“Yeah.” It sounds crazy when he says it like that, but once Oliver is there staring them in their faces they’ll have to see the light. Not immediately, but eventually. They’ll see how he is with me now, how we are together.
“I have my own room,” I add, trying to make it sound more reasonable. “I called earlier, and there’s still time to upgrade it to a whole suite with a kitchen.”
“Your own room, huh?” He chuckles, and it makes my tight shoulders loosen a little. The sound is low and warm, and there’s affection in it despite the absurdity of what I’m proposing. “Good. Because I am not sharing a room with Jemma.”
“Does that mean you’re coming?”
His lips twist. He’s trying not to smile, but the more I dramatically bat my eyelashes at him—long, exaggerated blinks that make him shake his head—the harder it gets. The corners of his mouth keep twitching upward. “Yes. I’ll go.” He blows out a breath that makes his lips vibrate. “God, I hope this doesn’t bite me in the ass.”
I loop my arm around his, pressing close to his side. “If that’s the case, it’ll bite both of us in the asses, and then at least we’ll be ass bitten together.”
He chuckles, his appreciative gaze sweeping over me, taking in my face like he’s memorizing it. “There’s no one else I’d rather be ass bitten with.”
“Ditto.” I give him a quick kiss then dive back into the bagelbag, finally allowing myself to take that first bite. The everything seasoning bursts on my tongue—salt, garlic, onion, sesame.
His leg is fidgeting, bouncing slightly against the couch cushion, and I understand why he’s nervous. This is a huge ask. I’m essentially throwing him into the lion’s den without warning anyone there are lions. But I know I’m on to something, though. I could spend a thousand hours describing the new Oliver to my family, going on and on about how he’s changed and grown and become more self-aware. Or they could spend a few days seeing us together. Seeing how he treats me now. Seeing how good we are for each other. Witnessing the way he looks at me, the way he listens, the way he shows up.
It’ll be a bumpy launch, but the success rate is undeniable. We’re in it to win it this time, and we won’t fail.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Devin
“You okay?” Oliver slips his hand into mine, but I can’t even feel it. My body is numb as we walk up to the resort’s entrance.
My tongue is heavy, and each step ties another knot in my stomach. “Yeah.”
Am I? Or was this a horrible, catastrophic idea?
I told my family that I’m bringing “the guy I’m dating” and left it at that. Didn’t answer any questions, didn’t provide any details. Now here we are, about to meet them in the resort’s lobby, and I’m swaying on my feet, clutching Oliver’s hand for dear life.
“I’ll be okay,” he says, and I hate that he’s the one comforting me. This was all my idea. I’m the one who encouraged him to go along with it.
My response isn’t much more than a terrified titter. Oliver opens the door for me, and there they are, right past the long front desk and standing under a mounted elk head. My family.
All four are staring at me and Oliver with slack jaws andwide eyes, their gazes hot tethers that pull us across the shiny wooden floor to them.
“Hi,” I say, that nervous squeak still there.
My mom’s eyebrows knit together in confusion, like she’s trying to understand what she’s seeing. My dad looks shocked, Henry looks amused, and Jemma…
She’s red as a fire hydrant.
An impulse suddenly hits: that of fleeing the lobby, running back outside with Oliver and ordering a car to take us to a different resort where we can spend the trip alone, doing as we please without anyone judging us.
I did this for a reason, though. I brought Oliver because as uncomfortable as the band-aid rip off is, it’s better than spending the rest of my life knowing that my family hates Oliver.
“You all remember Oliver?” I ask, the unnecessary question only voiced because the silence needs to be filled.
My mom crosses her arms. “Yep,” she snaps.
“Hello.” Oliver nods at them all, respectful despite the cold reception. “It’s good to see you again.”
“Hey, man.” Henry comes in for a handshake and a hug, and my dad follows his lead. I sigh in relief. That’s two people who are at least trying.
My mom and Jemma have their backs turned to Oliver, heads bowed together as they whisper. It’s like old times, but worse. Now they aren’t even acknowledging Oliver’s existence.
Jemma snaps her head up, frown pointed at me. “Can I talk to you?”
