“Gross,” Pepper repeated.
Juno giggled.
Evie rolled her eyes.
“And his mom will too,” Mag finished.
“He’s the one,” I laid it out for Mag.
“I’m gettin’ that,” Mag replied.
“I’m the one for him,” I kept going.
“Totally got that since Boone shared that with us straight when he reamed our asses for being dicks to you,” Mag said.
Yikes.
Though also not yikes because…how sweet.
“I’m still kinda ticked at Danny that he did that,” Evie told Pepper.
“I get that,” Pepper told Evie.
“He wasn’t mean to me,” I said to Evie. “He was just distant and backing his boy.”
“It’s still not cool,” Evie replied.
“Whatever,” Mag cut in. “It’s done. What I’m saying is, even if the impossible happens, and Boone’s folks don’t like you, Pepper’s right, he does. They’ll see that, so if they don’t, you’d never know.”
But I felt the blood drain out of my face when he suggested they might not like me.
Which was probably why Evie snapped, “Danny!”
“I said it was impossible,” Mag said to Evie.
“You shouldn’t have mentioned it at all,” Evie returned.
“Okay, we need to stop talking about this,” I announced. “I need to focus. I need to pack. I need to meditate. I need to take a shot of tequila. I need to rethink my outfit for tonight. I need a Valium.”
“Your outfit is fantastic,” Pepper said, scooting off my bed. “If you change it, you’re crazy.”
Juno scooted off with her and came to me. “You always look super pretty, Rinz.”
Right.
Well, there you go.
I wasn’t all better.
But I was a little better.
I smiled down at her. “Thanks, honey.”
“We’re outta here,” Pepper declared, taking Juno’s hand. “I’d say knock ’em dead, but I already know you will,” she said to me.
She gave me a wink.
Juno gave me a wave.
And they took off.
“Are you gonna survive?” Mag asked after they disappeared.
“If you don’t stop being a smartass, I’m going to tell Boone you’ve been mean to me,” I replied.
Mag started laughing and then he went back to the living room.
That wasn’t the threat I thought it would be.
So noted.
“I’ll help you pack,” Evie offered, and then she too scooted off the bed.
She helped me pack. She then hung with me while I redid my makeup (not too much, but definitely making an effort), put some flowy loose curls in my hair, donned the not-ripped skinny jeans that were ankle length, topped that with a creamy, off-the-shoulder blouse that flared out at bell sleeves, a slender necklace that sat at the base of my throat, and nude strappy sandals.
When I was done, it was time.
So off we went to Boone’s.
And after we dropped my bag, Evie and Mag took me downtown to Jax Fish House.
After offering me encouragement, Evie stayed in the car as Mag walked me in.
And after he got us in the door and located Boone, he bent his head and said in my ear, “It’s gonna go great, Ryn.”
I looked up at him.
He smiled down at me.
“Hey,” Boone greeted, obviously also having seen us and meeting me at the door.
My guy.
Such a great guy.
I looked up at him.
He smiled down at me.
Okay, now I was better.
“I’m gone. Have fun. Tell your folks I said hi,” Mag bid.
“Will do. Later,” Boone replied, took my hand, and asked, “Ready?”
Nope.
I nodded.
He squeezed my hand, his eyes sparkled, thus I knew he totally knew I wasn’t ready.
Then he led me to his parents.
I nearly fell flat on my face when he did.
Not because Boone’s dad was folding out of his seat, smiling a friendly smile that seemed so genuine, if it wasn’t, he would give Robert De Niro a run for his money in the acting stakes.
And also, he was a tall, lean, very attractive man.
No.
Because Boone’s mom looked like Ralph Lauren’s wife, younger, but no less gorgeous.
I’d seen a documentary about Ralph, and his wife was in her seventies, but looked like an aging-gently forty-five-year-old woman who looked more like thirty-five.
Mrs. Lauren was soft-spoken, sweet and openly adored her husband.
I’d marked that as goals (when I found a guy) and had totally forgotten about it until just then.
Now I remembered.
And I might never be soft-spoken (nor would I want to be, that just wasn’t me), but I hoped I was sweet (just my version), able to openly adore my man and had Boone’s mother’s timeless beauty until the day I died.
I mean, she had to be in her fifties and looked like an aging-gently thirty-five-year-old woman who looked twenty-five.
I reminded Mag of her?
How sweet was that?
“Dad, this is Ryn,” Boone introduced when we made the table. “Rynnie, this is my dad, Porter.”
“Ryn, really pleased to meet you,” Porter Sadler said, taking my hand in a warm grip.
Okay, the emphasis on “really” felt good.
“You too,” I replied.
His mom was up and also smiling at me, hand extended.
“Ryn,” she said when I took it. “I’m Anne-Marie. Lovely to meet you.”