Before he could move, my mother hurried toward me. I saw her glance over my outfit as she closed in for a hug. “You look smaller than the last I saw you,” she said. “Overworking yourself again?”

“No,” I muttered.

Already, I could feel her eyes raking me over, looking for every little flaw she could find. It was never enough for her. My mother demanded perfection, and I had yet to achieve that for her.

I felt Stone move closer, almost protectively.

Taking the protection thing a bit far? 

The Coastal Killer, sure. Fine. I knew I needed his help with that. But my mother was a whole different issue, one I was well equipped to handle on my own.

“And your curls are falling flat,” she said, brushing a hand over my hair.

“I don’t have the same curls as you,” I reminded her. Hers were tighter, more coiled compared to my own.

“If you just used the right product-”

“Stone, this is my father,” I said, brushing past my mother and cutting her off. I sat Winston beside my father on Calvin’s short couch in his living room. Before my mother could fawn over me anymore, I found my way to the kitchen to check on Eloise and find beverages.

“Sorry we didn’t make it to visit yesterday,” Eloise said the moment she saw me. “I wasn’t feeling great after brunch.”

“That’s alright,” I answered, having already forgot my call with my mother.

“Here,” Calvin said as he handed me two beers. I caught the look on his face. The you need this more than us look.

“Thanks,” I said and made my way back, afraid to leave Winston with my parents alone.

“Only five more minutes, I promise,” Eloise called frantically after me.

I found Winston and my dad laughing together while my mom watched patiently from an armchair.  My father had Winston deep in stories of when he was in the military, ones I heard a million times growing up.

I held out the beer to Winston.

“I’m all set,” he said politely.

“Are you sure?” I asked, raising a brow.

“I actually don’t drink,” he said, his voice trailing off a bit.

“Oh,” I said. “I didn’t know.”

My face warmed, and I took a nervous step back.

“I’ll take it,” my father offered as he grabbed the bottle from me quickly.

I’d been living with him for days. How had I not realized?

There was a bottle of scotch sitting right on his counter, but now that I thought about it, the bottle had definitely never been opened. The amber liquid filled the bottle to the brim.

It was probably one of Nelson’s bottles, and I’d just assumed it belonged to Stone. I winced quietly, taking a seat in another armchair across from the couch.

“How did you two meet?” my mother asked, unable to contain her nosiness.