The Fix (The Carolina Connections, #1)(34)

“I know.”

“How do you know that? Even your dad doesn't know that.”

“Well, it's a more believable explanation than the possibility that you experimented with drugs while pregnant with the idiot.”

See? I knew my mom could make me feel a bit better.

Now we were on our way to the Murphy’s, and I tried to put my worries about Rocco out of my head and instead focus on (i.e. worry about) the evening ahead. At this rate, I’d have an ulcer by next week. Couldn’t wait.

“I’m still confused about how I got talked into this,” Gavin said from the driver’s seat of his beat-up Jeep. I never argued when Gavin wanted to drive because he is the world’s absolute worst backseat driver. I was honestly more likely to run into a tree with Gavin in my car than I would be had I been a blind person.

“Will they have cookies?” Rocco asked from the back seat where he was taking apart a Transformer.

“I don’t know, sweetie. Mr. Murphy is on a special diet and I don’t think he’s allowed to have cookies.”

“But I’m not on a special diet,” he answered as only a kid can.

“Don’t worry, Rock, we’ll get you one of your mom’s cookies when we get home,” Gavin reassured, never one to deny my kid something sweet.

“You know, Gav. You should be happy I talked you into this. It could be a boost for your career,” I teased. “It’ll give you a chance to suck up to not just the boss but the big boss.”

“Haha. I don’t want to look like a douche.”

“What’s a douche?” Rocco asked.

I gave Gavin the evil eye. “It’s just an adult thing, Rocco. You should never say that word.”

“But what is it?”

“It’s a special kind of soap for adults,” answered Gavin, never understanding that in a kid’s hands, too much knowledge is too much power.

“No, Rock, it’s a bad word some adults say. Just ignore your uncle.”

Gavin came back to the original topic. “I don’t want to suck up—I’m just gonna stay quiet while Nate spends the evening checking you out.” An overly dramatic shiver coursed through his body. “I can’t believe you’re dating my boss.”

“I’m not dating him! And this is definitely not the time to talk about this.” I motioned to the listening ears in the booster seat behind us.

“Whatever. I know what’s going on even if you don’t. All I have to say is you’d better not mess this up for me, Laney,” he warned.

“I’m not messing anything up. We’re just having dinner at their house.”

“Said the most clueless human on the planet. Oh, and just make sure to keep it wrapped this time around.” I had to slap him even if he was driving at the time.

We arrived ten minutes later at a beautiful two-story brick home in an elegant community with big, lush lawns and gorgeous crepe myrtles dotting the tree-lawn all along the street. Rocco and I got out first and headed to the door while Gavin grabbed some things I’d brought along from the back. I carried a bouquet of flowers as well as a tin of heart-friendly muffins I’d baked for Nate’s dad, and I let Rocco ring the bell. The door immediately opened and there was Nate in all his perfect scruffy handsomeness. Sigh. He wore another pair of faded jeans and a vintage Rolling Stones t-shirt, his hair looking like he’d been running his hand through it. Maybe he was nervous too.

“You made it,” he greeted and leaned over to place a hand on my waist and a light kiss on my cheek. “Come in.” He moved to the side to allow us entry. “Hey Rocco, how’s it going?” Rocco just gave a silent little wave accompanied by a nose twitch and stuck to my side.

Nate seemed to let it roll off his back. “My mom is in the kitchen doing some last-minute stuff or she would have greeted you herself.”

“Oh, I totally understand. No problem. Gavin’s just grabbing some things from the car—he’ll be here in a minute.” My nerves were eating at my stomach as Nate led us into a living room and invited us to take a seat. I remained standing and I could hear some banging coming from the kitchen. “Are you sure I can’t help your mom with something?”

Nate looked unsure. Then a loud curse rang from the kitchen. “Uh, maybe we should.” I followed him, flowers and muffin tin in hand.

“Rocco, go help Uncle Gavin bring the things in from the Jeep, okay? I’ll just be right in the kitchen.” And that’s when I got my first glimpse of Mr. and Mrs. Murphy. He was bent over looking into the open oven and cursing a blue streak while she was slapping at a burning dish towel with a spatula.

“Mom!” Nate exclaimed and grabbed the towel from her hand, throwing it directly into the sink and turning the tap on.

“I just asked if it was overcooking! I didn’t tell you to light your damn self on fire!” came the gravelly voice from over by the oven.

“I was trying to pull it out. It’s not my fault the towel caught on the heating element! Nate, can you pull the chicken out of the oven for me?” asked Mrs. Murphy, blowing her swath of blond hair from her eyes and peering into the sink at the smoking towel.

“I’m not a cripple, Erin! For Christ’s sake, I can lift a damn pan from the oven.”

“Not yet, you can’t—not until the doctor okays it.”