Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 72648 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72648 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Leonie nods exuberantly.
I look to Bailey, not sure how to take the blankness on her face. Surrendering to a tiny bit of self-doubt, I ask, “Or do you not think it’s the right time to meet your parents?”
Bailey immediately shakes her head, giving a tinkling laugh. “No, not at all. They’d love to meet you. And I’m sure I can talk mom into venturing out for a good meal.”
“It’s settled then,” Leonie exclaims with joy. “Bailey and I will do all the cooking. Declan, you’ll buy everything because you’re rich as sin. Your parents can relax and enjoy good food. It will be the best time.”
My gaze moves across the table to Bailey, but she ignores me, launching into a focused discussion with Leonie about the menu. The two jabber like old friends, and I just settle in, content to watch a new relationship budding before my eyes.
If I didn’t think things were getting serious with Bailey before, I can’t deny it any further.
This girl may very well be the one.
CHAPTER 24
Bailey
Declan and I stand shoulder to shoulder at the sink in the kitchen of his suite at the Blackwood. Thanksgiving meal is officially over, and I’m teaching him the finer points of cleaning a kitchen.
“I still don’t understand why we can’t call in housekeeping,” Declan grumbles.
I’m standing close enough it’s easy for me to bump my hip into his playfully. “Quit being such a baby.”
I’m washing the dishes in sudsy water, and he’s in charge of drying them after I rinse. I run another dish under the spray of water, then hand it to him. “Have you actually ever cleaned anything in your life?”
“Why would I?” he teases.
“It builds character,” I assure him.
Declan snorts. “I clean up messes day in and day out in my job for Blackwood. I’ve built up a hell of a lot of character doing just that.”
“And now you can add cleaning dishes to your repertoire,” I reply with a laugh.
Declan playfully bumps his hip into mine. “I’m glad to pitch in and help clean because you and Leonie did a fantastic job on the meal. It was some of the best food I’ve eaten in a long time.”
I take that as a high compliment since Declan only eats in the finest restaurants available. “I think the evening went beautifully.”
Not only did the turkey with all the traditional sides turn out amazing, but we also had a splendid time blending our families at the dinner table. My mother was bright-eyed and giggly like a girl, I’m assuming happy to just be out of the house for a little bit. She wasn’t even the slightest bit self-conscious about having her oxygen tank beside her chair. My dad was gregarious. Both took an immediate shine to Leonie. The sentiment was returned, and they bonded quickly while Declan and I shot amused smiles back and forth.
After the meal, we watched some football and talked while sitting around the living room. We had pie and coffee, and when everyone was appropriately stuffed and practically nodding off to sleep, my parents graciously gave Leonie a ride back to her house. As they were leaving, I heard them making plans to get together soon.
“Was it weird how well my parents got along with Leonie?”
“A little,” Declan says. He clarifies, “Only to the extent we haven’t known each other long, and it was probably a little odd our families would be introduced to each other so quickly. But honestly, the personalities are pretty similar so it’s no surprise they became fast friends.”
I ask something I have been wondering about all day. Taking hold of the last dish in the soapy water, I query, “Did you hear from your parents today?”
Declan snorts as he watches me rinse the plate. When he takes it from me to dry, he says, “They’re in Paris. It’s time to update my mother’s winter wardrobe. They’re not really the Thanksgiving celebration kind of people.”
I press the matter a little further, just because I’m still trying to get a handle on his family. “But not even a phone call or text to say Happy Thanksgiving?”
Declan finishes drying off the plate, then puts it in the cupboard. He sets the towel down on the counter. “I find it incredibly sweet and slightly gullible you think my parents would reach out to me on Thanksgiving.”
“Did you ever celebrate it?”
Declan crosses his arms over his chest, casually leaning his hip against the counter as he ponders my question. “There were times we would eat a meal together for Thanksgiving. But, honestly, it was no different from any other formal meal we would have together. Same expensive china and crystal. Fancy clothes and mood music. It was about as untraditional as you could get. Sometimes, I would spend Thanksgiving at a friend’s house who—while still very wealthy and extravagant—would have more of a traditional holiday feel. Like a celebration. So, yes… I’ve celebrated some. But today was by far my favorite.”