Keaton felt Jules’s hand slip into his, a small gesture of solidarity that somehow centered him. “Well, we should probably head out back then,” he said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. “Don’t want to keep him waiting.”
The backyard was his father’s pride and joy—a meticulously maintained space with a stone patio, a fire pit surrounded by Adirondack chairs, and a sprawling lawn that stretched to a small vegetable garden at the far end. His dad was hunched over the smoker, his back to them as they stepped through the French doors.
“Dad,” Keaton called, his voice steady despite the flutter in his stomach. “We’re here.”
His dad turned, his weathered face breaking into a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes—not from displeasure, but from the careful assessment Keaton recognized all too well. It was the same look his father gave to a potential job site, measuring and evaluating before committing.
“About time,” his dad said, setting down the spatula and wiping his hands on a towel tucked into his belt. “Was starting to think you’d gotten lost.”
“Traffic,” Keaton lied easily, knowing his father would see through it but appreciating the humor.”You know how it can be. The city really ought to think about turning Main Street into four lanes.”
His dad stepped forward, extending his hand to Jules. “It’s good to see you again, Jules.”
Jules took his hand, their grip firm and confident. “Thank you for inviting me, Mr. Anderson.”
“Call me Michael,” he said, his handshake lingering a moment longer than necessary, measuring strength and character in a single grip. “Hopefully, my son hasn’t been telling too many tall tales.”
“Only the good ones,” Jules assured him with a smile. “Though Paige has been filling in some of the gaps.”
His dad’s eyebrow quirked up, a hint of amusement flickering across his face. “I’ll bet she has. That girl never could keep a secret.”
“I heard that!” Paige called from the doorway, where she and his mom were carrying out dishes to the patio table.
The tension in Keaton’s shoulders eased slightly at the familiar banter. This was normal. This was family. He could do this.
“Can I help with anything?” Jules asked, already moving toward his mom.
“You’re our guest,” his mom protested, but Jules was already taking a bowl from her hands.
“I insist. Besides, it gives me a chance to get all the dirt on Keaton from the women in his life.”
His dad chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that Keaton hadn’t heard in a while. “Smart one, aren’t they?” he said quietly to Keaton as Jules followed his mom back inside, Paige trailing behind them.
His dad emphasized Jules’s pronouns as if he wanted it known he’d been informed and was trying. Keaton appreciated that Paige—and it had to be Paige—had talked to him.Thathad been one of Keaton’s fears about facing tonight.
“Yeah,” Keaton agreed, watching them go with a warmth spreading through his chest. “They are.”
“So, this is serious then?” The question, though expected, still caught Keaton off guard. His father had never been one for beating around the bush.
“Yeah,” he admitted, the single syllable carrying more weight than he’d intended. “It is.”
His dad nodded, his focus seemingly on the meat sizzling before him. “Good. You deserve someone who makes you smile like that.”
Keaton blinked, surprised by the simple acceptance. “Like what?”
“Like they hung the moon and stars just for you.” His dad glanced up, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Your mother used to look at me that way, back when we were young and I wasn’t such a grumpy old man.”
“You’re notthatgrumpy,” Keaton said automatically, then added with a small smile, “most of the time.”
His dad barked out a laugh. “There it is. I was wondering when you’d stop walking on eggshells around me.” He closed the grill lid and turned to face Keaton fully. “You don’t need my approval, son. Not for this. Not for anything, really. But for what it’s worth, I like them. From what I remember, they were always respectfulwhen they were here with Paige, and they make you happy. That’s what really matters.”
Coming from his father, that was high praise indeed. Keaton felt something tight and anxious in his chest begin to unravel. “Thanks, Dad.”
“Don’t thank me yet. Wait until I tell them about the time you tried to build a treehouse by yourself and ended up stuck twenty feet in the air because you knocked over the ladder.”
Keaton groaned, but there was no real annoyance behind it. If his father was teasing, it meant Jules had passed whatever silent test had been administered. “You wouldn’t.”
“Oh, I absolutely would,” his dad countered, his eyes twinkling. “It’s my right as a father to embarrass my children at every opportunity. You should know that by now. And since you’ve never brought anyone other than your friends home, I have some making up to do.”
