Spring Break Fling

Chapter 39

39

NIKKO

H annah had just put the lasagna on the table when there was a knock at the door.

I could see the strain in her eyes. “Hey, it’s going to be fine,” I assured her.

She gave me a weak smile, pressing her lips together in a nervous line. “I know, I just want everything to be perfect.”

I squeezed her hand gently before she moved to answer the door.

“Mom, Dad,” Hannah said, rushing to embrace them both. “I’m so glad you could come.”

“We wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” her mother assured her, holding her at arm’s length and examining her face with an affectionate scrutiny.

Her father looked at me. I didn’t feel judged. He did seem pretty chill.

“Mom, Dad, this is Nikko.”

Her mother smiled. “It’s nice to meet you, Nikko. Hannah hasn’t told us much about you. I look forward to getting to know you.”

I wasn’t sure they would like me if they did get to know me. I wasn’t exactly the kind of guy daddies hoped their daughters would marry .

“Hello?” another voice said, and a young woman came in. “I stopped to tie my shoe and everyone left.”

Hannah laughed. “Nikko, this is my sister, Marianne.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” I said.

“Come in. Dinner is done. Has been done.”

“And I see you opened the wine,” Marianne said.

“Uh, you’re an hour late, so yes, I opened the wine,” Hannah retorted.

“I’ll pour you a glass,” I said.

“Got any beer?” her father asked.

“I got you some IPA,” Hannah answered with a smile.

I quickly poured three glasses for the ladies and grabbed myself and her father a beer. We sat down at the table. Hannah seemed relatively calm. Much more so than she had earlier.

Dinner with Hannah’s family was not what I expected. For one thing, her mom laughed—a lot. Full-on, belly-deep, snort-laughs that set off a chain reaction around the table. Hannah’s sister, Marianne, was a spitting image of her but with darker hair and a more sarcastic edge, while her dad was… well, a man who clearly didn’t give a damn about anyone’s opinions. The guy wore Crocs, socks, and cargo shorts unapologetically, and I had to respect it. The vibe was easy, light, and far less awkward than I anticipated for my first time breaking bread with her parents.

“Should we play cards?” Hannah asked.

I thought she was joking, but Marianne pulled out a deck from her purse. I always thought families only played cards in the movies. I didn’t know it was an actual thing.

In truth, I was terrible at cards, but I couldn’t say no. Hannah was looking at me with those hopeful eyes that said she really wanted this to go well. So, cards it was.

“Sure,” I agreed, trying to sound enthusiastic.

We cleared the dishes quickly, and while Hannah and her mother packed away the leftovers, Marianne shuffled the deck with practiced ease. “We’re playing Euchre. You know how to play?”

I did not. I had barely mastered poker. Thankfully, Hannah came to my rescue, pulling up a chair beside me. “He’s a quick learner,” she told her sister, giving my knee a reassuring squeeze under the table.

Marianne raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment further as she began explaining the rules. Hannah’s dad handed me a beer with a grin that suggested he found the whole situation amusing.

Play started, and despite my initial confusion, I found myself getting into the game. Marianne was fiercely competitive, her comments sharp but humorous. Hannah’s mother was surprisingly strategic in her play, while her father and I stumbled through as best we could.

As cards were thrown onto the table one round after another, laughter filled the room.

“So, Nikko,” Marianne started, leaning back in her chair as she shuffled a deck of cards. “You’re the tattoo guy.”

“I’m a tattoo guy,” I corrected, smirking. “Not sure if I qualify as the tattoo guy.”

Hannah rolled her eyes. “He’s being modest. He’s brilliant.”

Her mom’s eyes sparkled with interest. “Brilliant, huh? Maybe I should get one.”

Hannah nearly choked on her drink. “Mom, no. You hate needles.”

“I do not,” her mom protested. “I just prefer them to be small and painless .”

“Sounds like a blast,” I deadpanned, earning another snort-laugh from her.

“What kind of tattoos do you do?” Marianne asked.

“Good ones,” Hannah said.

“Like what? Tribal bands?” Marianne joked.

I couldn’t help but groan.

“What does that mean?” her mother asked.

“He thinks they’re boring,” Hannah said. “Right?”

I shrugged. “I think they are just a little overdone. I prefer creating custom pieces that mean something to the person,” I explained. “It’s more about the story behind the tattoo than just making a cool design that a million other people have. ”

Marianne nodded, seeming to appreciate that. “That actually sounds pretty cool. Any examples?”

Hannah jumped in quickly, pulling up her sleeve to reveal the compass and roses. “This was his creation.”

“You got a tattoo?” Her father sounded surprised, but not angry.

“We all did,” Hannah said. “When we were in Miami.”

“It’s very delicate,” her mother said. “I like it.”

The game continued, the cards slapping against the tabletop as we grew more comfortable with each other. Hannah’s mom was now fully engrossed in plotting her next move against Marianne, who was proving to be a formidable opponent.

Hannah brought out dessert. Everyone paused to make room for the cake she brought in, adorned with fresh berries and a light dusting of powdered sugar. My stomach was already full from dinner, but the cake looked too enticing to pass up.

“Wow, this looks amazing,” I said, earning a pleased smile from Hannah. Her cheeks were flushed from the excitement and perhaps the wine, which made her look even more beautiful.

