Mr. White chuckles, not unkindly. “Not my cup of tea, but I suppose every genre has its merits.”
Ethan snorts, like he told the world’s funniest joke. “It’s fluff, Dad. Not to mention, half of it is filth.”
I stiffen, grateful when Mrs. White speaks up.
“Well, I’ve dabbled in romance a bit, and I can confirm Tatum’s assessment of the genre. Ethan was never much of a reader.” She reaches over to pat my hand. “Clark, here, is a military history buff,” she explains, spooning roasted vegetables onto her plate. “The more obscure the battle, the better.”
“And you?” I ask, grateful for the shift in focus.
“Mystery,” she says with an unmistakable gleam in her eyes.
I glance over at Ethan with a smile as if to saySee?, but his gaze is focused down on his plate. Which is just as well. I’d rather let the subject drop and move on.
The conversation flows more easily after that, drifting from literature to my classes at Ann Arbor University and then to Ethan’s progress in his finance courses. Mrs. White asks thoughtful questions that make me feel like she’s genuinely interested in getting to know me, while Mr. White interjects with occasional anecdotes about Ethan’s childhood that make me smile.
“So you’re planning to transfer to Michigan State next semester?” Mr. White asks as he refills his wine glass.
I nod, setting down my fork. “That’s the plan.”
“Ethan will love having you there,” Diana says. “All he does is talk about you. And of course, we’d love having you closer, too.”
“It’ll be nice having her by my side.” Ethan squeezes my hand under the table, and warmth spreads through my chest like a shot of whiskey. “Long distance is too hard. Call me selfish, but I hate not seeing her whenever I want.”
Ethan’s words echo in the back of my mind as I smile over at him, trying to ignore the slight twinge in my chest. For the longest time, it’s been Brandon by my side day in and day out, and I’ve been so hyper-focused on making this relationship with Ethan work that I haven’t allowed myself to think too deeply about leaving him behind. How will it feel when I can’t just drop everything and see my best friend? When he will no longer be a normal part of my routine?
“Dessert, anyone?” Diana asks, standing up. “I thought we might have it outside. The evening air is perfect tonight.”
“That sounds lovely,” I say, eager for a change in subject as I set my napkin on my empty plate.
“Come on.” Ethan ushers me through the French doors onto a spacious stone patio while I try to shake Brandon from my thoughts.
I gasp as I glance around me. The garden beyond takes my breath away. Under the soft glow of strategically placed landscape lighting, dozens of rose bushes create a living fence around the space. Their blooms—reds, pinks, whites, and yellows—seem to glow in the evening light like a kaleidoscope of color.
“Mrs. White—I mean, Diana—these roses are absolutely stunning,” I breathe, taking in the perfectly manicured beds and lush green foliage among the blooms.
She beams, setting down a tray of delicate dessert plates filled with what appears to be homemadetiramisu. “Thank you, dear. Gardening is my refuge. I spend hours out here when the weather permits.”
“Did you plant all of these yourself?” I ask, genuinely impressed as I take a seat at the wrought iron table.
“Every last one.” She nods. “My mother always loved roses. It started as a way to feel close to her after she passed, but it became my passion.”
“I’ve always been partial to lilies myself, but these might make me a convert.” I smile, accepting the dessert she offers. “They’re stunning.”
Beside me, Ethan clears his throat. “I thought roses were your favorite,” he says with a slight frown. “Isn’t that what you told me?”
My cheeks flush as I remember the elaborate bouquet of roses sitting in my dorm room—deep-crimson blooms that must have cost a fortune. Of course, they’re gorgeous, but . . .
I shift in my seat, the wrought iron suddenly feeling uncomfortably cold and hard against my legs. “I never actually said that,” I admit quietly, not meeting his eyes. “I appreciate them, of course, but I’ve always had a soft spot for lilies.”
Ethan’s expression flickers with confusion, maybe disappointment or irritation, before his mother smoothly interjects. “Speaking of favorites, we should discuss winter break,” Diana says, grabbing the stainless-steel carafe to pour everyone a cup of coffee. “Our annual holiday trip to the cabin is coming up.”
Beside me, Ethan grins, clearly forgetting about the roses, and I’m relieved. “I’d love to see Tatum on a pair of skis,” he says.
“It’s a wonderful time,” Diana continues. “Clark’s already put in for his time off, haven’t you, dear?” She turns to pat him on the hand at the same time he nods, dabbing his mouth with a napkin.
“Three weeks in the mountains,” he says. “Nothing beats it.”
“We’d love for you to join us this year, Tatum.” She turns back to me. “Have you ever been to Breckenridge?”
