“So, Quinn,” Scarlet says, reaching for her wine. Well, what’s left of it. “I hear you like cats.”14Scarlet“Yes,” Quinn says, eyes meeting mine. I can see the relief on her face, and more importantly, the relief on Weston’s face. Poor little Jackson is still sitting there with a spoonful of mashed potatoes hovering on his spoon in front of his face, not knowing what to think. “I do.”
“How many cats do you have?” I flick my eyes to Wes’s not knowing if I should be apologetic for going into forbidden territory or not. He meets my gaze and offers a small smile.
“Eight.”
“Eight?” I echo.
“One or two might be temporary.”
Quinn’s fiancé, Archer, raises an eyebrow. “Only one or two?”
Quinn smiles guiltily. “They’re all so cute.”
“I want a cat!” Jackson says, face lighting up. He eats his mashed potatoes and bounces in his seat. “Daddy, can we take Dobby home?”
“We’ll see,” Wes tells him, and I know it’s a firm no from him.
“Please! I want a pet.” Jackson drops his spoon and glares at Wes, crossing his arms. I don’t mean to laugh, but the over-the-top dramatics are a little cute.
“Dobby is really nice,” Quinn goes on. “And will be able to leave in a few weeks.”
Dean shakes his head, looking at Archer. “I can’t believe you let her keep the others. Eight cats? That’s crazy.”
Archer’s eyes fall on Quinn, and the way he looks at her makes me want to turn around and throw up. But mostly because I’d give anything to have someone look at me like that. On its own accord, my head jerks toward Wes.
Nope. Can’t happen. He’s my boss. And he’d never go for someone like me…the real me.
“I have a hard time saying no to Quinn,” Archer says, and I want to gag.
“That’s why they have a baby out of wedlock,” Wes’s grandma says. Everyone at the table rolls their eyes and ignores her. I’m guessing this isn’t the first time she’s brought it up, and neither Quinn nor Archer seem bothered by it. “Though I can’t blame her. I do like a man who’s good with his hands. You know, doc, I’m overdue for my annual exam.” She winks at Archer. Archer shakes his head and turns his face down to his food, concentrating really hard on cutting his steak.
I turn to Wes, trying hard not to laugh. He leans over, shaking his head.
“She hits on Archer every time they’re together. Don’t judge us.”
“I’m not,” I say honestly, and for the life of me, I can’t come up with a single judgment against the Dawsons. And trust me, I’m trying. But they’re all nice. Caring. No one tries to impress each other or puts up a front. Logan cuts up his grandma’s steak for her, and Owen takes Emma again when she gets fussy so Quinn and Archer can eat a meal in peace. Mr. and Mrs. Dawson love each and every one of their children and grandchildren equally, and I can tell just from this brief interaction how proud they are of them.
They’re the perfect American family and I’m convinced they are the real deal. That families can be functional.
And I’m not sure if I hate them or love them for it.
Thinking big family meals like this don’t exist made it easier for me to handle knowing we were nowhere near perfect. Get-togethers with homemade food only happen in the movies. Thinking it wasn’t real helped me deal with the fact that there was a huge part of me missing.
Because I want a family. I want this. But I can’t have it. People like the Dawsons would never want the likes of me sitting around their dinner table if they knew the truth.
I’m Scarlet Cooper, a thief from the South Side with no college education, a former drunk for a father, a sister in jail, and heir to a fortress of lies.* * *
I sit on the living room couch next to Wes, a hot mug of coffee in my hand. His dad and his brother Dean are in his dad’s study going over something for work, and the rest of his family is still in the kitchen.
“Have we scared you off yet?” Wes asks, leaning against the arm of the couch. “We can be a little loud and overwhelming.”
“Not overwhelming. Your family is super nice. Well, except for Kara. You were right about her being a bitch.”
“I never actually said that.”
“You didn’t have to. It’s written all over your face.”
Wes laughs and shifts his weight, moving a little closer to me. Things should be awkward with him, but they’re not anymore. Being around him is as easy as breathing, and while he still holds up walls around him, they’re starting to turn more into windows, letting me see inside.
“Hey,” Logan says, stepping into the living room. Or maybe it’s Owen. Shit. Who was wearing blue again? “You guys want dessert?” He eyes Wes, smirking. Owen. It’s Owen. He’s the smartass of the two, and it’s oddly endearing.