My parents are here.
I don’t see them.
I don’t hear them.
But Iknowthey are, and not just because they’re supposed to be, and they texted to let me know they’d landed and gotten checked in.
It’s the look on his face—that wary,did you mean it when you said your parents would have to accept that you can make your own choices?look on his face—that telegraphs that they’re here, they’ve seen him, and they’ve passed judgment without him doing a damn thing beyond existing.
I beeline to him without telling Emma or Sabrina or Claire where I’m going.
Pretty sure they all know.
Pretty sure Emma’s ecstatic that we’re getting along.
Thank goodness.
Someoneneeds to be.
“Are you cooking?” I whisper to him as he hovers at the edge of the lanai where it’s easiest to roll out the food from the bistro kitchen. There’s a smear of something on his shirt.
“Got help.”
“You are amazing.” I want to throw myself at him. Kiss him. Thank him.Touchhim.
But I know my parents are here, anddammit dammit dammit, be bigger than this, Laney.
Be bigger.
Touch him.
“Dress okay?” He stares at something on my left cheek instead of making eye contact.
“Yes. We got the dress fixed. I don’t have a clue why it was sent to the cleaners, or what they thought they were doing with it that was most definitelynotcleaning it, but we have it, and it took most of the day, but it’s fixed, and it’s fine. Are you okay? What do you need?”
Wary eyes finally look at me full-on. “I’m good.”
“You don’tlookgood.”
“I’mgood.”
“Theo, I—”
“Delaney! Sweetheart, we missed you.”
My shoulders tense at the sound of my mother’s voice, but I don’t turn around to say hi.
Not yet.
First, I lift a brow at Theo. “Did they do something?”
“Gotta go make sure dinner’s ready.”
“Theo.”
“Long day. Up in my head. Working on it.”
He doesn’t sound like he’sworking on it.
