Amber wouldn't take his hand. Foreman withdrew the offer and backed off, feeling himself stiffen up slightly. She wasn't answering him and other than a kiss on the cheek, she hadn't touched him since they'd gotten away from the living room. Foreman was as sensitive as she was to the prospect of getting caught in a compromising position, but he didn't think that holding his hand counted, when they weren't even in the same room as her parents, where Amber had sat next to him easily.
This wasn't easy. Foreman knew that. If their positions had been reversed, he knew he'd be trying as hard as he could to orchestrate every sentence in the conversation. He'd probably be sweating every time his mom opened her mouth, in case she was having a bad day, wandering through time, in all likelihood calling Amber by the name of his high school girlfriend, or worse, Claire. But Amber was a doctor; even if she grilled him about the information his mom let slip, she wouldn't judge her for the dementia. Still, Foreman would be sweating it out, tense every second. Somebody would mention Marcus, either his dad or more likely his mom, asking where Marc was. So, yeah, he got it. It wasn't easy introducing someone to your family. But Amber didn't have that kind of skeletons in her closet. No incarcerated relatives, nobody with debilitating illnesses that could make them blurt out the most embarrassing information at the worst possible moment. Not to mention that his dad would probably mention Foreman not going to church anymore. He usually managed to work that into a conversation. He'd probably want to know Amber's beliefs, too. There were a hell of a lot of things that Foreman didn't want to deal with. Which was why he hadn't invited Amber to his parents' for Thanksgiving. Again and again he kept running up against that fact: if she didn't want him here, why had she agreed to the invitation? Just because her mom had cornered Foreman on the phone once? Amber was an adult, fully capable of saying no, meaning it, and explaining to him that she didn't think they were ready yet. It had been six weeks--he was an adult, too. He could take it. And yet here they were.
Amber had poured them both wine, and a whole lot of defensiveness besides. Foreman took his glass. He wanted to stop her and demand what things? but she was right. They'd been away from the conversation long enough. He wasn't completely insensitive, he knew what she wanted. He took his glass and followed her back into the living room, intending to throw himself back into the conversation. Hell, maybe he'd even disagree with Geoffrey; mildly, of course, but even that much would be both satisfying and an implicit defence of Amber. And probably completely unexpected.
"Everything all right?" Kate asked, with the slight tension that showed she'd noticed how long they'd taken, and she was reprimanding them--or probably Amber--for breaking up the conversation by escaping for however short a time.
Foreman smiled. He was being a good guest; he was doing this for Amber. Even if he couldn't get a straight answer out of her, he could at least run interference for her. "Just discussing wine," he said. "You have a nice selection." There'd been a few bottles in the wine rack in the kitchen, as well as the Sauvignon chilling in the fridge. He fervently hoped that somebody in the family was enough of a connoisseur to take the conversational bait.
no subject
This wasn't easy. Foreman knew that. If their positions had been reversed, he knew he'd be trying as hard as he could to orchestrate every sentence in the conversation. He'd probably be sweating every time his mom opened her mouth, in case she was having a bad day, wandering through time, in all likelihood calling Amber by the name of his high school girlfriend, or worse, Claire. But Amber was a doctor; even if she grilled him about the information his mom let slip, she wouldn't judge her for the dementia. Still, Foreman would be sweating it out, tense every second. Somebody would mention Marcus, either his dad or more likely his mom, asking where Marc was. So, yeah, he got it. It wasn't easy introducing someone to your family. But Amber didn't have that kind of skeletons in her closet. No incarcerated relatives, nobody with debilitating illnesses that could make them blurt out the most embarrassing information at the worst possible moment. Not to mention that his dad would probably mention Foreman not going to church anymore. He usually managed to work that into a conversation. He'd probably want to know Amber's beliefs, too. There were a hell of a lot of things that Foreman didn't want to deal with. Which was why he hadn't invited Amber to his parents' for Thanksgiving. Again and again he kept running up against that fact: if she didn't want him here, why had she agreed to the invitation? Just because her mom had cornered Foreman on the phone once? Amber was an adult, fully capable of saying no, meaning it, and explaining to him that she didn't think they were ready yet. It had been six weeks--he was an adult, too. He could take it. And yet here they were.
Amber had poured them both wine, and a whole lot of defensiveness besides. Foreman took his glass. He wanted to stop her and demand what things? but she was right. They'd been away from the conversation long enough. He wasn't completely insensitive, he knew what she wanted. He took his glass and followed her back into the living room, intending to throw himself back into the conversation. Hell, maybe he'd even disagree with Geoffrey; mildly, of course, but even that much would be both satisfying and an implicit defence of Amber. And probably completely unexpected.
"Everything all right?" Kate asked, with the slight tension that showed she'd noticed how long they'd taken, and she was reprimanding them--or probably Amber--for breaking up the conversation by escaping for however short a time.
Foreman smiled. He was being a good guest; he was doing this for Amber. Even if he couldn't get a straight answer out of her, he could at least run interference for her. "Just discussing wine," he said. "You have a nice selection." There'd been a few bottles in the wine rack in the kitchen, as well as the Sauvignon chilling in the fridge. He fervently hoped that somebody in the family was enough of a connoisseur to take the conversational bait.