Dennis Williams flashed a warm grin in her direction. “Evening.”
Helen Adams, seeing everyone had arrived, quickly returned to her seat. “Camila, Dennis, you two better not be shy tonight! Seriously, dig in—there’s more food here than Thanksgiving at my grandma’s!”
As she spoke, Helen piled their plates high with perfectly grilled steaks, roasted veggies, and crispy potato wedges—no one was leaving the table hungry tonight.
The Adams family’s chef was a true master. Every dish was grilled to perfection, and the flavors were out of this world.
With Helen at the table, the whole dinner felt lively and effortless. The Adamses, grateful for how much Camila and Dennis had helped their daughter, kept raising their glasses in toasts.
Camila Davis couldn’t hold her liquor, so she just sipped politely each time.
Dennis Williams, on the other hand, drank glass after glass without so much as a blink. Camila couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow.
Mr. Williams can drink? Who knew!
She’d always pegged him as the sort who wouldn’t touch a drop, maybe even lived off air and sunshine. Tonight, he was full of surprises.
And somehow, whether he was eating or drinking, Dennis made it look... elegant. Like he was sipping ambrosia, not white wine.
Helen, noticing her parents’ enthusiasm, jumped to her feet. “Alright, Mom, Dad, that’s enough—you’re making me look bad. It’s my turn! I’m going to grill a lobster for Camila and Dennis myself, as a thank you.”
She rolled up her sleeves and made a beeline for the grill.
The chef, watching her, looked skeptical. “You sure about this, Miss? Never seen you so much as scramble an egg.”
Helen just laughed it off. “How hard can it be? I watched you do it—looks easy enough!”
She slipped on oven mitts and got to work.


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