Mixed Up(3)

On the other hand, there were also things I really didn't love about my life. Like last-minute corralling into dinner because my grandfather arrived a few days early and my dad wanted a nice peaceful dinner before the Karras tornado lands. All fifteen of them.

The last-minute dinner meant I had to leave the bar in the hands of my very capable bartender, Sienna. I didn't like doing it, but I was learning to trust her. She could mix almost as well as I could, save for a few drinks she couldn't get quite right. Luckily, they were the ones not usually ordered on a Monday evening.

Still, I would have rather been there than here at my parents' in Key West. Not that their beachfront home wasn't gorgeous bliss, but because the Hamiltons lived right next door. My conversation with my brother had been playing in my mind all day, and the last thing I wanted to do was accidentally run into him.

Or walk into my parents' house and find that they'd been invited to dinner, too. That was the problem of having your mom be best friends with your mortal enemy's mom.

Alright, mortal enemy is an exaggeration, but what's life without a little extra oomph?

Probably a damn lot more peaceful.

My palms got sweaty when I turned onto my parents' street. The sleepy, idyllic street was days away from being turned into a big, fat, Greek street party, and I couldn't help but feel a twinge of sympathy for the neighbors who'd have to put up with it. All things considered, it was preferable to a wedding. That was when shit really went down.

If I didn't know it was tradition, I'd tell you that my grandmother had a real thing for smashing plates.

Actually, she probably did. She was a little too passionate-if we got through this reunion   without smashing anything, I'd call it a win.

Until then, I was destined to live in a state of temporary fear for the coming disaster and the fact that there was an extra car parked up in the Hamilton's driveway.

I pulled up behind my Dad's Chevy truck and waited before I shut off the engine. I still had time to-nope, I didn't have time to run. Mom already had the front door open and was standing there with an expectant look on her face.

Awesome.

"I have work to be doing, you know," I told her, getting out of the car. "I have a stack of paperwork as high as my butt in my office, and I need to get this week's order in."

"Then you should have done that earlier, shouldn't you?" she shot back, raising one perfectly plucked eyebrow.

"I don't pencil in surprise dinners, believe it or not."

"Start." She kissed my cheek and nudged me through the door. "We have guests."

"What guests?" I stopped, making sure my voice was low.

Slowly, her lips curved up, making her dark eyes sparkle. "I thought you'd want to catch up with our resident celebrity."

My nostrils flared as I took a deep breath in. No-she'd given up on that Cupid plan when I was sixteen, hadn't she? "Mom-"

"Relax. I'm messing with you, Raven. But, you're not getting out of dinner. He's your brother's best friend. You're mature enough now to tolerate him for two hours."

That's what she thought. "I'll do my best. Although, disclaimer-if you find his body and I'm missing, I'm in Cuba, and I didn't do it."



       
         
       
        

"Understood." Mom winked. "I'll give you five minutes. Your father is grilling on the back porch."

I ran through that freaking house like my ass was on fire. Any break she was willing to give me, I was going to snatch with two hands and run with.

"Hey, pumpkin," Dad said without turning around. "Your mom told you?"

I mumbled a disgruntled sound and sat on the chair close to the grill. "Is that why you're grilling steaks?"

"Because I'm outside and her wonderful best friend is inside? Happy coincidence." The flash of amusement that altered his expression for a brief second gave away his lie.

"Sure. It's just coincidence I'm outside, too."

My father and I had always had the same feelings for one member of the Hamiltons. He got on just fine with Craig, Parker's dad, and he loved Parker like a second son, but he despised Ilsa, Parker's mom. Whereas my mom couldn't understand why I couldn't get along with Parker, Dad understood perfectly. He always said that he'd inherited his mom's best qualities.

By best, he meant worst. I was hard-pressed to disagree with him. Ilsa Hamilton was stubborn and hard-headed, and so was Parker. Both had the inability to accept being wrong. Ilsa I could understand-I mean, hello, she's a woman-but Parker? No.

"Where's Grandpa?" I asked Dad, pulling off my sandals.