Chapter 17 Cora
Chapter seventeen
Cora
“Wow, never seen you so eager to leave,” Dr. Ramirez comments as she finishes up some digital filing.
“Have a hot date with your husband?” Kylie asks with a smirk.
Husband. My stomach dips. Because, yeah, I do. But I brush off her comment with a simple, “See you all Monday!” and head out the door.
I’ve dated plenty of men in my life. Nothing serious, but certainly a good number. And none have ever had me feeling like this. Giddy as I practically sprint across the ranch, knowing Theo is waiting for me on the other side.
Like holy shit, is this what people normally feel when dating? Is this what it’s supposed to feel like?
Sure, I’ve never let any of my previous relationships move past the initial attraction stage. My longest lasted probably a month. Something about the seriousness always scared me off. Better to say goodbye early—when it wouldn’t hurt.
So maybe I just never well and truly liked someone before now.
Because I certainly like Theo. I’ve liked Theo for years. Only now, I find him attractive. Maybe that was the secret all along.
When he eventually comes into view around the corner—tall, leaning against his truck, cowboy hat dipped low to shade his face from the lowering sun—my heartrate kicks up a notch. And when he sees me, it races double-time.
His face breaks out into that smile that could melt the icecaps, and he doesn’t wait for me to reach the truck—he’s coming to me.
I expect a hug, but instead he scoops me up into his arms princess-style, peppering my cheek with kisses, and I giggle.
“Theo!” I chide, glancing around. “What if people see?”
“We’re married,” he murmurs against my ear, and my stomach dips. The statement is both comforting and terrifying and true yet not.
But I don’t have time to dwell on it as Theo carries me back to his truck, depositing me down in front of the passenger side and opening the door. I shoot him a shy smile before getting in. He jogs around the front of the truck, hopping in and starting the car.
“How was your day?” I ask.
“Terrible,” he responds, and before I have time to question him, he adds, “Missed you.”
I snort, even as I feel a surge of something warm and fuzzy in my chest. “That’s disgusting.”
“Not as disgusting as what I’m going to do to you later tonight.”
I bite back a gasp. Who knew sweet, gentlemanly Theo Strickland had such a mouth on him? Well, I certainly know after this week.
Theo pulls the car out onto the road and then reaches his hand out for mine, clasping it over the center console. My heart skips a beat. “Speaking of tonight, are you sure you’re okay with this?” he asks, glancing at me sideways. “I know it’s a bit weird considering …”
I shake my head. “I don’t mind at all, I promise,” I tell him. His mom had texted yesterday practically demanding that the two of us go over to his parents’ house for dinner tonight. She said it’d been way too long since she’d had him over and that she’d love for me to come too.
And while Theo is right—it might be a bit weird to meet the parents of the man you just started sleeping with a week ago—nothing about our situation has been normal. And besides, I really did like meeting his mom last weekend.
We stop at the house briefly to change and freshen up. And while Theo suggests showering together to “save time,” I simply giggle and promise to make it up to him later.
“You better make good on that promise, darling,” Theo drawls as I exit the bathroom, changed and ready to go.
He wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me against him to plant a kiss to my forehead—something that has strangely become the most arousing gesture ever—before we head down the stairs and out the door.
When we arrive at Theo’s parents’ house, we aren’t even fully out of the car before Trisha Strickland has opened the front door, an apron tied around her waist, waving us in.
“They’re here!” she exclaims over her shoulder, presumably to Theo’s dad.
Suddenly I have butterflies in my stomach, but as Theo’s fingers brush against mine, they calm just a bit.
Trisha rushes down the steps of the old farmhouse. “Cora, sweetheart, you look gorgeous. Come here.”
Her hug is warm and tight and unexpectedly emotional. Something inside me squeezes—something that remembers being hugged by a mother, by my mother, and hasn’t felt that in far too long.
When she pulls back, she grips both my arms lightly. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“Thank you for having me.”
She waves me off like this is the most absurd thing I’ve ever said. “You’re family now. You don’t thank family for dinner.”
Family.
I’m family.
