Chapter 15
TATUM
Ismooth down the front of my navy-blue dress for the tenth time, wishing I’d gone with something a little more demure. The neckline isn’t low, but it shows more skin than I’m comfortable with in front of Ethan’s parents, who, if they’re anything like Ethan, are rather conservative.
“You look beautiful.” Ethan finds the small of my back with the warmth of his palm, but it does little to ease the mass of nerves at the base of my spine as we follow his parents into their dining room.
The White home is everything I expected—elegant crown molding, hardwood floors with plush area rugs, and tasteful artwork adorning walls painted in soft, muted colors.
But there’s something unexpectedly cozy about it, too.
Family photos line the hallway. Fresh flowers adorn the counter.
A worn leather chair sits in the corner of the living room, clearly someone’s favorite spot.
“Can I help with anything, Mrs. White?” I ask as she arranges a steaming dish on the table.
Her answering smile is warm, helping to put me at ease. “Please call me Diana. And no, dear, everything’s ready. Clark, will you pour the wine?” she calls out.
Mr. White nods, his movements precise as he fills each glass with a rich burgundy liquid.
I take a seat beside Ethan at the elegantly set table, smoothing my napkin onto my lap. The silverware gleams under the soft chandelier light, making me second-guess which fork to use first, and what, if anything, I’ll have in common with such sophisticated people.
Diana takes the seat across from me, waiting patiently for her husband to finish with the wine. After each of us has a glass, he slides into a chair at the head of the table, and Mrs. White smiles before passing me a basket of warm rolls. “So, Ethan tells us you’re quite the dedicated student?”
I accept the basket with a grateful smile. “I try to be.”
“What are you studying?” Mr. White asks, his voice deep and measured.
Ethan glances over at me with a smirk. “I told them already, but they probably forgot.”
“It’s okay,” I say more to myself than him. “I’m pursuing a double major, actually. Business and English literature.”
“A double major?” Mr. White asks, sounding impressed. “That’s ambitious.”
“Very practical combination,” Diana nods approvingly. “The business degree for security, and the literature for passion, I presume?”
“Something like that,” I say, relaxing slightly. “I’ve always loved books, so I’d really like to combine my career with something I love.”
Mrs. White nods and passes a serving dish of roast. “Come to think of it, Ethan did mention you were quite the reader.”
I grab my glass, taking a sip of water to swallow down my nerves, unsure of whether the Whites will share their son’s sentiments about my career ambitions. “Like I said, I love it.”
“And what sort of books do you enjoy most?”
I brace myself for the judgment that might come as I fight the urge to press the cold glass in my hand to my hot cheeks. “Um, romance novels, mostly?” I say, hating how uncertain I sound.
I clear my throat, meeting Diana’s gaze directly. “I know they get a bad rap, but the good ones are about so much more than just . . . well, romance. They explore human connection, vulnerability, personal growth, and sometimes even past trauma.”
Mr. White chuckles, not unkindly. “Not my cup of tea, but I suppose every genre has its merits.”
Ethan snorts, like he told the world’s funniest joke. “It’s fluff, Dad. Not to mention, half of it is filth.”
I stiffen, grateful when Mrs. White speaks up.
“Well, I’ve dabbled in romance a bit, and I can confirm Tatum’s assessment of the genre.
Ethan was never much of a reader.” She reaches over to pat my hand.
“Clark, here, is a military history buff,” she explains, spooning roasted vegetables onto her plate.
“The more obscure the battle, the better.”
“And you?” I ask, grateful for the shift in focus.
“Mystery,” she says with an unmistakable gleam in her eyes.
I glance over at Ethan with a smile as if to say See?, but his gaze is focused down on his plate. Which is just as well. I’d rather let the subject drop and move on.
The conversation flows more easily after that, drifting from literature to my classes at Ann Arbor University and then to Ethan’s progress in his finance courses.
Mrs. White asks thoughtful questions that make me feel like she’s genuinely interested in getting to know me, while Mr. White interjects with occasional anecdotes about Ethan’s childhood that make me smile.
“So you’re planning to transfer to Michigan State next semester?” Mr. White asks as he refills his wine glass.
I nod, setting down my fork. “That’s the plan.”
“Ethan will love having you there,” Diana says. “All he does is talk about you. And of course, we’d love having you closer, too.”
“It’ll be nice having her by my side.” Ethan squeezes my hand under the table, and warmth spreads through my chest like a shot of whiskey. “Long distance is too hard. Call me selfish, but I hate not seeing her whenever I want.”
