I slid my hand down to cup him, and he jerked against me.
I could do it. I could take him right over to that table.
If the room had a lock. And soundproof walls. And was located in another house entirely. I trailed up his length, wriggled around the apron and began to slide a hand down the front of his jeans.
“Elizabeth Gertrude Brown!” My mother choked.
Dimitri and I broke apart, only I couldn’t quite get my hand out of the front of his jeans, so he ended up dragging me with him.
Hillary stared at my hand, to us, back to my hand.
I wriggled it out as my entire body flushed pink. This was so not how I wanted her to meet Dimitri. Or Dimitri to meet her.
Holy Hades.
Meanwhile, he’d turned back to the stove, probably to hide his giant erection.
There was nothing I could say to make this better, so I cleared my throat and went for the obvious. “Hillary, I’d like you to meet Dimitri.”
She brought a hand to her chest. “I…I did meet him earlier. He made me a delicious Greek coffee. Thank you, Dimitri. We had a lovely conversation.” She talked as if she were on autopilot.
I stifled a groan. Come on. What did she think I was? A virgin? I was thirty years old. Engaged, for goodness sake.
It’s not like she caught us on the kitchen table—her favorite spot. Sure, maybe I’d thought about it, but she’d actually done it.
That should count for something, right?
“Your mom was telling me about your first date,” Dimitri said, changing the subject as he finished flipping the bacon.
Oh, no. “Mom, you weren’t telling him that.” She did want this man to like me, right?
She winced. “Not so loud.” She nudged around me and found the coffee pot.
Dimitri only smiled and began checking on some scrambled eggs he was keeping warm in the oven.
Yeah, okay, I could tell Hillary wasn’t feeling so hot. Her hair was perfect. Her sleeveless eyelet shirt was pressed. But there was a slight rounding to her shoulders, and she was at least two shades paler than usual.
Maybe I could convince her she’d hallucinated the whole hand-in-the-pants incident.
Or maybe I was getting a tad bit desperate.
Still, I had to know, “What’d you tell him?”
“Little things,” she mused, pouring herself a cup. She leaned back against the counter. “Like the first time you tried to say something romantic.”
“Ugh,” I said, as she calmly sipped at her coffee. I knew where this was going.
“Remember?” she asked, as if I hadn’t tried to forget. “You called your little boyfriend, Matt Peterman. First you wrote a long letter to read to so you’d know what to say.” My stomach tightened. I remembered. “And then you started reciting the letter when he answered the phone.”
Yes. “I can’t believe you told him that.”
I glanced at Dimitri, who was calmly taking the bacon off the stove, as if I wasn’t about to sink into the floor.
My mom didn’t even notice. “Only it was the boy’s dad who answered, and you confessed your love to Mr. Peterman instead.”
Yes, yes. I knew. I was there.
“He handed the phone to Matt,” I said, more to Dimitri than to her. It still stung to think about it.
“But you’d already hung up and ran.” She turned to Dimitri, who thank heaven, wasn’t enjoying the story either. “She’s always been a little emotional,” my mom said, by way of warning.
“I think it’s sweet,” he told her. “As long as you’re not still dating him.” He leveled his gaze at me.
“Ha. No,” I said, amazed at his ability to deflect my mother. Maybe I could take lessons.
And for her information, I wasn’t emotional. I was controlled. Ice. I’d relentlessly fixed that part of myself, to the point where I’d almost lost Dimitri, and the biker witches. Even now, I found it hard to open up.
As I was figuring out how to say that, Dimitri walked over and gave me a hug. He pressed a kiss against the top of my head, then against my ear. “I don’t care if you have a sordid past. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”
I snickered against his chest, needing him like my next breath.
Hillary cleared her throat, but before she could say anything, Ant Eater’s rusty voice called out. “Hey, eggs first. Then you can get all smoochy.”
A bunch of the hung over witches filed into the kitchen. “You’re alive,” I said.
Barely.
They were wearing the same tea party clothes they’d had on yesterday. Only now, their ribbons were gone, their buns were flopping to the side and their lipstick—while never quite classy—had smeared. They looked like retired hookers.
Dimitri leaned close. “By the way, you’re going to have to tell me what happened here.”
As if I could explain it.
My mom straightened as best she could. Still, I noticed she’d propped one hand on the counter, like she needed it to hold her up. “We went a little overboard with the tea party yesterday. I know I stayed up too late.” Her mouth twisted into a wry smile. “I can’t do this like I could in the 70’s.”
“My eyelashes hurt,” Grandma said. She rested her elbows on the table and her head in her hands.
Bob pulled up, with Pirate riding on his lap. As soon my dog saw there was no food on the table, he jumped down and dashed for the stove, as if we’d somehow run out of breakfast before he could beg for it.
Ant Eater collapsed into a chair, eyes bloodshot, her chin pointed down.
“Nice look,” Grandma said.
The scribbled-on biker witch glanced at Frieda, who had rested her head on the rough wood table. “I got
Yes, well, I wasn’t the one who’d told them to drink so much tea.
Luckily for them, breakfast was ready. It looked amazing. Dimitri had made his special scrambled eggs, with tomatoes and onions and cheese. There was thick sliced bacon and toast.
He served while mom and I handed out the plates. Every once in awhile, he tossed a bacon sliver down to Pirate, who ate it like he’d never see food again.
When everyone had been served, we each took a plate and joined the witches at the table. Dimitri sat next to me, and my mom, directly across.
I watched as Ant Eater dug a small pouch out of her sock. I mean, who wears socks and motorcycle boots with a dress? She tipped some grayish powder into her drink glass and passed it on to Grandma.
Hillary touched a perfectly manicured hand to her forehead. “I think I’m coming down with the flu.”
Somebody was going to have to explain to her about the tea.
Or not.
I glanced around the table to the biker witches, who seemed busy looking at everything but me.
“Creely?” I prodded. She was the one who started it.
The engineering witch gave me an innocent look that wouldn’t have even fooled Pirate. “Eat some bacon,” she suggested to Hillary. “The grease will settle your stomach.”
Hillary picked at her plate. “I don’t normally eat bacon,” she said, eyeing it wistfully. “At my age, everything goes straight to my hips.” She tasted a small bite of eggs. “Oh, my.” She tried another small bite. Then another.
“It’s a Greek recipe,” Dimitri told her. “Strapatsatha. My mother taught me. It’s basically American scrambled eggs, only with feta, tomatoes and some onion grilled in olive oil.”
My mom’s eyes brightened and her cheeks flushed. “You spent time in the kitchen with your mother?”
Okay, maybe these two would get along.
Dimitri grinned. “She taught me everything I know.”
“Did you hear that, Lizzie?” She asked, as if I wasn’t sitting right there. “He cooks. He listens to his mother. And look at how he’s dressed. He’s wearing nice pants and a nice shirt.” She directed a pointed look at my
