Chapter 19
“Come in! Welcome. Hope you two are hungry.” Sherman Kraut beams at his son and me, where we stand on his front porch. “I’ve got meatloaf in the oven. Be ready any minute now.”
Still smiling wide, he ushers us into his house. I hesitate in the front hall, realizing the place looks different. I’ve been to Mr. Kraut’s plenty with Daren, and it always had a cluttered, lived-in feel. Not dirty, but not exactly organized either. Farm Mountain Marriages has a small office in town, but Sherman does a lot of his work from home, and I expected to see fabric swatches and centerpiece samples and random flower arrangements. There are often invitation drafts and spreadsheets of budgets and local vendor offers and all the other random stuff that accumulates when planning someone’s special day.
But the house looks pristine.
“You cleaned,” Arthur says, and I’m glad I’m not the only one who noticed the change.
“Of course I cleaned. I do that regularly.” Sherman claps a hand on his son’s shoulder and faces me. “So does Arthur. Taught him the importance of a well-kept house. Never need to worry about him living in a pigsty.”
“I can tell.” I smile up at the older man, wishing I could’ve had someone like him as my dad.
Mr. Kraut obviously adores his son, no matter how grumpy the postman gets.
My father, as far as I know, is still the abusive deadbeat my mom left before I was even born. Once, when I was eighteen, I insisted on visiting him.
He hit on me.
That was probably the worst day of my life. Rivaled by the Daren/Trinity live porn show.
But here is a man who knows how to be a father. He’s happy to see his offspring and proud of simple things, like how Arthur keeps a tidy house.
“If anything, I’m the messy one,” I say. “Forgetting to put the dishes in the dishwasher half the time. But he puts up with me.” I give Arthur a gentle elbow in the ribs with no real force behind it. He still lets out a grunt.
I like his grunts. I always manage to hear them fine. They’re funny. And cute.
Wait, what?
“You’re...living together?” Sherman pauses in the doorway to the kitchen, staring at us, his bushy gray beard surrounding a gaping mouth.
Oh shit. I kind of forgot he thinks we’re dating.
And apparently, I’ve already moved in.
“Robin is in the guest bedroom,” Arthur clarifies. “She needed a place.”
A curious gaze flicks between us, and then a jaw-splitting grin spreads over the older man’s face.
“And you were kind enough to offer.” He turns a set of twinkling green eyes on me. “My boy’s a sweet one, ain’t he? People always think he’s mean ’cause he’s big and glaring and grumbling all the time. But he’s a teddy bear, just like his dad.” Mr. Kraut claps his hands together and turns back to the kitchen, chortling as he goes.
Instead of immediately following him, I stare up at my fake boyfriend.
“Teddy bear. Now, there’s a nickname.”
“No,” Arthur says, glaring down at me, and I have the sudden urge to kiss him.
So, I do.
For practice, obviously.
I grip the front of his flannel and pull him down, lifting on my toes to meet him halfway. Like every other time, he freezes. But I’m used to his stone routine, so I don’t find it jarring. Instead, I press a quick kiss to Arthur’s tight mouth, enjoying the brush of his beard against my cheeks. And just before I let him go, I nip his full lower lip.
When I step back, Arthur is still frozen, eyes wide. Guess the man wasn’t expecting me to bite him. His flabbergasted state is so endearing that I can’t help teasing him.
I reach up and boop his nose, and with a wink, I say, “Good Bear.”
He thaws, eyes narrowing and throat clearing as he straightens.
“If you call me Bear, I’m gonna call you Raccoon.”
“What?” I yelp, but he’s already disappearing into the kitchen.
“For dinner, I’ve made us meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and green beans.” Sherman slips on a set of oven mitts and pulls a savory-smelling dish out of the oven. “If you like this, Arthur knows how to make it. Every recipe I know, he does too. And more. His grandma on his mama’s side taught him a bunch of Indian cuisine when he visited her. My boy makes a mean chole.” He sets the hot dish on the stovetop and waves one of his mittened hands at my date. “Tell her, son. Tell her about the chole.”
Arthur sighs and says in a deadpan voice, “I make a mean chole.”
“That he does.” Sherman nods eagerly. “You’ll never go hungry with this one around. Quite a catch, if I do say so myself.”
