***
AN HOUR LATER, filled with cake and cheer, a good twenty-five guests—family, friends and neighbors—gathered poolside as Sharon and Bob opened gifts.
All too aware of Caleb sitting not far away in an outdoor chair with a beer in hand he’d hardly touched, Shay stood behind her parents, gathering wrapping paper as it was ripped away and organizing packages.
Shay chuckled as her father, a UT Longhorns season-ticket holder, unwrapped his-and-hers Texas Aggie shirts from a former coworker. The principal of the school where her mother had taught for twenty years gave Shay’s father a huge supply of coffee. Knowing how cranky Sharon was without her morning caffeine, it was a gift meant to ensure another happy forty years.
One of the final packages was a large envelope from Caleb. Shay stared at it curiously and, unable to stop herself, cast him a questioning look. He simply smiled and sipped his beer.
“From Caleb,” Shay said, handing it to her parents, and looked over her mother’s shoulder as the envelope was unsealed. Shay gasped at the same moment her mother did…at the airline tickets and hotel vouchers for a second honeymoon.
“Italy?” Shay silently mouthed to Caleb.
“It’s a trip to Italy!” Sharon said to the crowd, who gasped, oohed and aahed. “I’ve always wanted to go to Italy.”
“I remember you saying that every time we went to Olive Garden,” Caleb teased.
Everyone laughed. Sharon blushed. “It’s because they send their chefs to Italy to train. It’s so exciting. The idea of being sent to school in Italy. It makes me want a second career as a chef.”
“You can take a class while you’re there,” Caleb suggested.
Sharon’s eyes lit up before she shook her head. “We can’t accept this, Caleb. No. It’s too extravagant. What about that business you started, the Hotzone?”
“I took several lump-sum, reenlistment bonuses and bought some lucky stock. Enough to leave the Army when the time was right to open the Hotzone. And I set the money aside for your fortieth anniversary years ago.”
Kent eyed a brochure for the villa Caleb had rented for his parents. “What the heck kind of stock did you buy, man, and can I get some?”
Caleb leaned back in his chair and set his beer on the ground. “Apple before the Mac craze,” he said nonchalantly, as if it weren’t a big deal. “I bought in at the right time and stayed in.”
“No way,” Kent and Bob said in unison. Kent quickly added, “That kind of stuff never happens to me. How much did you net?”
“Kent,” Sharon reprimanded sharply, “that’s rude. We have company.”
“Right,” Kent said, elbowing Caleb. “Tell me later.”
Caleb laughed and slipped one arm up on the back of his chair, his focus on Sharon and Bob. “This trip is the least I can do to thank you guys, considering you put up with me for so many years.”
Shay’s heart squeezed at the sweetness of the words that she knew reached deep beyond the gift, into Caleb’s soul. She’d never wanted him more than in that moment. And she’d never known just how wrong it was to pursue her interest in him, either. The idea that she’d kept Caleb away from all of this was hard to swallow. But when they were together, things like what happened in that bedroom always happened. The crackling intensity between them had gradually become more like firecrackers than sparklers.
“Son,” Bob said, “that’s what families do. It’s our honor to kick, beat and harass each other, and in turn, to kick anyone to the curb that tries any of the above outside our little unit. The only thing I or Sharon want is more of your time. You need to come out to the house more often.”
“When you get back from Italy,” Caleb agreed, “I’ll eagerly come by to be kicked, beaten and happily harassed.”
Kent offered to be lead harasser, and though Shay normally would have volunteered her services as well, she held back. History said the more she teased and played with Caleb, the more their attraction bubbled into demand.
Distracted, she barely registered the final gift—a bottle of wine from their neighbor—until her mother handed it to her.
“That’s it,” Shay called out and glanced at the sun’s rapid decline.
“Poker game starts at seven o’clock,” Kent added, rubbing his hands together and elbowing Caleb. “Time to hand over some of that Mac money.”
Shay sent Kent a warning look. “Poker is hardly the romantic way to end this day.”
“That’s what Italy is for,” Kent replied. “The way Dad plays poker, he’ll have won big, and Mom can spend more on the trip.”
“You leave tomorrow,” Caleb offered, “so you need to start packing.”
Sharon jumped to her feet. “Tomorrow? I can’t leave tomorrow. The house is a mess and—”
“I’ll clean up,” Shay promised. “And you can pack. A little party mess is no reason to miss Italy.”