“The other night. You left my house?—”
“Oh. Uh. Yeah. Stove was off.” My gaze drops to the floor. “Sorry about that. It was a long day.” Lies.
“No problem. I get like that when I have a lot going on.” He flashes me a small smile, and I can’t help but give him one in return.
“So, um…” His fingers tighten on the steering wheel once we’re in his SUV. “I was thinking we could walk in holding hands. Maybe share food? I’ve seen couples do that.”
“If you touch my food without asking,” I warn sweetly, “don’t be surprised if you find my fork lodged in your hand.”
His fingers readjust on the steering wheel. “Noted.”
“Stealing food off my plate is my biggest pet peeve. Growing up, we didn’t have much. And after my dad left, and with my mom’s medical bills…” I shrug. “Food was sacred.”
He nods.
“You’re overthinking this,” I add. “Your family already likes me. You don’t need to audition for Best Fake Boyfriend.”
His lips press into a thin line, but then he reaches over and rests his hand on mine. It’s smooth, exactly how I showed him, but my brain still short-circuits.
“Everything okay?” he asks.
“Yes,” I lie. “Totally normal.”
He gives my hand a gentle squeeze. “Good.”
After parking in Melanie’s driveway, we stroll to the front door side by side. Miles knocks twice before letting us in, and the scent of garlic and rosemary greets us instantly. After kicking off our shoes, we head down a short hallway that opens into the kitchen. The dining table resembles a Pinterest board come to life—linen napkins folded into perfect triangles, apple-scented candles, and a centerpiece screaming harvest vibes.
Before she even says hi to Miles, Melanie pulls me into a hug. “I’m so glad you could come. Miles has never brought a girlfriend to dinner.”
Miles clears his throat. “That’s not?—”
“Honestly, I think she’s the first girlfriend he’s ever had,” Mallory says, handing me a glass of wine. “So. We’re thrilled.”
I wrap an arm around Miles’s waist and tug him into a quick hug, partly for show, partly because I know his sisters mean well, but that kind of pressure can rattle anyone. It’s the exact reason I built OneDate in the first place.
For the next thirty minutes, we mingle with Melanie, her husband, Ben, Mallory, and her husband, Randy while all the kids run around the house wanting to show us all their new toys. Miles is completely natural with his family—soft laughs and polite interruptions. He’s not the awkward guy he thinks he is. When dinner’s ready, we gather around the table. I take the seat beside Miles, and he immediately scoots his chair closer.
He leans in. “Is this good?”
“You’re doing great,” I whisper back.
As the kids race for the table, two of Miles’s nieces immediately start arguing over who gets the seat beside me.
“Hanna, you can sit next to me.” Miles pulls out the chair on his other side.
“But I want to sit by Nora,” she whines.
“You can sit next to Nora next time.” Mallory points to the empty chair beside Miles. “Take that one.”
Hanna pouts but eventually plops down next to Miles, arms crossed in dramatic defeat.
Plates of food are passed around the table family style. Conversation flows easily. Miles constantly checks in with me.
At one point, Mallory nudges Melanie and mouths, “They’re so cute together.”
Miles doesn’t notice, but I do. And I can’t help the butterflies that flutter in my belly.
After dinner, Melanie disappears into the hallway and returns carrying a box. “Okay,” she announces, dropping it on the coffee table. “Ben and I played this at a dinner party last week, and apparently, we’re idiots, but we had a blast.”