“Dad,” Arthur groans.
“Humble too.” Sherman grabs a stack of plates and presses them into Arthur’s hands, ignoring his son’s glare.
Suddenly, I realize exactly what’s going on.
Mr. Kraut is trying to wingman his son.
And it’s so freaking adorable.
But now, I also feel kinda queasy, knowing Sherman is getting invested in a relationship that isn’t real. None of the Krauts were supposed to be on board with this. The point was to piss Daren off with a dose of his own medicine, not have family members start calling us Robthur. Or Arbin.
Never mind. We have terrible couple names. That right there should make it clear this isn’t really a thing.
But I’m not about to be the one to rain on Sherman’s meatloaf parade.
I decide to give Arthur permission to shit-talk me to his dad as much as he wants once we break up to soften the blow. Then, Sherman will be glad he didn’t end up with me as a daughter-in-law.
But for now, I’m going to enjoy him marketing his son to me.
“Wow,” I say. “I feel like I’m finally seeing behind the curtain. Arthur’s very reserved with me, you know?”
The man in question gives me a suspicious side-eye, but I wear my most innocent smile.
“Tight-lipped, this one.” Sherman gives his son another affectionate clap on the shoulder.
“Yeah. I’m always looking to know more about him.” I widen my eyes and try for a hopeful expression. “The deep stuff, you know? I wish I could get a glimpse of him when he was younger.”
Mr. Kraut looks like I just offered him a winning lottery ticket.
“You want to see his baby pictures?” he asks eagerly.
“Of course I?—”
“No. Nope. Not happening.” Arthur balances the stack of plates in one hand and hooks the other arm around my waist, leading me to the small dining room. There, he plops me down into a seat at the head of the table and firmly sets a plate in front of me. “We’re here to eat. Not look at pictures.”
“We could eat and look at pictures,” I point out with an evil grin that only grows wider when I see the flush of red creeping up Arthur’s neck, only to disappear under his beard, then reappear on his cheeks.
“Don’t worry.” Sherman sends me a wink. “I’ve got binders full. Here whenever you wanna take a peek. No expiration date.”
Arthur growls a curse, but all further teasing is cut off by the sound of the front door swinging open and heavy footsteps—almost like a stampede—entering the house. The loud clomps feed through my hearing aid, which I decided to wear tonight so I didn’t have to constantly turn my head to keep up with conversation between the two men. Small gatherings are where I find the assist more of a help than a hindrance.
Mr. Kraut, in the middle of setting the meatloaf and mashed potatoes on the table, furrows his brow. “I didn’t invite anyone else,” he mutters.
“What’s cooking?” a familiar voice calls out. “Smells good, Uncle Sherman.”
A moment later, Marvin steps through the doorway, stumbling to a stop when his eyes land on me. His blond brows shoot up as his stare bounces to the man at my side, then back to me, not seeming sure where to land.
“Saw Arthur’s truck outside. He here to steal some more things?” a younger voice sounds from the kitchen. “Quit blocking the way, Marv. I’m hungry.”
The second-youngest Kraut stumbles forward to reveal the teenage baby of the family.
I hit him with a glare. “Did you just refer to me as a thing, Stewart?”
His eyes meet mine, and I watch his face color a bright pink.
“Uh...h-hey, Robin. Didn’t know you were here.” Stewart glances over his shoulder, as if considering an escape.
“I am. And I’m hungry. And I was about to eat this delicious meal Sherman made before you all came barging in. Are you going to keep shouting, or are you going to sit down and show your uncle’s food some respect?”
Arthur’s cousins drop their eyes and mumble apologies as they shuffle into the room and grab for chairs. With the Krauts, I’ve found you need to use a firm tone and they’ll fall in line. Doesn’t matter if they’re as big as grizzlies. They’re all teddy bears inside.
Sherman grins my way, but the smile turns brittle when one more figure strolls into the dining room.
“So, what’s for dinner then? Must have lost my invite. Glad I’m not going to miss anything.”
The familiar voice has an involuntary shiver traveling through my body, but I don’t let any other reaction show.
And I don’t drop my eyes. Instead, I stare straight into the face of the man who broke my heart.