Oliver
Ihad triple-checked the oven timer, rotated the baking sheets mid-cycle, and calibrated the internal temperature of the cinnamon rolls with a scrutiny more reserved for nuclear reactors than household-baked pastries. You’d think I’d entered a baking competition, not that I’d made breakfast pastries to take to my boyfriend’s parents’. But Luke’s parents loved cinnamon rolls, and I loved Luke. Therefore, the cinnamon rolls needed to be perfect.
Luke’s arms slipped around me from behind. He pressed a kiss to the side of my neck, his stubble brushing against my skin, then his chin came to rest on my shoulder. “You’re nervous, aren’t you?”
“Yes. I’ve been inching toward a full-scale panic attack since the moment you scheduled this date a week ago.”
He chuckled, his arms tightening around me. “You’ve got nothing to worry about.”
“Easy for you to say. You aren’t meeting the parents of the guy you’re dating. What if they don’t like me? What if they think I’m not good enough for their son?”
He pressed another kiss below my ear. “Angel, you have to step off that crazy train. It’s barreling full speed toward nowhere useful, and all it’s gonna do is churn your nerves until they’re all tied up in knots. Trust me, they’re going to love you.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I love you.”
My thoughts were annihilated by the wonder and meaning of that declaration. I turned, the movement abrupt, dislodging his chin from my shoulder. Our gazes met, the look in his eyes turning me to mush.
“Care to repeat that, so I can be sure I’m not having an auditory hallucination.”
“Do you want me to pinch you too, to check if you’re dreaming?” he asked, aiming his teasing, crooked smile at me.
“Why don’t we start with you repeating yourself and I’ll let you know if pinching is also in order.”
“I love you, Oliver. The mind-boggling, life-altering, ‘nothing else matters as long as I have this, never want to lose this’ kind of love.”
“And you bring this up now!?”
“I know, my timing is impeccable, isn’t it?”
“Only one of us thinks so.”
“Hey, it distracted you from your downward spiral, didn’t it?”
“Shut up and kiss me.” I yanked him toward me and slammed my lips to his.
Our mouths moved against each other with the ease of familiarity and the heat of something still crackling with newness.
Eventually, oxygen made its inevitable demands, and we broke apart, gasping in each other’s space.
“I love you,” he said again, quieter this time, a vow, not a revelation.
“I love you too. So fucking much.”
After an hour-long drive we pulled into the driveway of Luke’s childhood home. My nerves, which had simmered in the background during the ride, increased to a boil as we ascended the steps hand in hand.
But before Luke lifted his hand to knock, the front door swung open. His mom, silver-haired and beaming, threw her arms around him. “There’s my darling boy,” she sighed, like she hadn’t seen him in years.
Her eyes landed on me. “And you must be Oliver. We’re thrilled you could come. Do you do hugs? We’re big huggers in this family.”
“I . . . uh . . .”
“Tell you what, let’s save the hug for later after we’ve gotten to know each other. How about a handshake to start?”
Relieved, I nodded, extending my hand. “Yeah, um... that works. Thank you, Mrs. Walker.”
“Posh,” she said with a dismissive wave as she took my hand in both of hers and gave it a firm, affectionate squeeze. “It’s Susan. No formalities here. We’re not that kind of family. I must say, you are every bit the darling Luke described.”
