Chapter 25
Of course, I don’t stop thinking about it. I obsess over it all the way to Orlando. It’s late when we get in, and in the morning I meet West in the hotel’s lobby. He grabs my duffel and leads the way out to a Mustang he’s rented. “From Orlando, it’ll take us two hours to get there. Not long.”
Nerves do jumping jacks all through me—they’re impossible to ignore.
In two hours I’m going to meet his family. I’m not funny or witty. They’re going to think I’m a dud.
For the first hour he talks non-stop about all the promotional work they’ve been doing, the crazy questions reporters ask, and new stuff Ms. Kelly booked for them.
I try to listen, I really do, but I’m completely distracted by the fact I’ll be meeting his family—I check the time—in under one hour. Maybe I made a mistake agreeing to this trip. Shouldn’t I be more excited than scared?
“Eve?”
“Yes?”
He reaches over and takes my hand, pressing a kiss to it. “It’s going to be okay. Don’t be nervous.”
“I’m not,” I lie.
He threads his fingers through mine and lays them on my knee. “Yes, you are. You don’t need to be, though. My family’s great. You’ll see.”
He lets go of my hand to turn on the radio, and then he naturally takes it right back, like we’ve been holding hands for years. Despite my crazy nerves, the familiarity of the gesture relaxes me.
“What do you think about...?” And that’s how the rest of the hour goes—him asking what I think about all these different things. Chocolate versus vanilla. Steak versus chicken. Ketchup to mustard. Sweet or salty. Winter or summer. Beach or the mountains.
He’s trying to distract me. And, well, it does work.
“This is the bridge to the island,” West says, making new anxiety roll through me.
We cross the Intracoastal that gives a view of the overgrown marsh, a scattering of homes, sailboats anchored in private coves, and tiny canals zigzagging off the waterway.
West points out his window. “Check out the marina. They’ve got a ton more boats than the last time I was here.”
West turns down a road that gives us a view of the Atlantic Ocean that alternates between shades of green, turquoise, and blue. Sparkling sun prisms dance over the surface. “It’s beautiful,” I say.
He turns the car into a neighborhood. “We’re here.”
I put my hand on my stomach. Calm down, Eve. Geez.
“You’re making me nervous.” He inhales a deep breath and blows it out fast. “I think you need to do a few of those.”
I consider just telling him I’ll stay in the car the whole time. But that’s ridiculous.
He tugs on my earlobe, and it sends flutters from my scalp down across my neck. “Relax.”
“I’ll try.”
“Maybe if I kiss you again?”
The temperature inside the car elevates and suddenly I’m nervous for another reason.
“Mission accomplished.”
I laugh, despite my incredible nerves.
He pulls up to a Spanish style house with a manicured lawn. I think of the mansion I was raised in—so intimidating where this already comes across as welcoming and warm.
We park and get out, and I follow him up a terracotta walkway.
“What do you think?” he asks.
A gentle smile finds its way to me. “Lovely.”
Right as we step onto the porch, the front door opens a few inches, and a tiny head peeks out. West grabs her nose. “This is my cousin, Maria.”
She bats his hand away, switching to me, giving me a once-over that makes me want to fidget.
“She’s a runt for six,” West teases, and Maria charges out the door. He swings her up and squeezes her until she squeaks.
A man appears next in the doorway, and I assume he must be West’s father. They look identical. He stands the same height as West but looks fuller through the shoulders like he lifts weights.
West puts Maria down. “Hey, Dad.” They embrace in a long, warm hug with such obvious love and affection it tugs through me and makes me mourn what I’ve never had, and yet I’m so happy for West that he does.
West takes a step back. “This is Eve.”
I nod at his dad but hang back a little bit. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Wolf.”
Maria surprises me by taking my hand. “Hi, Eve. West said you were pretty. I love your blue hair. I might want blue hair. Or maybe green. Yeah, probably green. Green’s my favorite.”
“We’re sticking with brown,” Mr. Wolf says to her as he reaches out a hand to me. “Welcome to our home, Eve.”
I shake it. “Thank you for inviting me.”
Then like a whirlwind, a girl in a wheelchair bursts through the door. With her long black hair and dark eyes, there is no doubt she is related to West. This has to be his sister.
“West!” she squeals.
“Vianca!” he squeals back, mimicking, making them both laugh. He leans down to give her a huge hug. It’s only then that I note we climbed a ramp to get to their porch.
She grins up at me, and I completely see West in her then. “I’m so glad you’re here, Eve.” She backs her wheelchair up and spins around. “Come on in.”
The inside of their house matches the outside.
Spanish style with tile floors, a mixture of rustic wood and leather furniture, colorful throw pillows, whitewashed walls, beam rafters, and open rooms separated by archways.
Pictures of the family hang everywhere. I’m drawn more to them than anything.
There’s one of a beautiful lady with Hawaiian features. She must be their mom.
“Your house is great,” I tell Vianca.
“Thanks. Now that Maria’s living with us, we’ve had to shuffle things around.”
West comes through one of the archways. “Maria’s living here?”
Vianca lowers her voice. “New development. Tell you about it later. Gramma!” Vianca yells. “Get a move on! They’re here!”
“Vianca,” West halfheartedly reprimands her. “Leave Gramma alone.”
“What? Gramma primps more than me. And she’s got a boyfriend.”
“I heard that.” A small woman comes through the same archway West had.
Her gray hair hangs to her shoulders in wild kinks, and big gold hoops adorn each ear.
She wears a calf-length dress that flits and flows around her and a dozen or so colorful bangles clink on each wrist. Bold eyeliner marks the only makeup she wears.
She is hands down the coolest Gramma I’ve ever seen.
West goes straight to her, wrapping her in a hug. “Hi, Gramma.”
“Hi, baby.” She kisses each cheek and rocks him.
He takes a step back and turns to me. “This is Eve.”
“Hello Ms—”
“Uh-uh.” She walks straight toward me. “You call me Gramma.”
I hold my hand out for a shake, and she ignores it as she pulls me straight into a hug.
But not just a hug, it’s a strong, warm, full-on-contact embrace like nothing I’ve ever received before.
Like she can protect me from anything that might ever try to hurt me.
It’s the best hug I’ve ever had. I feel a bit split open by it, as if I could cry happy tears again.
When she lets go, I have the unnerving urge to ask her for another.
She takes my hand between both of her warm ones. “He’s never brought a girl home before,” she whispers with a glimmer.
I’m the first girl he’s ever brought home. Isn’t that something?