Chapter 30
Lark
“Don’t tell my dad, okay?”
Harbor gives me a side-eye. “I wouldn’t keep it from him for long. Omissions are considered lies.”
“I know. I know.” I tighten and loosen my fists before dragging my palms down the jeans over my thighs.
My nerves are getting the best of me, and I have no idea why.
Well, I have an idea . . . six-feet, two-inches of an idea currently digging out a side dish from the back seat.
Needing to busy my hands, I ask, “Do you want me to carry the dish?”
“No.” He shuts the door and steps onto the path. “I want him to know that I respect him. He told me to bring a side dish, so that’s what I did.” We start walking together though the path is too small to fit us next to each other. He waits for me to take the lead and then follows close behind.
“Are you nervous?” I ask, wishing I wasn’t. My dad’s not an intimidating guy, at least not to me, but he is overly protective of me. So who knows what he has planned.
“Should I be?” How is Harbor so calm?
“I am.”
“Now you’re making me nervous. Have any tips for me?” I take two steps up and turn around to face him. “Stick to beer, whatever game we’re watching, the food, or me. Don’t go venturing into other territory. That will just end in disaster.”
“What about cars? We have cars in common.”
“He doesn’t like to talk shop, but he likes to talk about cars, in general. Maybe you can give him a ride in yours?”
“Or maybe I just give him the keys and let him go for a drive by himself?”
“It’s worth a try.” I run my fingers down his plaid button-up and then tap right over his heart. “Oh, and don’t mention The Pointe Estates.”
He tilts his head, his eyes staring through squinted lids. “So don’t mention where I grew up? Gotcha.”
“It’s not about you, babe. It’s about Liz. It’s not worth treading into those choppy waters.”
“Got it. No Pointe. No estates. Beer. Food. Sports. And you.”
“Hey, you made a rhyme.”
He chuckles. “Let’s do this. I have plans for you later.”
Turning around, I shake my ass as I take the last step. “Huh. Wonder if they’ll clash with the plans I have for you.” I glance over my shoulder and give him a little wink.
“Fuck, I hope so.”
I open the screen door and reach for the knob on the front door. “Oh yeah, don’t swear in front of him.”
“Really? I didn’t think your dad was—”
“Her dad was what?” Dad opens the door, pulling the knob out of my hand, and instantly silencing Harbor.
Harbor holds out the food. “I brought a side dish.”
My dad grumbles, looking back and forth between the white baking dish and my boyfriend, and then turns around to go inside. “Better not be Brussels sprouts.”
“There’s bacon in them,” Harbor replies, doing his best sales job. When I look back, a bead of sweat is forming on his hairline. He looks nervous. Now I’m not the only one. “Fuck,” he says under his breath. Whispering, he says, “I knew I should have gone with the mac and cheese.”
I take the dish from him and go inside the house, only pausing once Harbor is in the door, so I can say. “Don’t worry. He’ll eat them.”
The familiar sound of grumbling is heard, but this time it’s Harbor, not my dad. “This is starting off great,” he says sarcastically.
Wishing I could hold it back, but I can’t, so I laugh. “Come on. Let’s go out back.”
I leave the Brussels sprouts inside the oven.
It’s not on, but I’m hoping to keep them warm until we’re ready to eat.
In the back, I get my dad and Harbor settled in the nice chairs, each with a beer.
They’re content watching me rather than interacting with each other, so I try to instigate a conversation that will get them talking.
I say, “Harbor gave me a Yankees jersey, a real one like they sell at the stadium shop.”
My dad’s eyes shift to Harbor. “What’s the occasion?”
“No occasion,” he replies. “I knew she always wanted one, so I thought I’d surprise her.” Oh crap.
There are two ways to take that—as defense—he got me what my dad couldn’t afford. Or offense—he got her something that she’s always wanted. I have no idea how my dad will take it.
Gulping the beer, my dad lowers it right after. His gaze moves from me to Harbor when he says, “That’s a nice gift.”
I smile, proud of him for not making it something it’s not. He gets up to flip the burgers, and I get another quick look at Harbor and give him a thumbs-up. Grinning, Harbor reaches over and takes my hand. Bringing it to his mouth, he kisses my palm.
The burgers get extra attention, and my dad lingers, which makes me think he’s aware of us behind him.
Harbor then stands to help oversee the grill, and my dad starts talking to him about techniques, which appears to keep them not just occupied but bonding as well.
I sneak inside to give them time to talk about whatever they need to get off their chests.
For my dad, it’s going to be questions regarding his intentions, some about his background, and his plans for the future.
I pour a glass of tea, choosing to be the designated driver tonight because I think Harbor will need the liquid courage more than me. The glass of tea reminds me of what that lady said to me. Gross. What a terrible human being.
I’m also reminded that I need to tell my dad. I’d hate for him to hear it from someone else. Who knows what version they’ll tell. I return to the deck and sit on a stool. Harbor sits down, but he’s still laughing. “Yeah, when they traded DeLeon, they lost the soul of the team.”
“That’s what I keep saying,” my dad says, gripping his hands in front of him as he looks up at the sky in aggravation. “Such a shitty move.”
