The Barbecue

“Do I have to put up with her even in my own home?” he protests the moment he sees me arrive at his house beside his son.

“Dad…”

Haven shoots him a stern look, but I don’t take offense at his words because I expected him to react with hostility when he saw me.

It’s a defense mechanism. I suppose he thinks that if he maintains a hostile front toward me, I’ll give up and leave, but what he doesn’t know is that it won’t work.

At least not with me. When I set a goal, I don’t stop until I reach it.

And this time it’s far more personal, so I won’t accept anything less than his signature.

“Don’t worry, Haven,” I step in before they get drawn into an argument that would only ruin the day. “I don’t mind.”

I walk over to his father and link my arm through his, forcing him to enter the house with me. Today I’ll try to win him over, no matter what it takes, and we’ll start by not talking about business. It’ll just be Barnaby and Debra.

“You have a beautiful home, Mr. Odell,” I tell him, letting my gaze wander the space. “It looks very cozy.”

“Don’t think your flattery will stop me from protesting your presence,” he growls. “Being nice won’t get you anywhere.”

“It was just a compliment, Mr. Odell.” I smile. “Don’t ruin the day with your bad mood.”

A louder grunt accompanies my words, but he leads me to the back porch and shows me a swing where he says I’m allowed to sit while they get everything ready. A subtle way of making sure I don’t bother him too much.

“I can help,” I tell Haven after watching them from a distance for a few minutes. I feel useless here.

“No need.” He smiles at me.

“I know, but—” The front doorbell rings at that moment and interrupts me. I spring to my feet and head toward it before anyone can beat me. “I’ll get it.”

I open the door with a smile, imagining it’s Joe, whom I haven’t seen all week, but it fades for a few seconds when I see Matilda at his side.

I should have expected it, and yet I’m surprised.

And also a little annoyed, I can’t deny it.

I’m comforted to know the feeling is mutual—her sharp look tells me as much.

“Hey, gorgeous.” Joe kisses both my cheeks. “Glad to see you could make it.”

“It’s not like I had anything else to do.” I laugh.

“Play along,” he whispers to me as his arm links with mine and he leads me toward the porch. “Good morning, everyone. I think the real reason I always come back to town is for these barbecue days.”

“Thanks for that,” Matilda protests, still annoyed by my presence. And because her brother left her behind for me.

“Don’t start complaining,” he threatens her with a smile on his lips, “or I’ll send you back to Mom.”

She ignores him and walks over to Haven.

She grabs his arm to force him to lean down and kisses his cheek.

Her lips linger so long in pulling away that I feel the urge to go over and drag her off.

I think Joe notices something is up because he steers me toward Barnaby, who is already placing the first cuts of meat on the grill.

“This smells amazing, doesn’t it, Deb?”

“I’d rather keep my opinion to myself for now because Mr. Odell always finds something to criticize in my comments,” I say with a mischievous smile, earning a sonorous grunt from the man in question.

“You can say whatever you want, girl. You haven’t kept quiet a single time since I’ve known you, so it would be a novelty if you did today.”

“I’m a guest in your home now, Mr. Odell, and it’s not polite to upset the host.”

“I’m always upset when it comes to you,” he scoffs, “and stop calling me Mr. Odell. I’m in my own home and here I’m just Barnaby.”

“That’s very kind of you, Barnaby.”

His answer is another grunt and he sends us both to the kitchen for the cutlery.

Apparently, we’ll be eating outside, since the sun seems willing to cooperate on this spring Saturday.

I won’t complain because the views from the garden are stunning.

Honestly, I wouldn’t mind living in a house like this someday, when I retire and don’t have to work anymore.

When we return, Matilda is still next to Haven helping with the side dishes, though her interest is on him and not on the food. And he, as always, is oblivious.

“Don’t worry,” Joe comments, watching them too. “Haven has no interest in my sister.”

“Haven is a grown man who can decide what he wants.”

“And he has.”

Now he looks at me and although I’m not someone who blushes easily, I feel my face burning.

“It’s complicated,” I admit.

“As complicated as you two want to make it.”

“This is all set, Barnaby,” I say aloud, to change the subject. Today isn’t the day to discuss my relationship with Haven either.

“Coward,” Joe whispers to me before going over to the host to steal a piece of bacon that’s nearly done.

“Wait until it’s finished,” Barnaby orders, smacking his hand, but Joe just laughs and steals it anyway.

