“How’s my girl?” she asks, and no one here misses the layers that the question holds.
“Hi, Mom,” I say, stepping in to hug her. “I’m good. Really good.”
When we pull back, her eyes are glassy, and she gives my shoulders a little squeeze before turning to look at Grayson.
“You must be Grayson.” She says it like she already decided she likes him, and this is just confirmation. “I’m Sherry.”
Grayson sets our bags on the ground and extends his free hand, keeping hold of mine in the other. “Grayson Bennett. It’s really great to meet you, Mrs. Mercer.”
She waves him off instantly. “Sherry. Please. Mrs. Mercer makes me feel ancient.”
She glances at me with an expression that communicates several things simultaneously, none of which I acknowledge. “Come in, come in. Thomas is in the kitchen pretending he’s helping but mostly just tasting things.”
We file inside.
The house smells like rosemary and something sweet and the particular warmth that comes from a house that’s been cooking all day with every light on. The kind of smell that lives in your memory whether you want it to or not.
Normally, the smells alone would be overwhelming. Today, though, they bring with them a sense of comfort that I believe comes mostly from the man holding my hand.
My dad appears from around the kitchen doorway with a wooden spoon in one hand and reading glasses pushed up on his head. He takes us in the way he always does, quick and assessing, then settles into a smile that starts at his eyes.
“There’re my kids,” he says, like we are simply his kids, all of us, as a category.
“Dad.” Kai claps a hand on his shoulder on the way past to drop his bag.
My dad looks at me next. “Hey, Bug.”
I roll my eyes at the nickname, then I let him pull me into a side hug because that’s the appropriate response to the eye roll.
Then he looks at Grayson.
“Thomas Mercer,” he says, extending his hand.
Grayson shakes it like someone who’s done this before and means it. “Grayson Bennett. Thank you for having me.”
My dad looks at him for one long, unhurried moment. The kind of look he gives people when he’s making up his mind. Then he nods once, the specific nod that meansgood enough for now.“Of course. Any friend of Kai’s.”
“He’s here with Harlow, babe,” my mom says from somewhere behind us.
My dad’s eyes flick to mine. Something passes through them, and I can’t tell if he’s about to go super protective dad mode or what. I lift my chin slightly, silently begging him not to make this into a big deal.
He nods again. Same nod. Slightly warmer this time.
“Come on,” he says. “I’ll show you where you’re staying.”
The guest room is at the end of the upstairs hall. There’s a full bed, covered with a quilt my grandmother made. It has a window that looks out over the backyard towards the beach, and it’s located on the exact opposite end of the house from my bedroom. My dad walks Grayson to the door, points out the bathroom across the hall, and says something about extra blankets in the closet.
Kai materializes at the top of the stairs with his arms crossed.
“Guest room good?” he asks Grayson, with the tone of someone who has thought very carefully about where the guest room is located relative to other rooms.
“Perfect,” Grayson says.
“Great.” Kai looks at him for one beat too long.
Grayson looks back, completely undisturbed. He has the extraordinary ability to be in the direct path of Kai’s glare and appear as if he is simply looking at a wall. It's one of the most impressive things about him.
The corner of his mouth does something small and private. He glances at me over Kai’s shoulder.