Harbor shoots me a look, furrowing his eyebrow in question. I know what he’s asking. John Summerlin swears worse than any sailor. I start laughing to myself because it’s entertaining to innocently tease Harbor.
He reads me too well. That furrowed brow cocked up on the right side, and he says, “Totally fucked up.”
My dad doesn’t even blink, but Harbor mouths to me, “Paybacks are hell.”
Fortunately, I’m saved by the bell . . . or, in this case, a text, which pulls my boyfriend’s attention away from the trick I played on him.
My smile disappears when I see Harbor’s expression wrinkle in concern. “What is it?” I ask.
“Nothing.”
His response now catches my dad’s attention. “You sure?”
With both Summerlins in your business, Harbor doesn’t fight it. Looking at me, he replies, “My parents asked if we were free for dinner tonight. They’re unexpectedly in town right now.”
“Invite them over.”
My gaze whips to my dad. I stay silent, trying to understand what just happened. Did my dad just invite the Westcotts, of Beacon Pointe, to our house for dinner? “Dad?”
He shrugs. “I threw plenty of meat on the grill.” Ew, the sound of that is not tempting at all. “Invite them over,” he says to Harbor, waving his arm in the air. It’s clearly an invitation gesture, but it also feels a lot like what the fuck, let’s do this.
I’m not sure how many beers my dad has drunk, but this is very unlike him. He looks sober. Glancing at Harbor, he, for some reason, doesn’t look worried at all.
This is a horrible plan.
And just might be our undoing.
“They’re coming over,” Harbor says enthusiastically.
Crap.
I bolt from the stool and run to the living room.
I leave the TV on since the game has started, but I turn down the volume.
I fluff the pillows on the couch and drape the throw over the back of the couch.
Taking the hem of my shirt, I run it over the dusty side table and am about to starfish the coffee table to wipe it down when my dad asks, “What are you doing, Lark?”
“Straightening.”
“I straightened before you came over.”
“Just a few missed spots.”
“Are you embarrassed?” Direct. Leaving no wiggle room to fib.
“I’m not embarrassed of you or the house.”
He sits down in his chair and rests forward, his eyes locked on mine.
“Look, Pipsqueak, it’s not the Ritz-Carlton or Beacon Pointe, but it’s our home, and it’s almost paid off.
So you can run around here like your head was cut off and try to nitpick your way into a pretty picture, but your roots will always be here with me.
Sports on Sundays. Your pink room from when that used to be your favorite color.
And iced tea or a cold beer on the back patio. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
“Harbor grew up in The Pointe Estates.” My dad’s eyes are steady on mine, no crack in expression. “I’m not telling you to upset you. I’m telling you to prepare you. His parents still live there. It might even be the biggest property in the estates.”
Harbor leans against the wall that divides the kitchen and asks, “Is that a problem?”
My dad stands, walking through the kitchen, and replies, “Not for me, but you two might want to have a conversation.”
When he goes out back, Harbor and I are left standing there. The silence extends between us as we stare at each other. He finally says, “I need to ask you something, Lark, and I need you to be honest with me.”
“I’m always honest with you.”
He nods, looking down at the can of beer in his hand. He takes a deep breath and then looks up again. I’m not sure if it’s his stance and how he fits right in here, the way disappointment and sincerity flickers through his eyes, or what it is, but a sense of devastation fills me.
Harbor stays where he is, and says, “I love you, Lark. More than anything I’ve ever loved before and have a feeling anything from here after. That’s how strong I feel about you. Do you love me the same?” Direct. As if he learned from the best.
“I do.” No hesitation. I speak from the heart. “I love you so much. That’s what I fall back on anytime I struggle with the curveball thrown that day.”
He chuckles softly as he comes to me and caresses the side of my neck. Leaning forward, he kisses my forehead and then leans back to meet my eyes. “Then we’ll keep jumping these hurdles together.”
The sentiment is sweet, but the words make me giggle. “I think we’ve reached our limit for sports analogies today.”
He laughs a little harder this time. “We may have reached our limits for analogies, but I know something else that I could never tire of.”
“Better say me, Westcott, or you’re sleeping in the spare bedroom tonight.”
“Technically, it’s a part of you—Ow!” I wallop him in the arm.
“You deserved that.” But he’s right. I need to add weights to my routine.
I’m grabbed and pulled against him. I think so he can squeeze my ass. “You do have an incredible pussy—”
“Hello, Harbor.”
“Oh shit,” he mutters under his breath.
I don’t want to turn around, but Harbor’s hands have abandoned me, so I know my worst nightmare is about to come true.
“Hi, Mom. Dad.”
I suck in a breath and put on my best smile, holding my head high. When I turn around, his mom smiles at me like I’m Santa Claus and I just made her Christmas. “Hello, Lark.”
Harbor goes to the screen door and pushes it open for them. “How much of that did you hear?”
“More than a mother wants to.”
Then the floor opens beneath my feet and ends my misery.
I wish. Nope. Harbor still holds the title for the lucky one.
I’m just the floozy whose face is beet red as I meet the man who carries my soul in his hands, my boyfriend’s parents.
With a smile still plastered on my face, I say, “I’m so glad to see you again. ”