“Are we at war?” Porter asked conversationally.

“Not with you, you’re enlightened,” Anne-Marie answered blithely.

“Well, thank God for that,” Porter muttered, reaching for his beer.

“I’m glad you understand,” I said to Anne-Marie.

But Porter answered, “My wife’s point is, sweetheart, there’s nothing to understand.”

Oh God.

This was great!

Because Boone’s parents, especially his mom (but also his dad), were totally awesome.

I smiled at him then at her.

They smiled back.

Then Anne-Marie’s face turned stern when she aimed it at her son. “And now you can just relax.”

“I will remind you that I asked you not to bring that up with Ryn,” he returned, very unhappily.

Uh-oh.

“And you asked that because she’s clearly embarrassed by it and I wanted to set her mind at ease,” Anne-Marie shot back.

“I still asked you to let her bring it up, and I didn’t think that was too much to ask,” Boone retorted.

Anne-Marie looked a trifle abashed.

But only a trifle.

“Son, when has your mother ever done as asked?” Porter noted and looked to me. “This is how I’m enlightened. She steamrolls me.”

“I do not,” Anne-Marie declared testily.

“Are we eating oysters?” he asked.

“Yes,” she answered.

“Do Boone and I like oysters?” he pushed.

“You like them fine,” she sniffed.

“I’d rather have shrimp cocktail,” he said. “But oysters are your favorite food.”

“We’re not destitute, Porter Sadler.” She flipped an elegant, buff-polished, perfectly-rounded-long-nailed hand at the table. “If you want shrimp cocktail, order it.”

He appeared horrified and did not hesitate to explain why.

“Woman, you don’t eat seafood in a landlocked state. The only reason we’re at this restaurant is because it’s your favorite one in Denver and we always come here when we see Boone.”

She turned her eyes to me. “This is his rule. No seafood in landlocked states. Like airplanes haven’t been invented. And refrigeration.”

“It isn’t a hard and fast rule,” Porter told me swiftly, like he didn’t want me to think he was crazy. “We eat it at home and we’re landlocked.”

“Barely,” Anne-Marie muttered.

I turned to Boone and declared, “I totally love your parents.”

Boone looked in my eyes a beat.

Then he leaned my way, caught me behind my neck, pulled me his way, and with his handsome face in mine, he burst out laughing.

* * *

As had become our drill when Boone and I went to his pad together, he went in first, I stood at the door, he turned on the lights to make sure no bad guys were lurking in the dark, and I wandered in when he gave the all clear.

And this was what we did that night after dinner with his folks then going to El Chapultepec to listen to some jazz before Porter noted the time change and declared himself “pooped.”

Though he looked like he could take on the night, but Anne-Marie was pretending like she wasn’t waning.

They were Ubering over in the morning to have coffee and doughnuts to tide us over here, late brunch at Racines after we showed them the house.

And then, on the way home, I’d talked Boone into letting me cook them my lasagna tomorrow night. Something which I assured him was my mother’s recipe, she’d taught me how to make it, and it was the only thing in my culinary repertoire that I could promise was delicious.

I was looking forward to it.

All of it.

“It’s cool, baby,” Boone called.

I went in, turned, closed the door, locked it, and did this saying, “I hope we start bickering like your parents. They’re hilarious.”

When I turned around, I nearly cried out, because Boone was right there, I wasn’t expecting it, and he’d frightened me.

I was frightened no more when Boone’s hands went right to my ass, I was shifted and walking backwards, Boone walking forward and talking.

“Didn’t get the chance to tell you I like these jeans,” he muttered, squeezing my ass.

“Good to know,” I muttered back, sliding my hands up his chest.

“And your shirt is fuckin’ awesome,” he went on.

“The sleeves were annoying. They get in the way when you eat.”

The backs of my legs hit the bed and then my blouse was gone.

Well, that took care of that problem, not that I was eating anything else that night.

I hoped Boone was, though.

“Told you they’d love you,” he whispered.

“You failed to mention I’d love them,” I whispered back.

He smiled at me.

Then he slanted his head and kissed me as he fell into me and we landed on the bed.

And I would find that Boone wasn’t done eating that night.

But he wouldn’t be the only one with something in his mouth.

Chapter Twenty

Never in My Life

Ryn

I never had a single worry, and I told Boone that. You see, I was a late bloomer too,” Anne-Marie announced.

It was the next morning and we were sitting at Boone’s round dining room table, Anne-Marie and me.

Boone and Porter were in the kitchen, Boone making his mother more coffee, Porter getting another doughnut.

Just to say, the Sadlers could put away coffee.

And Porter could put away doughnuts.

“Don’t let her feed you that crap,” Porter stated, approaching the table. “I’ve seen pictures of her when she was at every walk of her life and been at her side for more than half of it, and she’s always been gorgeous.”

He stopped to bend over to kiss the top of her hair.

Anne-Marie was smiling happily.

Porter straightened and moved back to his chair, saying, “But no joke, Boone was one scrawny, ugly little cuss.”

I choked on my coffee.

“Porter!” Anne-Marie bit out.

“I’m not lying,” Porter said.

“Truly,” Anne-Marie turned to me, “if I get through this weekend without killing him, it’ll be a miracle.”

“If I get through this weekend without killing both of you, it’ll be a miracle,” Boone said from the kitchen.

Anne-Marie twisted toward her son. “I’m not acting up.”

“Mom, you’re telling my girlfriend what an ugly fuck I was.”

“Boone Andrew Sadler! Language!” she cried irately.

Oh my God, these people were funny.

“Mom, I’m thirty-three. I can say ‘fuck’ in my own house, especially when you keep talking about this shit with my woman,” Boone retorted. “I think you get I like her. So I’d also like her to hang around after you leave.”

I fought, and won, against the desire to laugh.

“It isn’t like you didn’t tell me yourself, honey,” I reminded him, though in his current mood, I did it carefully.

“Yeah, Rynnie, but I’m not a huge fan of it bein’ discussed through Dad eating three doughnuts,” Boone returned.