Miss Viola scowled at her son. “Stop interrogating the boy, Stanley. He’s hardly touched his roast and it’s one of my best, if I do say so myself.”
“Everything is delicious, ma’am.”
“Well, I’m not the cook your grandma is, but I’ve got a meal or two up my sleeve.”
Thankfully the topic turned to Gray’s grandma and the secret recipes Miss Viola was always trying to get her hands on.
When they wrapped up the meal Gray offered to help with dishes, but Miss Viola refused. Much to his dismay, she enlisted Shelby’s help instead, leaving him alone in the living room with Mr. Thatcher. Gray was glad at least that they were in somewhat neutral territory. He suspected that was Shelby’s doing. Though he couldn’t be sure since he hadn’t gotten her alone yet.
The man gestured to the comfy-looking sofa and settled in an olive-green La-Z-Boy that had seen better days. Miss Viola’s home was cozy with colorful throws and rugs and antiques sprinkled among newer furnishings. She had eclectic taste in the art department, but he liked the whimsical pieces.
Mr. Thatcher wasted no time getting down to business. “Have you been seeing my daughter?”
Gray blinked. “I, uh, I see her at school pretty much every day.”
“Outside of school. Privately.”
“No, sir.”
“Not once?”
“Not since October tenth.”
“Have you called or texted her?”
“The last we spoke on the phone was October eleventh. The only text since then was her invitation for tonight.” Gray gathered his nerve. This was it. He needed to fight for this. He’d waited months for the chance and he couldn’t blow it now. “I’d like to apologize in person for the way I conducted myself early in my relationship with Shelby.”
Mr. Thatcher’s eyes turned frosty as he lifted a brow.
“I mean the sneaking around,” Gray said quickly. “As I said in my letter, that was my fault. I take full responsibility.”
“Shelby explained your reasoning. About a hundred times, in fact. It seems my daughter and mother are convinced your bad reputation is undeserved.”
“I’m not perfect, sir. I’ll be the first to admit I have plenty of faults. But neither am I a stranger to false accusations and rumors. I care deeply for your daughter and only want the best for her.”
“And that’s you?”
Warmth shot to his face, prickled the back of his neck. “I have no doubt she could do better than me. But I think she returns my feelings, and there’s nothing I want so much as a second chance with her. I knowI don’t come from much, but I have plans for a better future. Plans I’m working really hard on.”
Mr. Thatcher held eye contact.
Gray fought the urge to look away. To squirm in his seat. What was he thinking? Had anything Gray said swayed the man? It was impossible to tell with his impenetrable eyes and perpetual frown.
“I didn’t appreciate the way you sneaked around with my daughter—”
Gray opened his mouth.
Mr. Thatcher held up his hand. “But I did appreciate your apology. And your efforts since then to abide by my wishes. Whether or not you’re deserving of my daughter remains to be seen.” He sat back in his chair, steepled his fingers, and leveled a stare at Gray. “But I do believe in second chances. And it seems as if you’re currently in the enviable position of receiving one.”
Gray’s breath escaped his lungs. A ten-ton load fell from his shoulders. “Thank you, sir. You won’t regret it.”
“See that I don’t.” He got up and retreated to the kitchen.
The mumbling of voices carried from the kitchen. Mr. Thatcher was saying his good-byes to Shelby and Miss Viola. The side door opened and shut.
The second the man was out the door, Shelby ran into the living room and flung herself into Gray’s arms.
Chapter 27