Ethan’s words echo in the back of my mind as I smile over at him, trying to ignore the slight twinge in my chest. For the longest time, it’s been Brandon by my side day in and day out, and I’ve been so hyper-focused on making this relationship with Ethan work that I haven’t allowed myself to think too deeply about leaving him behind.
How will it feel when I can’t just drop everything and see my best friend?
When he will no longer be a normal part of my routine?
“Dessert, anyone?” Diana asks, standing up. “I thought we might have it outside. The evening air is perfect tonight.”
“That sounds lovely,” I say, eager for a change in subject as I set my napkin on my empty plate.
“Come on.” Ethan ushers me through the French doors onto a spacious stone patio while I try to shake Brandon from my thoughts.
I gasp as I glance around me. The garden beyond takes my breath away.
Under the soft glow of strategically placed landscape lighting, dozens of rose bushes create a living fence around the space.
Their blooms—reds, pinks, whites, and yellows—seem to glow in the evening light like a kaleidoscope of color.
“Mrs. White—I mean, Diana—these roses are absolutely stunning,” I breathe, taking in the perfectly manicured beds and lush green foliage among the blooms.
She beams, setting down a tray of delicate dessert plates filled with what appears to be homemade tiramisu. “Thank you, dear. Gardening is my refuge. I spend hours out here when the weather permits.”
“Did you plant all of these yourself?” I ask, genuinely impressed as I take a seat at the wrought iron table.
“Every last one.” She nods. “My mother always loved roses. It started as a way to feel close to her after she passed, but it became my passion.”
“I’ve always been partial to lilies myself, but these might make me a convert.” I smile, accepting the dessert she offers. “They’re stunning.”
Beside me, Ethan clears his throat. “I thought roses were your favorite,” he says with a slight frown. “Isn’t that what you told me?”
My cheeks flush as I remember the elaborate bouquet of roses sitting in my dorm room—deep-crimson blooms that must have cost a fortune. Of course, they’re gorgeous, but . . .
I shift in my seat, the wrought iron suddenly feeling uncomfortably cold and hard against my legs. “I never actually said that,” I admit quietly, not meeting his eyes. “I appreciate them, of course, but I’ve always had a soft spot for lilies.”
Ethan’s expression flickers with confusion, maybe disappointment or irritation, before his mother smoothly interjects.
“Speaking of favorites, we should discuss winter break,” Diana says, grabbing the stainless-steel carafe to pour everyone a cup of coffee.
“Our annual holiday trip to the cabin is coming up.”
Beside me, Ethan grins, clearly forgetting about the roses, and I’m relieved. “I’d love to see Tatum on a pair of skis,” he says.
“It’s a wonderful time,” Diana continues. “Clark’s already put in for his time off, haven’t you, dear?” She turns to pat him on the hand at the same time he nods, dabbing his mouth with a napkin.
“Three weeks in the mountains,” he says. “Nothing beats it.”
“We’d love for you to join us this year, Tatum.” She turns back to me. “Have you ever been to Breckenridge?”
“Breckenridge?” A wide smile breaks across my face at the memory. “Actually, I have. My best friend and I went our senior year of high school.”
The memory floods back with startling clarity—Brandon convincing the uncle he rarely sees to let us use his timeshare, the two of us piling into his car with our secondhand ski gear, singing off-key to road trip playlists for hours.
“We were terrible skiers,” I laugh, shaking my head. “We spent more time falling than actually skiing. By the second day, we gave up and just hung out in the lodge drinking hot chocolate and playing card games.”
Diana’s eyes crinkle with amusement. “That sounds lovely.”
“It was,” I say softly, remembering how we’d fallen asleep on the couch watching cheesy Hallmark movies.
How he’d made me laugh until my sides hurt when he tried to cook us dinner and nearly set off the smoke alarm.
Or the night we got snowed in and built this ridiculous snowman right outside our window.
I smooth a hand down the front of my dress, trying to ease the sudden, inexplicable ache in my chest, while Ethan shifts beside me. “So, you’ve been there with Brandon,” he says, his tone stiff.
“Brandon?” Diana asks.
Ethan nods and glances up at his mother. “Her best friend.”
Diana’s eyes land on me, tension etched in the furrow of her brow. But it’s Mr. White who breaks the silence. “Your best friend is a man,” he says, cutting a look between me and his son. “How exactly does that work?”
“We’ve been friends for—”
“It doesn’t,” Ethan grinds out.