Page 158 of Sweet Ruin

Without breaking stride or batting an eye, I’m instantly looped into the assembly line like I’ve always had a place here.

Somebody hands me a towel, then the woman beside me shows me the pinch she wants—thumb and forefinger, a little twist at the end—and watches my first three dumplings until she’s satisfied.

We work in happy, companionable silence for a while as the chaos of the party ebbs and flows around us. Cheeky little kids come sneaking into the kitchen asking for pre-dinner treats and get swatted away.

Niko tries the same stunt and gets whipped with dish towels until he, too, sulks off.

When dinner begins moving into the dining room, I turn to see what else needs doing.

For the most part, it’s just hands needed to ferry dishes from the kitchen into the dining room, where a huge table with twenty seats per side has been arranged.

I make one trip around it.

Then another.

On my third trip, Kane steps into my path.

“What?” I ask when I see him scowling like he’s mad.

He looks at the platter in my hands. “Give me that.”

“Why?” I protest. “I was helping.”

“You’ve helped enough,” he says as he pries the serving platter out of my hands.

“But there’s still so much more to⁠—”

Kane puts his hand at the back of my neck.

Every thought in my head forgets where it was going.

His palm is warm. His thumb rests below my ear. He guides me along the table like I’m a hand-puppet until we reach the chair directly beside his.

It’s empty.

And it has a place setting.

A tiny name card written in dark ink.

DELILAH.

This isn’t a folding chair hauled up from the basement at the last second. I’m not perched on the arm of a couch while everyone else reclines comfortably.

He made space.

For me.

I stare at the card.

“Sit,” he orders quietly.

The gentlest pressure from his hand is enough to coax me down.

Kane claims the chair beside me, then reaches for my plate.

“I can do that.”

He ignores me, unsurprisingly.