Chapter 13 Don’t Screw This Up
Thirteen
Don’t Screw This Up
Miles
Over the next ten days, I turn down a couple of OneDate events because the kiss at my house and game night keeps replaying in my head.
Even though Nora was only the second woman I’ve ever kissed, it was perfect—even if it was technically for practice.
Her lips were so soft against mine. I never wanted it to end.
Before the dinner with my family, I’d debated whether I should kiss her again, then immediately decided it was too soon.
I need to wait for her cues first. There were even moments during the game when Nora smiled at me or when her knee brushed mine, that made me want to reach over, clasp her neck, and pull her to me for a kiss.
I feel like myself around her. I don’t need to rehearse responses three sentences ahead.
My body isn’t a system under stress. It just… runs smoothly.
Mallory texts me a picture on my way to work this morning. It’s a candid shot of Nora leaning in close, laughing, her hand resting on my arm. My mouth is open mid-sentence, eyes lit up as if I’m actually having fun. She captioned it: Happiness looks good on you. She’s a keeper. Don’t screw this up.
They adore her. That part’s impossible to miss.
Especially by the way Mallory hugged her like they’d known each other since kindergarten, or the way the kids argued over who got to sit next to her.
I can’t remember the last time I laughed that hard.
They think she’s my girlfriend. And part of me wishes she was.
Something shifted that night. I wasn’t the single guy on the sidelines for once—I fit in with my sisters.
With my family. Nora didn’t look bored or unsure.
She looked as though she wanted to be there.
With me. Sure, some of it was the practice, but most of it was Nora.
She doesn’t make me feel like a project.
She makes me feel like a person who’s already enough—just learning a few new tricks.
Even my sisters noticed. I left that night feeling different.
Lighter. More confident. Perhaps dating isn’t as impossible as I always thought.
After work, I reach my front steps with my phone already in my hand, my thumb hovering over Nora’s name.
Just call her.
Instead, I push the door open—and freeze in the doorway.
My dad sits on the edge of the couch in his underwear as competitive chainsaw carving plays on the TV screen.
His elbows are on his knees, staring with intent as if one wrong cut could destroy civilization.
Mallow naps beside him, fully at peace, because apparently this is the new normal.
He doesn’t even look up when I step inside. “Dad,” I say carefully. “Why are you on my couch… in your underwear?”
Without taking his eyes off the TV, he lifts a hand in greeting. “Hi, son. It’s laundry day.”
I stare. “What?”
“Your mother’s doing laundry.”
My jaw clicks shut then opens again. “You can’t just—Dad. What if I brought someone home?”
His brows shoot up, finally peeling his gaze from the TV. “Did you bring someone home?”
“No.”
He relaxes like I just told him the house isn’t on fire. “Then we’re all safe.”
I drop my bag on the floor with a heavy thump, the cases inside rattling softly. Dad doesn’t even flinch.
Since retiring, he’s embraced a very specific kind of freedom. One that involves an ongoing vendetta against pants. Even though their basement apartment is fully equipped with its own living room, he much prefers the natural lighting in mine.
I sigh, already resigned. This is exactly why I never host SBL meetings here. Some things can’t be unseen, and no one deserves to stumble into that by accident.
“Now the reason for the underwear has been established, why are you here?” I ask. “I thought you and Mom were going to be in Georgia for a month.”
“We were.”
“And?”
“Your mother changed her mind. She wanted to come home early for the Freezer Feast.”
“But you two have missed the Freezer Feast before.”
He sits up a little, the couch squeaking as he shifts. “She didn’t want to miss seeing Nora again.”
My stomach drops. “Nora,” I repeat, flat. “As in… Nora?”
Dad points at me with the remote. “Your girlfriend Nora. Unless you two broke up. Your mom will be heartbroken if that’s the case.” Then he turns back to the TV and mutters to himself, “Chainsaw carving… now that’s a sport,” as if my emotional breakdown is merely background ambiance.
Mom exits the laundry room and strolls toward me. “Hi, sweetie.” She presses a kiss to my cheek. “Sorry for the sudden change of plans. Didn’t your dad text you?” She rests the laundry basket on the arm of the recliner. “I told him to text you when we got here.”
I glance at my dad, who is currently invested in watching a man carve a bald eagle out of a log at high speed. “I think he got distracted by the competitive chainsawing.”
Dad lifts a finger without looking away from the screen. “Look at that intricate wing detail.”
Mom hums. “Go figure. As soon as the pants come off, nothing else matters.” Then she smiles at me again. “Also, since I’m doing laundry, I grabbed yours too.”
My spine straightens. “Mom, I’m an adult. You don’t have to do my laundry.”
She shrugs. “I know. But I was doing it anyway.”
I open my mouth. Close it. And try again. “You can’t just—”
Mom turns her attention back to me, lowering her voice as if we’re co-conspirators and not family. “Also, if you want to have your girlfriend over, we’ll stay out of your way.”
“They broke up!” Dad yells from the living room.
Mom gasps. The laundry basket nearly tumbles out of her grip. “You broke up?”
“No. We didn’t break up.”
Her shoulders sag. “Good. I really like her. The offer still stands. You won’t even know we’re here,” she continues. “We’ll be quiet. Invisible. We’ll—”
“Nora’s not coming over.”
My mom’s expression doesn’t fall exactly, but her mouth shifts. “Oh? That’s a shame, but if you need us to leave the house for an hour, just say the word.” She winks, lifts the basket, and strolls to the basement stairs.
I hoist my bag onto my shoulder and climb the stairs to the second floor.
In my office, I set it down beside the drone case and kneel.
One by one, I unpack everything, placing each piece in its designated spot.
When I set the goggles on their stand, I pause.
My thoughts drift to Nora and the way she slid them over her head like a pro, not her second time.
And afterward, her body shifted. Just a fraction.
She looked… lighter. As if the world finally widened enough to give her room to breathe.
I snap the drone case shut a little harder than necessary. “Okay,” I tell the empty room. “Back to the terms of the agreement.” I stand, my palms scrubbing my face. Fake girlfriend. Favor. That’s it.
Mallow materializes at my feet, tail high and opinion immediate. He rubs against my leg, meowing as if he’s filing a formal complaint about his treat schedule—or the unacceptable lack of one.
“I’m aware you think it’s always treat time.”
He meows again, louder.
“I don’t see how this is my fault,” I say, grabbing my water bottle. “You’re the one who decided to tie your happiness to poultry-based snacks.”
He follows me out of the office and down the stairs.
In the kitchen, I open the treat cupboard and toss a couple onto the floor.
Mallow chases after them. I lean against the counter and take a drink.
After his snack, Mallow hops onto the stool, watching me from the other side of the island with either sympathy or judgment. I go with the latter.
“You’re not helping,” I tell him.
He blinks slowly.
My phone buzzes on the counter. I freeze, heart jumping like someone just toggled a switch. My thoughts immediately go to Nora. Instead, it’s a notification from Owen.
Owen
SBL meeting moved to the week after Thanksgiving. The flu has taken over Trey’s household.
I exhale, embarrassed by my own heartbeat.
“Get it together,” I mutter into my bottle of water.
I take another drink and stare at my phone, willing it to light up again.
It doesn’t. The problem isn’t that I hoped it was Nora.
It’s that my body reacted before my brain could stop it, which is happening more and more lately.