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She leads us into the living room with Dad following close behind.

Bodhi finally releases me, winking when we’re told to take the two seats by each other at the end of the table. The food spread out looks…colorful. And healthy. Very healthy.

He must notice the same thing because he’s examining the closest dish to him quietly.

“I hope you’re hungry,” Candi says. “I made my famous vegetable salad using everything I grew in the garden this year.”

Bodhi looks impressed. Out of the two of us, he definitely eats more vegetables. You can’t get abs like his without a lot of protein, lean meats, and greens. “My mom is big into gardening,” he tells her. “Last year the sweetcorn shot up over six feet. Her backyard looked like a corn field.”

Candi smiles. “That’s amazing. We had a pest problem this year, so half of our garden was ruined. But I salvaged what I could.”

My nose scrunches at the thought of there being little bugs on my plate.

Candi must realize what I’m thinking. “Oh, don’t worry. I double checked everything before I brought them inside. You’ll love this! I made eggplant lasagna too because your father said how much you love lasagna.”

My mother makes the best meat lasagna I’ve ever had. It’s traditional every Christmas that we make it together using her great-grandmother’s famous recipe that has a lot of cheese, meats, and noodles. A far cry from the vegetarian option steaming in the casserole dish in front of me. “I’ve never tried it with vegetables before,” I offer as she scoops some onto my plate.

I’m not unwilling to try it. At least Dad remembered how much I loved lasagna. It’s…something.

The beginning of the meal is fine, thanks to Bodhi. His presence takes the pressure off of me. My father asks him questions about how he got into hockey and how he likes playing for New York. Candi interjects with her own questions about dietary habits and the nutrition it must take to keep up with training all of the athletes do.

That’s when things turn on me.

“Maybe you can convince Olive to speak to a dietitian,” Candi suggests innocently, stabbing a tomato with her fork. “Luke has been trying for ages to get her to see somebody, but she insists she doesn’t need to. I don’t think it would hurt. I used to be a health coach before all that Ozempic stuff started becoming a trend. Exercise and healthy eating are what I preached. Oh.” Candi perks up and turns to me. “Your doctor would totally approve you for Ozempic. One of my friends tried getting it online but they said she didn’t qualify because of her low BMI. But you would!”

Heat creeps under the skin of my cheeks as I stare down at my half-eaten food. I’ll admit, the eggplant lasagna is good, even if I don’t think there should be vegetables in the dish. But now I’m not going to compliment her on it. Because seriously? What the fuck?

Bodhi’s body stiffens beside me, his fork halting halfway to his mouth before dropping loudly onto the ceramic. His voice isfirm, the tone lowered in disbelief as it cuts through the thick tension in the room. “Excuse me?”

Dad clears his throat, wiping a napkin across his lips. “I’m sure she didn’t mean it how it sounded. Right, Candi?”

His girlfriend seems oblivious to the offensive comment, which tracks. Dad never liked dating women with brains. I think it would remind him too much of Mom. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with Ozempic. Half of Hollywood is using it, and most of them don’t even need it.”

Dad’s face flushes like he’s embarrassed for himself more than anyone else. Heaven forbid how he must think I feel.

Bodhi looks her dead in the eye. “That’s a pretty fucked up thing to say to someone,” he tells her matter-of-factly. His eyes roam over to my father. “And it’s even more fucked up that you’re sitting there letting your daughter be talked about that way without speaking up.”

He straightens. “Well—”

“Nah.” Bodhi cuts him off and tosses his napkin onto the plate of food. “I don’t think I want to hear what you have to say. Because something tells me it’s not going to be anything decent. You ready to go, Olive?”

I stare at the giant hand extended in front of me, blinking at his open palm. “Oh. Uh. Sure?”

I’m not sure why it comes out like a question because I’ve wanted to leave since I parked my car in the driveway.

He pulls me up, tugging me into his side. Then he turns to Candi and says, “The lasagna was mushy.”

Without another word, he guides us to the front door.

“Do you have everything?” he asks.

I nod absentmindedly, still a little mind blown over what just went down. Sure, Sebastian used to defend me whenever Dad acted up. But Bodhi didn’t need to do that. He doesn’t owe me anything.

When we stop by my car, I say, “That was…” I shake my head. Then I snort at his parting words. And my snort turns into a full-blown laugh. Like, the shoulder-shaking kind. “Bodhi,” I wheeze. “Her lasagna wasn’t mushy.”

He grins. “I know. But I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction. That shit was good. Almost sad to leave it behind.”

Oh God. “You’re the best. You really are. And if we were alone, I’d probably do some dirty shit to you to show my appreciation.”