“You know,” Jules said, breaking the silence that had stretched between them since they’d left town, “your death grip on that wheel is making me think this dinner might be more dangerous than you let on.” They reached over, gently prying one of Keaton’s hands from the wheel and lacing their fingers through his. “What’s the worst that could happen? Your dad doesn’t approve of us dating and I have to fake my own death and move to Canada?”
Keaton snorted, the tension in his shoulders loosening slightly. “My dad will like you just fine. It’s me I’m worried about.”
Jules raised an eyebrow. “Your dad doesn’t like you? That seems unlikely, given how much Paige talks about him bragging about you to anyone who’ll listen.”
“It’s not that.” Keaton killed the engine, turning to face Jules fully. “I just… I’ve never brought anyone home to meet him before. Not like this.”
Understanding dawned on Jules’s face. “Ah. So this is a big deal then?”
“Yeah.” The admission felt heavier than it should, laden with years of seeking approval, of trying to live up to expectations. “My dad’s opinion means a lot to me. Probably too much, if you ask my friends.”
Jules squeezed his hand. “Well, lucky for you, I’m extremely charming. Just ask your mom and sister. They adore me. Besides, it’s not like I’venevermet your dad before.”
Keaton couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips. “That’s true. Though Paige would love anyone who makes fun of me, so I’m not sure that counts.”
He didn’t point out that Jules being Paige’s friend was much different from this. While his dad had always made it abundantly clear his love was unconditional, Keaton knew he struggled with his son’s sexuality. And having someone who basically flipped the bird to social norms by his side ran the risk of upsetting the apple cart.
“It absolutely counts.” Jules leaned over, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. “Come on. I’m starving.”
As they climbed out of the truck, Keaton noticed his thumb absently tracing the old scar on his hand—a nervous habit he’dnever quite broken. Jules caught the movement, reaching out to cover his hand with their own as they walked up the path to the front door.
“It’s going to be fine,” Jules murmured.”I promise not to bribe him into telling any embarrassing stories about you. At least, not until dessert. Besides, I’m pretty sure Paige has already told me most of them.”
Before Keaton could respond, the front door swung open, revealing his mother with her arms already outstretched.
“There you are!” his mom exclaimed, pulling Jules into a warm hug. “I was starting to think you two had gotten lost.”
“Sorry, Mom,” Keaton said, accepting his own hug. “We got held up at the apartment.”
His mom waved a dismissive hand. “Well, you’re here now. That’s what matters.” She ushered them inside, her hand on Jules’s back. “Your father’s out back tending the smoker. Paige is already here, nursing a glass of wine and complaining about the school board.”
The familiar scent of home—a mixture of his mother’s perfume, fresh-baked bread, and furniture polish—enveloped Keaton as they stepped into the foyer. Family photos lined the walls, chronicling years of milestones and mundane moments alike. He caught Jules glancing at them, a smile playing at the corners of their mouth.
“Oh my god, I forgot you used to have braces.” Jules pointed to a particularly awkward school photo.
“That’s eighth grade,” his mom confirmed with a laugh. “He was so mad about having to get them right before the spring dance the year before.”
“Mom,” Keaton groaned, feeling heat creep up his neck.
“What? You were adorable.” His mom patted his cheek before turning back to Jules. “I have an entire album of his awkward phase if you’re interested.”
“Absolutely,” Jules replied, grinning. “I need all the blackmail material I can get.”
From the living room, Paige appeared, wine glass in hand and a mischievous gleam in her eye. “Jules! You actually came!” She pulled them into a one-armed hug. “I was beginning to think my brother had chickened out.”
Keaton rolled his eyes. “Nice to see you too, squirt.”
Paige stuck her tongue out at him, a childish gesture that somehow never failed to make him feel like they were kids again. “Dad’s been out back for an hour, fussing over the smoker like it might run away if he turns his back. I think he’s nervous about sticking his foot in his mouth.”
“Why would Dad be nervous?” Keaton asked, genuinely confused.
Paige and his mom exchanged a look that Keaton couldn’t quite decipher.
“Because,” Paige said slowly, as if explaining to a child, “this is the first time you’ve ever brought someone home to meet him. Like, ever.”
“I’ve had people over before,” Keaton protested weakly.
“Luke and Finn don’t count,” Paige countered. “You know damn well what I meant. Bringing home someone you’re dating is a huge deal, and you’re not the only one who worries about screwing up.”
