“Good.”
My head snaps over to Nate, who still refuses to face me, but it doesn’t stop the tingling in my chest at the implication of his word.
Good.
It could mean anything.
The sort of good that meant his reputation still has a standing chance at being salvaged. The sort of good that meant he didn’t need to bend over backward to show his parents we were a real couple. But a small part of me hopes it’s the sort of good that means he cares.
The real question, though—why doIcare whether he cares?
“Thanks for getting him off me,” I say sincerely.
Nate grumbles something under his breath as the car rolls to a stop in the driveway of a large European-style home—all warm red bricks, brown shutters, and ivy trailing down the sides. It looks warm and homey, like a lifetime’s worth of memories were tucked inside and outside those walls.
“Anything I should know before heading in?” I ask.
Nate’s hands run down his face, dread etching deep lines into his brows before he pops the door open. “Let’s just do our best to try to convince them that we’re in love,” he answers, already halfway out of the car.
A loud bang resonates when Nate slams the door shut, and I take the moment alone to come up with a plan of action.
Truth is, I have no idea how we’ll pull this off with the strain that’s found itself between us. He won’t look at me.He’s barely even talking. If nothing changes, his parents will be on to us in an instant.
Anxiety zips through me at the reality that lies beyond those grand front doors, but I push it aside, take a deep breath in, and follow his lead up the path to his childhood home.
With the press of the button, the doorbell rings.We stand shoulder to shoulder, waiting in anticipation until the door creaks open, hinting at marble floors.
“Come on in, you guys. Door’s open. We’re out in the yard,” Nate’s mother yells out—a voice I recognize from the call.
Nate and I share a hesitant look before stepping inside, and I let my gaze wander as I admire their home. Grand staircases wrap on either side of the foyer. A charming wooden table sits right in the middle. Picture frames of family photos and news articles are plastered all over the walls.
It’s as beautiful on the inside as it is on the outside.
“Uncle Nateee!” A high-pitched scream catches me off guard. I turn to see a small blond girl running up to him, her arms wide. She latches on to his leg, squeezing as tightly as she can. “I missed you soooo much.”
The lines of sadness on Nate’s face soften at the sight of her. “I missed you too, Anya girl,” he says as his fingers run through her curls. “But when did you get so tall?”
“That’s what happens when you don’t show up to family dinner for weeks!” She smiles widely at him before running away.
Nate’s hand is frozen midair, right where she once stood, before commotion from past the kitchen and through the patio doors draws our attention.
It’s dark out there, the sun having set somewhere along our commute. But the two women standing with their handsclasped in front of their bodies, bumping their shoulders into each other, are as visible as day.
“Mom, I said act natural,” a brunette hisses. “We can’t scare her off already.”
The mother’s eyes narrow at her daughter. “You should be thanking me for convincing them to come over. We would have never met her otherwise.”
It’s only when their eyes land on us that their banter comes to an end and nervous smiles pull at their lips.
“Hi!” Both women wave in unison, a little too suspiciously.
Nate’s frown deepens, remaining even when his too-excited niece comes running back to us.
“Come on, Uncle Nate. It’s barbie-cue time!”
Nate gasps in surprise as she latches onto both our hands and drags us through the house.
“Did you actually get your Barbies and put them on the barbecue this time?”
