Under the table, Shelby slides her hand into mine and squeezes.
“You really couldn’t ask for a better son-in-law, Lynn,” Jiggy says, licking ice cream off his fingers.
I kick him under the table. He flinches but doesn’t stop running his mouth. “He comes with all these built-in helpers.” Jiggy circles his hand in the air, indicating the other guys.
“Big help,” I mutter.
“Logan and I will discuss our wedding when we are ready,” Shelby declares, emphasizing the we so hard I lean over and kiss her cheek, not giving a fuck if my brothers heckle me again.
“Of course,” Lynn says. “Shelby, I ran into Ms. Dean this morning, can you believe she’s still principal at your high school?”
Nice way to change the topic, Lynn.
“That old witch?” Shelby grumbles. “Yeah, I believe it. She still runnin’ around measuring the length of every girl’s skirt?”
Lynn waves off Shelby’s question. “They have a spirit day, class reunion thing going on and would love for you to attend.”
Shelby’s body stiffens and she stops scooping strawberries onto her plate.
“Maybe you could sing—”
“Hell effing no-way,” Shelby fumes, cutting off whatever her mother was about to suggest. “Are you kiddin’ me?”
Everyone stops and stares at Shelby.
Noticing the attention, she gently sets the bowl down and takes a breath. “That school made me miserable for four years. Treated me like trash. No way am I going back there and doing them a favor. No.”
“You’ve gotta be the most successful person in your class,” Jiggy says.
Shelby’s death glare settles on him and he rears back.
“Or not,” he mutters, stabbing into a strawberry.
“Aren’t there hundreds of movies based on that premise?” Steer asks. “Rubbin’ your success in the faces of the folks who disrespected you in the past?”
“My life’s no movie,” Shelby says. Her face softens and she reaches up to stroke her fingers over my cheek. “Although, I did land my Prince Charming.”
“Oh, puke,” Pants moans. “I mean, aww, that’s so sweet.”
“Okay, okay.” Lynn throws her hands in the air. “While you’re here, I thought you might want to have a revenge moment.”
“Nope.” Shelby shoves a forkful of cake, whip cream, and berries in her mouth, her signal she’s done talking about it.
After that, the conversation remains boisterous in volume but light in topics. The guys share road stories with Lynn and she feeds us until we’re ready to burst.
It’s late when the guys finally decide to head out.
“I wish I had more space for y’all,” Lynn protests. To be fair, she really does seem stressed about not having room for everyone.
“It’s fine, Lynn,” Dex says. “Thank you for dinner.”
I make a plan to meet up with them tomorrow so we can visit Blaise.
Somehow Jiggy stays behind. Why, I don’t even want to guess. Maybe he’ll be a good buffer.
“Well, your room’s all ready for you, Shelby,” Lynn announces.
Shelby wraps her arm around mine. “We’re gonna stay in the RV. There’s more room.”
Lynn blinks. “You don’t want to sleep in your own bed?”
“Well, that is my bed and I’m rather fond of it.” She nods to Jiggy. “Lord knows we’ve made you sleep outdoors plenty. You can sleep in my old room. Just please don’t do anything gross in my bed.”
I stare at Shelby but don’t want to voice my question in front of her mom.
“Thanks, songbird.” He pats Shelby’s head and she smacks his arm. “I could use some peace and quiet.”
We say good night and head inside.
“That was fun,” Shelby says. “I’m sorry she’s still—”
“Don’t apologize. She loves you and wants to protect you.” It’s annoying as fuck but nothing I can’t handle. “I get it.”
With the way Shelby stood up for us tonight, it doesn’t matter to me if Lynn ever accepts me in her daughter’s life.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Shelby
She’s really leaving the house I grew up in.
I can’t deny Momma’s announcement stung a little. I’d always hoped I’d be the one to buy her a new place. Since she’s moving into an apartment, I guess, technically, I can still be the one to buy her a house.
Still, something’s not sitting right with me about selling our house to someone who wants it because I grew up here. Too many Suggs’ vibes for my taste.
Rooster assured me it would be fine. Even finessed some info out of Momma so he could check it out.
While I’ve been busy out on the road, I’d forgotten all the little memories—good and bad—that made this my home for so long.
“What are we doing with all these baskets, Momma?” I flick dust off the woven material. My nose twitches. If it were up to me, I’d toss her basket “collection” in the trash. All they do is accumulate dust and grease.
Maybe it won’t be as bad in her new kitchen at the fancy apartment complex she’s chosen. A newer building will have to have better ventilation. Plus, maybe I can afford to pay someone to come in and clean once a week so she’s not doing it all herself.