. He never hurts me.”
“There’s always a first time.” If his father ever laid a hand on his mom, he’d finally learn that Alec was not a wimp.