“Moreau, I said they’re yours,” she said, staring me directly in the eyes.
I moved closer to her. “And I said I’d pay you for them.”
“You’re not going to drop this, are you?” she asked me, and I shook my head as I popped some grapes into my mouth. “Fine, then you can arm wrestle me for them.”
That made me laugh, imagining us arm wrestling at the kitchen counter.
“Why are you laughing? I could beat you.”
“Geneviève, look at the size of my arm compared to yours. Do you notice a difference?” I said, putting our arms side by side. Her arm looked long and feminine, but it also looked strong. I had to stop myself from running my fingers down her bronze skin.
“Yeah, yours is attached to a stubborn, old man.”
“I just have to tell you, this makes a mother’s heart glad,” Mom said, making Gigi and I turn our heads quickly in her direction. I had forgotten she was even there.
“I’m sorry, Mrs.—I mean, Monique. Beau loves to rile me up and I’m afraid I fall for it every time,” Gigi said in a sweet as pie voice.
“I rile you up? I think you’ve got that backward, G.”
Before Gigi was able to reply, Mom cut in again, “This is just like how you are on the show. At first, I wasn’t sure if it was maybe all an act. But now that you’re here, together, I see the passion is real.”
“Mom, Jesus,” I said, letting my head fall back, not quite believing she’d just said that.
“Don’t swear in front of your mother, Beauregard,” Mom chastised me, then turned to Gigi. “I taught him better than that, but you know how he gets.”
They smiled and Gigi nodded at her.
Jesus.