As we devoured the cake, I realized something remarkable was happening. Hannah’s family wasn’t just tolerating me—they genuinely seemed to like me. Her mom asked thoughtful questions about my work, and Marianne’s sarcastic comments felt more playful than cutting.

After we’d eaten to the point of near coma, we migrated to the living room. I sat next to Hannah. She rested her hand on my knee with her parents sitting in the two chairs and Marianne on the floor.

“How’s work, Hannah?” her mother asked.

I looked at Hannah and waited to see how she would answer the question.

“Not great,” Hannah said.

Hannah’s mother tilted her head, concern etching her features. “What’s wrong?”

Hannah sighed, her fingers absently tracing patterns on my knee. “Clarke gave my project—the one I’ve been working on for months—to Steven. Just passed it over like it was nothing. ”

“Who’s Steven?” Marianne asked, leaning forward.

“Some guy who does the bare minimum,” Hannah explained. “I’ve been working late nights, weekends, putting everything into this pitch. And Clarke just hands it off like I’m some disposable intern.”

Her father, who had been quietly listening, spoke up. “Have you talked to HR?”

“And say what?” Hannah laughed bitterly. “That my boss is unfair? That’s career suicide in corporate America.”

Marianne snorted. “Sounds like bullshit.”

“Language,” her mother chided automatically, but there was no real heat behind the reprimand.

I squeezed Hannah’s hand, feeling her tension. I knew how much this job meant to her, how hard she’d worked. Seeing her deflated like this made my blood boil.

“You’re worth more than that,” I said quietly.

Hannah’s father nodded, his weathered face serious. “Your mother and I always told you: know your worth. If they don’t recognize it, find somewhere that will.”

“It’s not that simple, Dad,” Hannah said, but I could see a spark of something, hope maybe, flickering in her eyes.

Her mother leaned forward. “Actually, it might be. You won’t know unless you try.”

“I know, but this is just part of the process. I have to pay my bills.”

“I don’t know why you’re putting up with that nonsense,” her mom said, cutting straight to the point. “You should quit and find something better.”

Her dad chimed in with a shrug. “Your mom’s right. Life’s too short to waste on people who don’t appreciate you.”

“And what, I’m supposed to just walk out and wing it?” she shot back, her tone sharper than before.

“You can’t run unless you learn to walk,” her mother said.

I cringed because I knew that was exactly what Hannah didn’t want to hear. She was a realist. That kind of thing didn’t have the same effect on her as it did on other people.

“You have to take chances,” her dad said .

“Can we not talk about this right now?” Hannah said with frustration.

An awkward silence followed, and Marianne quickly started talking about a new restaurant she ate at. I could feel Hannah pulling back into herself. I knew there was still some tension between her and her parents. I understood it. She still had some trust issues and I didn’t blame her.

“We should probably go,” her mother said after a while.

Hannah walked her family to the door, hugging each of them goodbye. Her mother whispered something in her ear that made her smile, and her father gave me a firm handshake before they left.

“Well,” Hannah said, turning to me after closing the door. “That wasn’t terrible.”

I chuckled. “Your family’s pretty cool.”

She rolled her eyes. “They mean well. But they don’t understand corporate politics. It’s not as simple as just quitting.”

I pulled her close, wrapping my arms around her waist. “Maybe not. But they’re not entirely wrong.”

Hannah sighed and leaned into me. “I know. I just… I’ve worked so hard to get where I am.”

“And you’ll work hard wherever you go next,” I said softly. “Sometimes the path forward isn’t the one you expected.”

She sighed. I could tell she was unsettled.

“You okay?” I asked, stepping behind her and resting my hands on her shoulders.

She sighed. “I just have a hard time taking advice from them. It’s triggering. I know they’re trying, but it feels like they haven’t earned the right to tell me what to do.”

I frowned. “You think that’s what they were doing?”

“Don’t you?” she asked, her brow arching.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “It didn’t feel like that to me. It seemed more like they have an outside perspective, like I do, and they’re just encouraging you to put yourself first.”

She looked down, processing that. “Maybe.”

I tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet my eyes. “If you could do whatever you wanted tomorrow morning—quit, not quit, move—what would you want your life to look like?”

A small smile tugged at her lips as she stepped closer, her hands resting on my chest. “I’d want to wake up with you in Miami. I wouldn’t work for Clarke anymore. We’d spend our days riding backroads, making love on beaches, and maybe… talking about kids one day.”

That last part caught me off guard, but not in a bad way. I just hadn’t expected her to say it out loud.

“Kids, huh?” I murmured, brushing my thumb along her jaw.

Her cheeks flushed, but she held my gaze. “Maybe.”

I leaned down, pressing a kiss to her nose. “Then you should quit your job and come home with me.”

She laughed softly, her fingers trailing under the waistband of my jeans, teasing me. “Maybe you’re right.”

My heart raced. “Would you actually consider it?”

She tilted her head, her smile softening. “With how good I feel right now and how much I want this to work? Yeah, I’m considering it.”

Hearing her say that sent a thrill through me I couldn’t quite explain. I kissed her deeply, backing her toward the couch. She tugged at my shirt, and soon we were tangled together, the weight of the night’s tension melting away.