As if on cue, all the Pallas kids groaned. Across the table, Kresley—Ian’s oldest brother Nick’s fiancée—gave me a knowing smile, while next to Frankie, Clive just pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head.
“Dad,” one of Ian’s brothers—Andy, the youngest—said, rolling his eyes. “Don’t ask Ian’s girlfriend to fix your stuff. Besides, that sweater is as old as dirt and needs to be tossed.”
Christine flicked her husband in the side of the head. “She just got here, Stav. Don’t make her run away screaming.” She turned to me, smiling pleasantly as she took a sip of her wine. “But you’re an artist, right? A fiber artist? How did you get into that?”
I swallowed a bite of flaky fish and wiped my mouth. “Art school,” I explained. “I was doing drawing and painting and sculpture, but when I took a textiles class, it really clicked for me, and I never wanted to do anything else.” I glanced at Ian, and he flashed that lopsided grin that he seemed to save just for me. “So far, it seems to be working out.”
“Yeah,” Ian agreed. On my thigh, his hand tightened again, and a tiny thread of excitement wound its way up my spine. I can’t wait to get you home, the gesture implied. But to his parents, he simply said, “It’s working out great. She even has a showing coming up.”
After dinner, Ian and his brothers, with Clive in tow, went out to the backyard with Stavros, while I lounged in the kitchen with Christine, Frankie, and Kresley. I listened more than I talked, preferring instead to absorb their rhythm, their easy and affectionate way with each other.
Still, I wasn’t surprised when the conversation turned to me. To Ian.
“Ian is crazy about you,” Kresley remarked as she sipped from a glass of white wine. “He’s barely been at our house for weeks. Most of the time, he’s around so often that Nicky threatens to charge him rent.”
Christine waved a hand. “Give him a break. That condo makes him nuts.” She shuddered. “So boring and white.”
I nodded my agreement. I’d been to Ian’s place a few times, and he was right—it was a warehouse for single guys to keep their stuff. We spent most nights at my place—mostly because of Marge, but Ian also liked the shabby friendliness of my house, the little noises and quirks that made old houses seem like living things.
“He told me that his place makes him restless and lonely,” I said.
Frankie drew a finger down the side of her glass of ice water, leaving a faint mark in the condensation. “That’s a dangerous place for him.” She looked up at me, her expression warm and speculative. “He seems so…settled with you, though. And calm.”
A faint blush rose in my cheeks, but I just shrugged. “I don’t think that’s me. He’s so confident about who he is and what he’s doing. That’s what I like about him.”
Frankie shook her head. “It’s not just that. He hasn’t even had a girlfriend since he got sober. Never brought anyone around for dinner, never mentioned anyone—nothing like that.” She paused, her dark eyes meeting mine, and I saw the faint, glassy sheen of tears. “He’s not a perfect person. He was sick for a long time, and we were all so worried for…God, it was years. And now that he’s healthy, I just...I see how he is with you, and it’s like happiness is pouring out of him. You don’t want to change him—you want him for him. And that makes me happy.”
My own vision blurred as I thought about all the days and nights we’d spent together so far—the way he didn’t just accept my faults but embraced them as the things that made me unique. He liked that I was a naturally anxious person who required space and quiet and could be skittish with new people. And I—I liked his busy mind, those talented hands that made such beautiful art, and his enormous heart. Bruises and all.
“There’s no one else like him,” I finally said. “Not that I’ve met, anyway.”
Frankie’s gentle hand landed on my shoulder, and when I looked at her, her smile was soft. Kind. “No, there isn’t. But the thing is that there’s no one else like you, either—and that’s exactly what we wanted for him.”
Kresley and Nick left not long after that, followed by Clive and Frankie. I hopped off my stool and wandered out to the backyard to find Ian. He stood out in the grass with Stavros, George, and Andy, his back to me, so deep in conversation that he didn’t hear me approach. I hung back for a minute, unwilling to interrupt Ian’s time with his family.
“Now, what about that call you got from New York City?” Stavros said.
“It was Chelsea Tattoo,” Ian said casually. “They’re interested in having me come work with them.”
My belly flipped and I felt my jaw tighten. Ian had never mentioned anything to me about a New York studio—I knew that the Tattooist spread drummed up some interest in his work, but he owned Zeus Tattoo. He’d never expressed interest in leaving—not to me, anyway, and I felt knocked sideways by the news.
Stavros leaned down to pluck a weed out of the grass. “Could be a good career move. Probably more money.”
“Probably,” Ian agreed. “I’m thinking about it.”
I’m thinking about it.I felt like I was walking through cement as I turned around and made my way back to the door, praying to whoever was listening that I could get back inside without being noticed. My face felt hot and my belly churned with nausea as embarrassment and fear warred for my attention. How did I not know about this? Why would he keep something important like that from me and share it with his family?
It made me question where I really stood with Ian, and everything we’d shared so far.
Years of living with anxiety disorder had taught me that anxious thoughts tend to spiral, and even though I knew this, understood it about myself, I couldn’t stop the flood of worries that crashed into me as I slipped back inside unnoticed and made my way into the kitchen.
“Oh, Sam,” Christine said as she slipped a container of leftovers inside the refrigerator and closed the door. She turned back to me and cocked her head curiously. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” I swallowed, tasting bile, and licked my bloodless lips. “Ian’s hanging out with his brothers, I didn’t want to interrupt them.”
Christine smiled. “You’re a good egg, Sam.” Something caught her attention behind me. “Looks like you won’t have to wait, though.”
Ian walked into the kitchen, flashing that crooked smile as he made a beeline for me. He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and pressed a kiss to the top of my head. I buried my nose in his shirt, inhaling his clean scent and wondering how many more times I would be able to do that. All while I willed my heart not to shatter into a million pieces.
“Are you ready to go home?” he asked.
I pulled away from his embrace, avoiding his eyes. If I fell into that warm darkness, I knew I would start to cry, and I wasn’t ready to do that right now. Not here, in front of Christine and Ian’s brothers, who had followed him into the kitchen.
“Yeah,” I said, my voice a husky whisper. “Let’s go.”