Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
My pulse kicks up, that same pre-game adrenaline that hits five minutes before I take the ice dumping into my bloodstream.
Please, I pray, don’t let her be here to pack up her things. Please, please, please…
I hear them before I see them—Makena’s laugh mixing with a deeper one. It’s male, slightly familiar, but still, I’m shocked when the back gate creaks open to reveal Mack in a bright pink sundress with her dad right behind her.
Holy shit.
This was not what I was expecting.
At all.
And, of course, my stressed-out brain immediately leaps to the conclusion that he’s here to help her pack up and move out.
But they both look happy and relaxed. And Mr. DeWitt is carrying two giant bags of smoky-sweet-smelling BBQ. People don’t bring dinner to a moving-out party. Right? I’m pretty sure a “moving out party” isn’t even a thing.
I hope it’s not, anyway, as I force a smile, waving as they start across the grass toward me.
“Hey, there,” Makena says, her smile growing shy around the edges as she motions Kevin’s way. “Parker, you remember my dad. Dad, you remember Parker, the kid I used to babysit. And the guy you yelled at by the bakery the other week. And the guy you wanted to apologize to before we all go eat BBQ and become best friends…”
Kevin’s cheeks go nearly as pink as his daughter’s dress, but he’s still smiling as he agrees, “I sure did. I’m sorry, son. I was out of line.” He glances Mack’s way, while I do my best to pick my jaw up off the ground. I’ve mostly succeeded by the time he turns back to me, extending a hand. “I hope we can have a fresh start. Anyone who makes Makena as happy as you do is a friend in my book. I’m glad you two found your way to each other.”
I take his hand, chest going tight as we shake. “Thank you, sir. All I want to do is make her happy. And support her. And keep her safe. And eat everything she cooks because even her granola globs are fucking amazing. Pardon my French.”
He laughs, seeming to appreciate the effort to break the tension, even if the attempt at humor was lamer than my usual.
But jokes don’t come easy when I’m this nervous.
And I am. Nervous.
Makena seems to be in a good place, but she clearly brought her dad here to prove a point. I just hope the point isn’t that I should learn how to make my father behave, too. Because that’s never going to happen.
Never.
But I am “dead to him” at the moment, so hopefully that’s good news? At least he won’t be sneering down his nose at her any time soon.
“Is someone going to introduce me?” Nana calls from the porch. “Or should I just sit here eavesdropping with my sweet tea?”
Makena turns, her face lighting up. “Chaz! Oh my God, you look so much better. I was a little worried when Parker said you were coming, too, but you look great. I hope the drive wasn’t too much.”
Nana waves a breezy hand. “Nah, it was fine. I enjoyed the change of scenery. Give me a day, and I’ll be back to bossing you around the kitchen, honey.”
“It’s the Parker family rally,” I say as we walk toward the porch. “We go down hard, but we snap back even harder.” When we reach the steps, I pull in a breath to start the introductions, but Nana’s already out of her chair, gripping Kevin’s free hand.
“Hello, Makena’s dad. I’m Chaz Parker, Leo’s grandma and biggest fan. Big fan of your girl, too. I really enjoyed getting to know her over the past few days. What a strong, big-hearted woman you raised.”
“Kevin DeWitt.” He grins, clearly charmed. “And thank you, but I’m not sure how much I had to do with it. Makena’s always been her own, very special person.” He glances his daughter’s way as he releases my grandmother’s hand. “One I’m very proud of, too.”
“Thanks, Dad,” Makena says, her cheeks flushing as she adds, “but we already decided no more feelings today, remember? And a deal’s a deal.”
He chuckles as he nods. “Right. That’s right.”
“That sounds smart,” Nana says. “Feelings before dinner are bad for digestion, and I’m starved.” She hooks her arm through Kevin’s, pulling him toward the kitchen. “Come on, Kev, let’s get this spread laid out and hunt down some lemonade mix. I thought I saw some in the pantry.”
He nods, a complicit gleam in his eye as he says, “That sounds like a great idea.” To us, he tosses over his shoulder, “Take all the time you need. We’ll have the food ready when you are.”
The screen door bangs behind them, and the house swallows their voices.
Then, it’s just us.
Us and the insects humming in the trees, and the spicy, wild scent of all the tomatoes we need to hurry up and eat before they go bad, and all the things I need to say to her.