I hope he’s right.
I’m afraid he’s not, but I hope he is.
“Hello,” my mom says, extending a hand to Dane’s dad. “I’m Kimberly. I’m not sure we’ve ever been properly introduced.”
My eyes bulge, and I stifle a squeak.
They’venever been introduced?
No way.
But Dane’s dad is taking Mom’s hand and shaking. “Harry Silver. Nice to meet you.”
Are they playing us?
I glance at Dane.
His mouth is slightly ajar like he, too, is questioning what kind of game this is.
My parents were college sweethearts.
Mom grew up somewhere in Pennsylvania and didn’t arrive in Tinsel until she and my dad were basically newlyweds.
It’s entirely possible my mom and Dane’s dadhaven’tever met. Crossed paths in the grocery store, likely. Probably attended school functions together for us kids. But never actually introduced despite probably knowing exactly who the other was.
Wow.
“Fascinating times,” Mr. Silver adds.
“Indeed,” Mom agrees.
Pia dashes back in from the kitchen with a bottle of champagne under one arm and an extra set of samples in her other hand. “Beautifulday for a cake tasting, isn’t it? Will there be more family coming, or just you two?”
“Just me from Amanda’s side,” Mom says at the same time Mr. Silver replies, “No one else from my family.”
I look at Dane again.
He’s closed his mouth, but a muscle is working in his jaw.
I wish Chili was here.
“So, to catch you up, here’s our first flavor,” Pia says. “White chocolate cake, cherry ganache filling, pistachio frosting.”
Mom and Mr. Silver both moan over the cake.
Then they make eye contact and smile a little less hesitantly at each other.
“At least you have good taste,” Mom says.
“Not as good as Amanda’s,” Mr. Silver replies.
I grab Dane’s hand and squeeze.
It’s happening. They’re trying. They’re finding common ground. ASilverjust complimented my taste.
Even if it was a veiled reference toanyone who picks my son has good taste, or maybe it’s a subtleI know she likes my family’s fruitcake, but Mom doesn’t seem offended.
If anything, she’s smiling wider. “She gets it from me.”