Am I? Theo has certainly felt like family the last two years. But in a platonic way. In the way that Tate feels like family, like Cruz and Addison, like Kylie. But now …
Now everything is different and new, and suddenly something else is weaving its way through my veins—fear.
Fear of losing everything.
Because it’s happened before.
Just then, Theo’s dad—John, he’d told me in the car—appears at the doorway. He’s rugged like Theo—same jawline, same eyes, but with laugh lines around his eyes.
“Evenin’, kids,” he says, nodding at us. “Dinner’s just about ready.”
Inside, the house smells incredible—garlic, roasted herbs, butter, bread, something sweet in the oven.
The house is slightly smaller than Theo’s, and older, but distinctly warm.
Family pictures litter the walls. Theo’s an only child—I already knew that—and pictures of him are on full display all over.
Dinner is cozy and delicious and full of stories—mostly about Theo as a kid. Stories he groans through, rolling his eyes as his mom recounts how he once rode a steer because he swore he could “calm it with kindness.”
John chimes in helpfully. “Broke his arm in two places.”
Theo pinches the bridge of his nose. “I was eight.”
Trisha clucks her tongue. “Was a patient kid, even back then.”
“And loyal as a dog,” John adds.
Theo’s eyes meet mine from beside me—just a split second before he’s looking away again.
He is loyal.
And patient.
And good.
God, he’s so good.
I find myself glancing between the three of them as the night continues, taking in their banter, their laughs, their little jokes.
I try not to dwell on the losses in my life; I’ve never found it to be productive.
But sometimes I can’t help it from getting to me.
And this is one of those times. What would it be like to have a father who loved me enough to stay?
Sitting across the dining table recounting stories of my childhood?
What would it be like to have a mother who lived long enough to see me achieve my dreams, live my life, have kids?
What would it be like to have that again?
A lump forms in my throat, and I swallow, staring hard at the table in front of me. It’s never a good time to cry, but especially not now. So I bite the inside of my lip and blink my eyes.
Just then, a hand gently wraps around mind under the table, and I hike in a small breath. Theo. He doesn’t look my way, doesn’t make it obvious—and I hope to God that my brief moment of grief isn’t apparent to everyone. But Trisha and John continue chatting, seemingly unaware.
Theo’s hand gives mine a squeeze, and even after the potential tears have passed, he keeps it there, atop my thigh, simply holding me.
The conversation comes to a lull, and John glances over to us, his eyes warm and noticing. “Boy looks settled,” he murmurs, not quiet enough.
Theo grunts. “Dad.”
“I’m just saying,” John goes on smugly, “I’ve never seen you look so—”
“Dad.” Theo’s voice is a warning now.
John lifts his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll shut up.”
We finish dessert—Trisha made huckleberry cobbler because apparently she “sensed” I’d like it (she sensed correctly)—and by the time we’re standing on the porch again, the sky is pinpricked with stars.
Trisha pulls me into another crushing hug. “Come back soon,” she orders.
“I will,” I promise.
Theo and John finish talking, John giving me a wink before heading inside. And then it’s just me and Theo on the wide, wooden steps.
Theo turns to me, holding out a hand which I gratefully take. “You okay?” His eyes search mine, his brows drawn together. “Was it too much? Too fast?”
I’m shaking my head. “No, nothing like that. I … Sometimes parents are hard for me,” I say simply, and I hope to God he gets it, because if I have to explain it out loud, I might just cry again.
Understanding washes over him, and he nods.
“But I loved tonight, I loved them,” I say honestly. “Your parents are … amazing.”
A slow smile spreads across his face. “Yeah. They’re pretty great.”
“I can see where you get it from.”
He looks like he’s going to say something snarky or self-deprecating but holds it back. Instead, he answers with a soft, “Yeah?”
I nod. “You’re … you’re a really good man, Theo.”
His throat bobs. For a moment, he looks like he wants to say something.
But instead he reaches out, brushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
“Let’s get you home,” he murmurs, voice low, rough.
My pulse jumps, heat curling low in my belly.
So I let him guide me to the truck and take me home.