Dinner felt… peaceful.
Too peaceful.
My mom had already recognized Riley. I could tell by the way her gaze lingered just a second too long, by the way her scent shifted soft, protective, trembling at the edges. But she didn't expose it. She didn't rush forward or call her by name.
She treated Riley like a guest.
Respected her space.
Anyone watching closely would notice something else though. The dishes on the table were not random. The spicy ones I loved were placed near me. The lighter, delicate flavors Riley preferred were set closer to her.
Mom never missed details.
The table was filled with food from everywhere seafood, grilled meat, fresh vegetables, soup simmering in clay pots. Riley ate quietly, as if it was just another dinner.
But Grant
Grant was suspiciously attentive.
He served everyone first. Mom. Nicholas. Lewis. Me.
Only when he made sure everyone had something did the last piece of spare ribs land on Riley's plate.
He acted like no one would notice.
