My mouth dropped open a little. From the corner of my eye, I could see Kasey’s had done the same. Daddy had never asked to meet anyone we’d dated. None of the relationships I’d been in with boys from school — both high school and college — had been serious enough to consider bringing someone home to my father. It was the same with Kasey. No one had ever been good enough.
“I can see this guy means something to you,” he continued. “I’d like to meet him.”
I nodded. “Of course, Daddy.” But I was freaking out at the same time. What would he say to Pete? I didn’t have the faintest idea. I couldn’t even recall the last man who’d walked past the front door who wasn’t my father. I looked at Kasey, lifting my eyebrows, a helpless look in my eyes. But she wasn’t any damned help. She was just as clueless as I was and twice as surprised.
“I can do some grilling on Sunday night,” Daddy said, and I knew by the way he turned his eyes back to his nearly empty plate that that was the end of it.
“Alright,” I agreed. I had about a day and a half to figure out how this was likely to go. Shit. I also had to find a way to bring this up to Pete without scaring the crap out of him.
Daddy rose from the table, taking his plate to the kitchen while Kasey and I stared dumbly at each other, unable to speak through our combined shock.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Pete
Saturday
I had my feet up on the porch railing and a cold beer in hand when Emma pulled up into the driveway. She climbed out of her little blue sedan and came waltzing over, dressed in sandals, shorts that showed off her shapely, toned thighs, and a tank top made of loose, gauzy fabric that drifted easily in the breeze. She had a plastic bag hanging from each hand, weighed down with whatever she’d prepared for us to eat.
“Aren’t you grilling?” she asked as she walked up.
Before I could answer, Riley jumped up from where he was lying flat on the porch and ran out to meet her.
“What the hell?” I mumbled, sitting up in my chair so I could watch him trotting up to her, his tail wagging excitedly.
She giggled, set one of her plastic bags down in the dirt, and leaned down to scratch him behind the ears. “Who’s a good boy?” she crooned.
“Not him,” I replied, the shock lifting enough for me to grin. “That damned dog has never gotten off his ass to greet anyone like that — not even me, and I’m the one who feeds him.”
Emma picked up her plastic bag and came up to the porch, smiling. “Dogs can sense how good people are.” Her smile expanded, those pretty eyes sparkling in the last of the day’s sunlight. “That’s probably why he likes me best.”
I had to laugh at that.
“You didn’t answer me,” she said, setting her bags down on the empty chair beside mine. “Are you grilling tonight?”
I reached to take her hand and tugged her down into my lap. She came down laughing. I planted a sloppy kiss on her lips.
“I’ve got a brisket baking in the oven. Thought I’d try something different.”
“Sounds good,” she said, looking hard into my eyes like she was searching for something. I wondered what she saw in there. I didn’t get time to ask, though. She leaned into another kiss, this one deeper, her tongue venturing into my mouth much more forcefully than I’d expected. I felt a deep stirring between my legs, and having her on my lap only made it worse.
“What was that for?” I asked as soon as she pulled away.
“Things felt off yesterday after breakfast,” she said, smiling shyly. “I just wanted to make sure things were okay between us.”
“Things are better than okay,” I said, and her smile got brighter. Damn, I’d never get used to being able to light up her face. I never wanted to do a single thing to keep her from smiling like that.
She stood up, and we went into the house through the open front door, banging the screen door behind us. Old Riley stayed outside, content to rest on the porch for the remainder of the night. We went back to the kitchen. I didn’t own a tablecloth — I couldn’t see the point in that — but I’d laid the table with plates, silverware, and napkins. While I checked on the brisket, Emma unloaded her dishes, setting two covered glass containers in the center of the table.
I took the brisket out of the oven, setting it on the stovetop to rest a little before I cut into it. I turned from the oven to find her holding a pie.
“Goddamn, that looks good!” I said.
“It’s apple.” She held it out so I could see the crisscross pattern on top, lightly sprinkled with sugar.
I licked my lips and grinned. Had I told her that was my favorite? Or had she just guessed? “I can’t wait to taste it.”
She set it onto the counter next to the fridge, smiling, too, then took a seat at the table. “That smells so good, Pete.”