1234567. 1234567. 1234567. Lela counted the ice cubes as she gently dropped them in the tall glasses making sure they didn't break or chip. A couple of minutes ago, Sylvan texted her that they were on their way and filling up the beverages was the last thing she needed to do.

"123—" She stopped her routine placing the last ice chunk from the tray in the last glass on the copper tray. Her number sequence sat on her tongue as she grabbed another ice tray and twisted it. The ice cracked but unlike the other time she executed the task, ice fragments shot out falling on her arm and the island. "Shit!" She smacked the tray on the granite.

"What?" Trevor asked, strolling in the kitchen, fiddling with the pinstriped tie she picked out for him to wear. Insisted that he wear. "Something break?"

"The ice." She roughly brushed the ice chips off her forearms before her body heat melted it. "It's jagged." She flipped the ice tray over the sink.

"What are you doing?" Trevor reached for her wrist trying to stop her but the cubes already smacked at the bottom of the sink. "That was good ice." He frowned at her. "Made from spring water."

"Seven identical pieces of ice." She swung open the freezer door and pulled out another ice tray. "It has to be perfect. This night has to be perfect." She twisted the tray and contently nodded when the cubes didn't crack. "See." She showed him the tray. "Perfection."

Trevor grabbed the ice tray from her and bumped her with his hip, nudging her out of the way. "You're going overboard."

"Stop, Trevor." She reached for the tray but he held it up. She huffed with a pout hating when he used his height advantage to end a dispute.

"Tonight doesn't have to be perfect." He dropped three ice cubes in the last cup knowing it wasn't her number. "Orderliness and symmetry aren't going to have any effect on me and the doc." He lifted the pitcher filled with the honey, mint lemonade she brewed and mixed up while the food shimmered and the cake baked. "You're have done a great job. The food smells delicious, and you look beautiful and Alyssa didn't put any gangsta rap on the playlist to spite me."

She grinned at his kind words and praise but the uneven levels of lemonade nagged her a little.

"Lee." He his fingertips under her chin and lifted to raise her eyes with his. "Relax. It's going to be fine." His smile was soft and reassuring but hers was still small and wavering.

He didn't know what else he could say to ease her nerves, stop her from worrying, working herself up and exacerbating her compulsion. So, he did what he usually did when words evaded him—encircled his arms around her waist and pulled her flush against him. He kissed the top of her braided, it chased away all her negative thoughts in her mind.

He stroked the small of her back with his thumb, wishing this dinner party wasn't going to happen. Wishing it was just going to be them tonight—to eat to their stomachs were full then work up an appetite on the countertop, the dining room table, or right there where they stood. He didn't need to like Sylvan or form a relationship with her. He just needed her to know that he wasn't going to go anywhere and he wanted the best for Lela, no matter what.

He kissed her temple the said, "Nothing in life is perfect. Imperfection is what makes life beautiful."

"Is that why you're with me...." She rested her head against his chest, the steady beating of his heart lulling in her eardrum. "Cause I'm imperfect."

"You're not imperfect." He leaned make to peer down into her eyes. "Everything about you is wonderfully you."

She smiled up at him wondering how she got so blessed, "I just want you to like them."

"I don't need to like them." He really didn't know how it was going to be possible for him to like them. Mr. Russell was the reason Safiya was a single mother ostracized from her parents and his wife that she could still proceed over his girlfriend's life as if she was a five-year-old helpless child. "I need them to respect me."

"Babe." She gripped his waist, adding a little space between them. "Please don't do this. Don't go after them like you did your parents. Holding firm to your point, not willing to compromise."

"Somethings are uncompromisable."

"Trevor!" She snapped. "Please, be cordial." His shoulders stayed square and rigid. "Baby, please...for me. They're the closest thing I have to a family. Please do this for me."

Trevor's shoulder slack at the worry and pain written on hr bister face. He pushed his issues aside. They could wait. "Anything for you." He tapped her chin then leaned down for a kiss—soft and easy. He wanted more but the doorbell rung making her jump.

"They're here!" Lela rushed over to the stove where the food was being kept warm. "Babe, can you get the door while I set things out."

"Sure." He took her hand in his and squeeze once. "Breath, baby. It's going to be fine. I grew up around actors. I know how to put on a show." He winked before headed towards the hallway.

Lela took that breath then pulled the dishes out the oven. She just hoped that the show would be a light-hearted sitcom and not a primetime drama.

Will Lela be able to keep her compulsion down during the dinner or will the stress get too bad?

Do you think Trevor is valid in his reasons not to like the Russell's?