Thankfully, dinner is ready to be served when we return and there’s too much commotion and passing of dishes for anyone to comment on our brief disappearance.

Ronan stays glued to my side, palm resting against the small of my back as we make our way to the dining room. Skylar has obviously been in here, tinkering with the seating arrangements because originally Ronan isn’t even sitting next to me, but he switches the name cards around and pulls my chair out.

Maddy makes a joke about being careful, since we like to play musical chairs in this family. I want to sink into the floor and disappear. And they wonder why I never bring dates over to meet the family. Dinner is a decadent affair, as usual. It’s family style instead of plated, but every dish looks like a work of art. The turkey is a deep-fried masterpiece.

My mother, aunt, cousin, and sister are all on some keto bullshit or other so they refuse all carbs or anything that might contain sugar but load up on fried brussels sprouts and whatever other keto-friendly stuff they’ve prepared. There are even cauliflower “mashed potatoes” loaded with cream and butter and lord knows what else. Skylar goes on about how all she had today was her detox tea so she could enjoy her dinner.

My dad, however, samples everything, dissecting the delicacy of the flavors. And beside me, Ronan quietly groans his food lust. “This is unbelievable,” he mumbles through a mouthful of turkey.

“Don’t forget to save room for dessert.” It’s sort of tongue in cheek since half the people at the table balk at dessert. Or there will be some kind of carb- and flavor-free option that tastes like sadness and cardboard.

Every single member of my family has their phone beside their plate and keeps checking messages between bites. “The manager at the LA location of Decadence wants to meet about the New Year menu. Maddy and I are flying out in the morning to hit up the one in San Diego. Do you want me to stop there, too?” Matthew asks my dad.

“That would be great. If you have time, you might want to make the trip to Vegas while you’re out that way. Nora and I are heading to New York, and Glinda and Lawrence, you’re taking the Midwest locations, is that correct?”

“What about me?” Skylar asks.

“We need you here to keep an eye on things.”

“Or I could go to Vegas with Matthew and Maddy. Why do they get to go to all the fun places and I have to hang out here?”

“We can discuss it after dinner, sweetheart,” Lawrence says with a practiced smile.

My parents shift the discussion to which big stars are hiring them for catering over the holidays—it’s always a particularly busy time for them—and it’s like name-dropping central.

“You’ve met Daxton Hughes? That teen actor who became an entertainment lawyer?” Ronan dabs at his mouth before he continues. “My ex in high school used to be in love with him.”

“I have a crush on him now,” my mother replies with a grin.

“He hit on me,” Skylar adds.

“No, honey, you hit on him. It was me he was hitting on.” Gran-Gran Calloway winks in my direction.

The rest of dinner is spent listening to Gran-Gran tell stories about all the famous people she’s met over her lifetime.

Buster brings in the cupcakes I made on a special platter, and of course my mom, aunt, cousin, and sister all have their special keto-friendly dessert brought out. It looks like some kind of chocolate thing served with three berries and a mint leaf, which are on the approved carb list, I guess.

“You’re not going to have one of Blaire’s cupcakes?” Ronan looks dumbfounded. I’d like to say it’s an innocent question, but based on his expression and his tone, it’s not.

I don’t know why he’s so annoyed on my behalf, but I can’t say I don’t appreciate it.

“Too many carbs and far too much sugar. Sugar is more addictive than cocaine, you know,” Skylar says haughtily.

“You would know,” I mutter.

“Well, at least I can’t end up with a deviated septum or psychosis on account of my sugar consumption,” Ronan replies and then asks Buster for one of each cupcake flavor.

Ronan proceeds to inhale all of them while making noises that sound a lot like the ones I’d hear were he naked and I was riding him. And now that image is in my head.

I start to wonder if maybe the ink on his arms spans his back, and possibly his chest as well. In my mind, I decorate the rest of his right arm in more, pretty flowers and the left side in an expansive landscape.

His exuberance seems to compel my mother to fold. She peels the wrapper off, wipes her hands on her napkin and daintily uses her fork to take the tiniest bite. Her eyes go wide, and she blinks several times. “Oh, this is heavenly. Lawrence, did you try this one? You really must.”

My aunt also folds and offers to share a cupcake with my dad, who has polished off three already, based on the stack of discarded wrappers.

Skylar is watching Ronan devour cupcakes like it’s porn. And honestly, so am I.

When he’s finished the last cupcake, he sucks the icing off his fingers—loudly—and turns his gaze on me. His eyes are half-mast, making it look like he’s recently had an orgasm. The effects of a sugar rush, the crash soon to follow.

His brows rise. “Everything okay?”

I can’t even imagine what my expression must be. “Did you enjoy those?”

He grins. “Immensely. The only cupcake I enjoyed more was the one you made me eat in front of those women at the bachelorette party.”

I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks and his grin widens. I will never forget how he looked biting into the vagina cake. Or the way the custard center dribbled down his chin. We’re still staring at each other, possibly both lost in that memory.

The stare-off ends when my mother asks what kind of cupcakes they are, and of course she and my father decide to guess the ingredients, arguing about the merits of cooked versus uncooked buttercream.

While this takes place, Skylar keeps edging closer to Ronan, which means he keeps edging closer to me. At this point, his arm is draped over the back of my chair, and he’s halfway into my lap. It’s kind of funny and also highly distracting because every once in a while his fingers graze the back of my neck and I have to fight off a shiver.

I’m still nibbling my way through my own cupcake, savoring instead of devouring. Despite the fact that Maddy and Skylar refused to try one, there are none left. I’m pretty sure my dad ate half a dozen.