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“Who’s Ruben?” she asked.

I looked around at the expectant faces and raised my hands slightly. “My boyfriend. When I was on the phone with Nash a few weeks ago, everything was still uncertain that I was convinced I wouldn’t tell you anything about him, but it’s serious.”

Lorena reached across the table and squeezed my hand briefly. “I’m happy for you.”

My brother and mother were shocked, while my father watched me with a smile.

“Something serious? I mean . . . ” She was obviously struggling to find the right words. “Of course. It’s just that you never gave the impression that . . . ”

That made me grin. “What impression did I give, Mother?”

My mom turned bright red, and my dad could barely suppress his laughter.

When he regained control, he leaned toward me. “If I may say so. I may not be an expert, and it’s been a while since I fell in love with your mother, but—are you nervous?”

I ran both hands over my thighs and let the question sink in. I wasn’t the nervous type. Still, there was an unmistakable excitement gnawing at me. “A little,” I admitted.

“But why?” Nash asked, almost irritated.

Once again, I searched for the right words to describe what was going on inside me. “I hope you guys like him.”

My mother sat back with a loud sigh. At that moment, small appetizers were placed on our table. “A complimentary appetizer from the kitchen,” explained the waitress before immediately disappearing.

Nash pounced on the appetizers. “God, I’m hungry.”

“Shocker!” Lorena scolded, nudging him in the side with a smile.

“Shane, why wouldn’t we like him?” My mom wasn’t easily distracted.

I shook my head. “That’s not what I meant.” I stared thoughtfully at the appetizers arranged with flowers. “He’s very important to me. The idea that you don’t get along with this person—my person . . . ” Once again, I stared somewhat lost at the tablecloth covered in white. “I don’t know what I would do then.”

“If he’s important to you, I’m sure he’s wonderful. You should trust your instincts,” my father stated simply.

My mom glanced at me. “We’re happy for you,” she assured me. “Whenever we get to meet him.”

“But he’s here at the resort, isn’t he?” Nash helpfully interjected.

“Really?” My mom beamed. “Then why isn’t he here eating with us? Come on, Shane!”

“Save yourself the interrogation. He has to work.”

She nodded, taking in the information. “Tell us more and don’t make us drag everything out of you. What does he do? How long have you known each other?”

My family didn’t need to know every detail of our relationship. “We’re sharing accommodation here, and he’s a chef.”

My father put down the spoon he had just brought to his mouth. “You mean he cooked what we’re eating?”

Now it was my mother who eagerly reached for a piece of fresh bread and put it in her mouth. “It’s delicious!” she mumbled around it.

My family certainly didn’t lack style, I noted sarcastically to myself.

“So you’ve settled your—um, differences—in the meantime?” Nash wanted to know.

“Yes,” I confirmed. “Misunderstandings. I—we had to talk, really talk to each other.”

“Communication is everything,” my father confirmed.

“But . . . ” My mother gazed around nervously. “We’re only here for two nights. Are we sure we’ll see him? I mean, we’ve planned to go skiing tomorrow. What’s his work schedule?”