Before he could respond, Jules reappeared, carrying a pitcher of lemonade and wearing one of his mom’s floral aprons over their clothes. The sight was so domestic, so perfectly right, that Keaton’s heart stuttered.
“Your mom insisted I try her secret recipe, and your sister swore the apronhadto be worn,” Jules explained, setting the pitcher on the table. “I think I’ve been officially inducted into the Anderson family kitchen.”
“High honor,” his dad said with a solemn nod. “She doesn’t let just anyone mess with her lemonade.”
“I promised not to reveal the secret ingredient,” Jules said, miming locking their lips and throwing away the key.
“Smart move,” Keaton murmured, stepping closer to slip an arm around Jules’s waist. “Mom’s recipes are guarded more carefully than state secrets.”
“For good reason!” his mom called from inside. “Now, can you help Paige set the table?”
Keaton rolled his eyes but dutifully headed inside, leaving Jules with his father. It wasn’t until he reached the kitchen that he realized what he’d done—left Jules alone with his dad, potentially the most intimidating person in Keaton’s life. He turned back, ready to rescue them, only to freeze at the sight through the window.
Jules was laughing, head thrown back, as his dad gestured animatedly with the tongs. Whatever story his father was telling had Jules completely captivated, and his dad looked more relaxed than Keaton had seen him in months. There was an ease between them, a natural rapport that Keaton couldn’t have engineered if he’d tried.
“They’re going to be fine,” Paige said quietly, appearing at his side with a stack of plates. “Dad likes them. I can tell.”
“How?” Keaton asked, unable to tear his eyes away from the scene outside.
Paige smirked. “He only breaks out the embarrassing childhood stories for people he approves of.”
Keaton groaned. “Great. Just what I need.”
“Relax, big brother. This is a good thing.” Paige nudged him with her elbow. “Besides, if Dad didn’t like them, he’d be using his monosyllabic grunts instead of actual words.”
She had a point. Their father’s approval often came in the form of silence rather than praise. The fact that he was actively engaging with Jules spoke volumes.
“Now, come on,” Paige said, shoving the plates into his hands. “Mom’s giving me the evil eye for dawdling. And if you play your cards right, I won’t tell Jules about the time you got stuck in the bathroom window trying to sneak out to that concert.”
“I hate you,” Keaton muttered without heat. “All of you. If I’d known it would be like this, I never would’ve subject Jules to the lot of you.”
“No, you don’t,” Paige replied cheerfully. “You love me because I’m about to run interference with Mom so you can go rescue your date before Dad tells them about your brief but passionate boy band phase.”
Keaton’s eyes widened in horror. “He wouldn’t.”
“He totally would.” Paige’s grin was pure evil as she sauntered toward their mother, already calling out a question about the salad dressing.
Keaton hurried outside, plates forgotten on the counter. Some things were worth risking his mother’s wrath for, and protecting what remained of his dignity was definitely one of them.
As he stepped back onto the patio, Jules turned to him, eyes dancing with mischief. “Your dad was just telling me about your collection of boy band posters. I had no idea you were such a fan of synchronized dance moves.”
Too late. Keaton shot his father a betrayed look, but his dad just shrugged, unrepentant.
“What can I say?” his dad said, turning back to the grill. “They’ve got a trustworthy face. Besides, someone needs to warn them what they’re getting into with you.”
“And what exactly are they getting into?” Keaton asked, moving to stand beside Jules, his hand finding the small of their back in a gesture that was becoming second nature.
His dad looked up, his expression softening into something Keaton rarely saw directed at him—pure, unfiltered pride. “A good man,” he said simply. “One of the best I know.”
The words hung in the air between them, unexpected and profound. Keaton felt his throat tighten, emotion welling up that he couldn’t quite push down.
“I know,” Jules said softly, leaning into Keaton’s side. “I’m pretty lucky.”
“Nah,” his dad replied, his focus returning to the steaks as if embarrassed by his moment of sentimentality. “The way I see it, you’re both lucky. Found each other at the right time, seems like.”
The simple observation hit Keaton square in the chest. His father was right. Whatever twist of fate had brought Jules into his life had changed everything, shifted his world on its axis in the best possible way.
“Food’s ready!” his dad announced, breaking the moment. “Diana, bring out the potato salad before these ribs get cold!”