Though he burns his fingers and now it’s the old man who laughs—something that surprises me, because it’s the first time I’ve seen him do so since I’ve known him.

“That’s what you get for being impatient. ”

In a little over half an hour we’re all seated at the table, enjoying delicious grilled food.

Haven wasn’t lying when he said his father was an expert at the grill because everything smells and tastes amazing.

For a moment, I imagine bringing my own father to one of these barbecues and picture the two of them enjoying it together. My brow furrows at the thought.

“So?” Barnaby looks at Joe now. “How long will you be staying this time, son?”

“As long as it takes me to convince Haven to come with me.”

“Haven has no business in the city,” he scoffs. “His place is here, at Odell Textiles.”

“Haven’s place is wherever he wants it to be,” I protest, unable to stay silent in the face of such dismissiveness. “Wherever he goes and whatever he does, he’ll succeed. And you should know that because you’re his father.”

“Nobody asked for your opinion on this, girl.”

“Well, you’ve got it now and I won’t take it back. Your son could go very far, but you’re clipping his wings, Barnaby.”

“If you’re going to come to my house to criticize me, you can leave right now.”

“She’s my guest, Dad,” Haven defends me. “Nobody’s leaving, and certainly not because of your bad temper.”

“Joe,” Matilda interjects, “why do you always have to come and stir up trouble? Don’t you understand that some people are happy in this town?”

“Of course there are,” he answers, “but Haven isn’t one of them. And, frankly—no offense, Barnie—but I’m tired of you trying to chain your son to a company that’s hurting him.”

“Hurting him?” He raises his voice. “How could it hurt him? It’s the company his mother founded, boy. It’s what keeps us connected to her. I admire the unconditional friendship you give my son, but don’t try to lecture me when—”

“Everything at the factory reminds me of Mom,” Haven interrupts, finally releasing what he’s been holding in since his mother’s death.

“And her memories are painful. Are you going to deny that, Dad? You, of all people, who visits her grave every Monday without fail but refuses to talk about her the rest of the time because it’s overwhelming? Don’t be a hypocrite, Dad.”

“It’s your duty as her son to keep your mother’s company alive,” he reproaches him.

“My duty as her son is to never forget her.”

“Don’t give me that philosophical nonsense, Haven. This isn’t one of those—”

A clap of thunder sounds in the distance and, before he can finish speaking, it starts to rain.

So hard that we abandon everything and take shelter inside the house.

The day had promised to be wonderful, but it’s just been ruined—and I’m not just talking about the rain.

Haven points me to the bathroom after I ask, and I head there, not sure whether I truly need to dry off or if I’m giving them time alone to finish the conversation.

I won’t interfere anymore because I have the feeling I made everything worse by jumping to his defense.

“Are you okay?” Haven wants to know, entering the bathroom after a couple of knocks and locking us inside. “I should be the one asking you that. I’m sorry,” I sigh with frustration. “I shouldn’t have gotten involved. It’s not my place and—”

“Never apologize for standing up for me, Debra.” He moves closer. “I like it.”

“I made it worse,” I insist.

“It turned me on,” he replies, pressing against me, and the evidence of it pushes against my belly now.

“Haven,” I start to protest, “we’re in your father’s house.”

“Then we’ll just have to be quiet.” He kisses me so I can’t say anything else and I’m already lost.

“And fast,” I whisper against his mouth, giving him permission to continue.

He pulls down my underwear without removing my dress and sits me on the sink while his lips assault mine relentlessly. His hand wreaks havoc on me as he strokes my clit with expert movements. He swallows every moan so they won’t hear us outside.

“Shhh.” He laughs against my lips when he sees I can’t keep quiet.

He puts on a condom and enters me. This time our sealed lips prevent any sound from escaping our mouths.

I think knowing we could get caught makes it more exciting and we don’t need much to reach the peak.

It happened the same way the very first time, in the restaurant bathroom.

That was barely a week and a half ago and it feels like a lifetime.

“Debra,” he moans against my mouth when he comes. My body convulses with my own orgasm and I cling to him tightly. If I let go, I’ll melt into the sink and cease to exist. When he catches his breath, he adds: “Thank you for making my day better, morena.”

“You’re welcome, I guess.” He leaves a kiss on my lips and helps me down from the sink so I can put myself back together. “Don’t guess.” He smiles. “Since I’ve known you, you’re the best part of my days.”