My mom giggles. “Remember when we fell in love?” she asks my father.
The closest Rhett Collins can come to a smile looks more like a sneer.
I cannot fathom the courtship between them. Did Mom decode his grunts and stony disapproval for interest? The man doesn’t have a romantic—or personable—bone in his body. At least that I’ve ever seen. He has two settings. Serious and scornful.
“It’s time you carry on the family name, Chase.” Mom elbows Dad. When he gives as much of a response as Pippa gave me at dinner, she stifles her sigh. “Since your father is being unusually tight-lipped tonight, let me remind you that your grandfather wanted you to settle down as well.” Her eyebrow arches with meaning.
I stop myself before a grunt escapes. I’m a modern man, but have old-school values thanks to my grandparents. I was closeto them while my parents traveled—my father for business and my mother dutifully by his side. Nana and Cap Collins played the primary roles in raising me with values that I hold dear. My grandmother passed away the year before I started high school and I lost Cap earlier this very year. His passing was devastating, but so was the surprise that came along with it.
As the two sets of parents, well, minus my father, who may as well be a statue among the Smythe’s art collection, continue to chatter about marriage, Pippa interrupts.
Hands clasped and eyes anywhere but on me, she says, “I’m still relatively new at my job and don’t have time for dating.”
Not sure where to put my hands, I add, “And I have this thing coming up—” I break off, not wanting to give Dad an excuse to jump all over me about being sent to etiquette school.
Even though going on a date with Pippa sounds like the best thing since sliced bread—one of Cap’s favorite sayings—she obviously feels about me the opposite way I do about pizza. Plus, there’s the past and the matter of a certain best friend and twin brother.
That’s a line I can’t cross. Shouldn’t cross. As a team, the Bruisers say,It ain’t over until we’ve won, but there’s no winning in this situation for a variety of reasons, Freddie being one. Pippa resents me for two. Three, I’ll be unavailable for the next thirty days, so there’s that.
I don’t want to give my father a reason to comment on my delinquency, so I simply add, “I’ll be busy.”
Pippa brushes her hands together as if wiping them clean of this situation. “See? Problem solved.”
“Dear, we don’t see this as a problem. More of an opportunity,” my mom says, strangely giddy like she and Mrs. Thompson just solved a global crisis.
“We’re thinking about your futures,” Mrs. Thompson says, then, in a whisper to her daughter, she adds, “It’s time to forget about the past.”
I don’t like the sinking, dismal feeling inside at the confirmation that she knows about the sponge cake incident.
With a slight shake of her head, Pippa starts edging away. “I appreciate you thinking of me, but?—”
Two motherly sets of eyes flash in my direction as though begging for me to make the pass and win the game before the clock times out.
My mouth opens and closes because what I’m about to say could get me into a lot of trouble—with Pippa and her brother. But I do it because I don’t want Pippa to leave. At the very least, I owe her an explanation and a proper apology. “One date probably couldn’t hurt. We could grab a slice of pizza.”
Ice glasses over her features. “I don’t like pizza.”
“Pippa, that’s an outright lie. We had pizza last time you visited,” Mrs. Thompson admits in a hush as though that’s not their typical fare.
I’d almost forgotten that this love connection attempt is being made in the Smythe’s home, where propriety and appearances are of utmost importance.
But Pippa isn’t done because she steps closer to me. “I’m not a fan of football, nor do I like playing juvenile?—”
Both mothers cock their heads as though not hearing correctly.
Just then, an older woman with streaks of white in her dark hair comes over, asking after Phoebe, Pippa’s sister.
“Hello, Mildred. So lovely seeing you and thank you for asking after our Phoebe. She’s doing famously,” Mrs. Thompson says.
She asks about Freddie as well.
“Engaged. Can you believe it?”
I can’t. Freddie had always been a favorite among the ladies. No doubt, he broke a lot of hearts. He probably thought I was like him and would dump his sister—not a chance.
“Now, it’s Pippa’s turn,” her mother says.
“Is this your fiancé?” Mildred asks, scanning me approvingly.
