Dinner With Skye’s Parents…
Dinner With Skye’s Parents…
“It’s going to be okay,” Daniel repeats for what feels like the fiftieth time. It’s become his personal mantra, and I honestly don’t understand why he needs it.
“It sure is,” I agree, slowing his car as we enter the outskirts of town. I took one look at how his hands were shaking and demanded he give me the keys. I’ve never seen him like this before, not even when we were facing down a literal demon. “Remind me again why you’re so nervous?”
He looks at me like I’m crazy. “I’m supposed to be nervous. I’m meeting your parents!”
Oh my god, that’s so adorable. “You’ve met my parents,” I point out. “Many times. They love you.”
“That was before. Now I’m dating you, not just your friend from work. I know how protective of you they are. And your stepdad is the chief of police.”
I laugh. “So, what, you think Patrick is going to arrest you if you make me mad or something? Come on, Daniel. Be reasonable.”
He sets his jaw stubbornly. “No, I don’t think he’d arrest me. But…” He trails off, probably because there is no sane way to finish that sentence. “I’m not being unreasonable.”
Feeling a little guilty for laughing, because he really is stressed over this, I pat his thigh. “It’s going to be fine. I promise. They already love you, and now that they know how much we love each other and how happy you make me, they’re only going to love you more.”
He grabs my hand and clings to it. “I hope so.”
“They will. Although,” I add, “they might tease you. But only because they like you so much and are so happy about us being together.” I pull into the driveway of my childhood home and put the car in Park. “Plus, with the bribes you brought, how could they possibly not be glad to see you?”
Horror crosses his face. “Bribes? They’re not bribes! I would never try to bribe the chief of police. Oh my god, what if he thinks I’m trying to bribe him?”
Yeah, okay… he’s not going to calm down until we get this over with. “Out of the car,” I order, opening my door.
When I get around to his side, he’s standing in the driveway, staring at the house like he’s never seen anything like it before. Never mind that he’s been here more than once. “Aren’t you going to get the stuff you brought?”
“Not if they’re going to think I’m trying to bribe them to like me.”
I roll my eyes. “They’re not going to think that, because they already like you.”
He seems doubtful, but obediently opens the back door to get the box of seedlings.
I lead the way to the front door and don’t bother to ring the bell. If I did, Dad and Patrick would wonder why and probably be offended. “Hello? We’re here.”
“In the kitchen!” Dad calls.
He looks up from where he’s sitting at the kitchen table with a gardening magazine when we walk in. “Patrick decided he wanted to cook a roast in Kamado,” he announces, and I can’t hold back my groan.
“What?” Daniel asks. “You’ve got a Kamado Joe? Roasts come amazing in those.”
“They do,” Dad agrees. “Sadly, Patrick has never mastered the art.”
“He’s still trying, though,” I mutter, crossing to the window and peering out.
My stepdad is scowling at his red spaceship oven—as I dubbed it when I was an annoying teenager—which is a pretty good sign that once again, he’s having trouble getting the temperature to stay consistent.
“He’s great when he uses it as a grill,” I add.
“It’s just when he tries to use it as an oven that we usually end up eating late after we have to finish it off inside. ”
“I never know when to preheat the oven,” Dad muses. “If I do it too soon, it’s like I don’t have faith in him. If I leave it too long, we just end up eating later.”
“Uh…” Daniel looks uncertainly between me and Dad. “Would it be okay if I tried to help? Or would he be offended?”
Dad and I exchange glances. “Do you know what you’re doing?”
Daniel shrugs. “I’ve used a Kamado plenty of times. And I’ve helped Ewan with the forge before, so I know about maintaining coals at steady temperatures.”
“Perfect,” Dad announces. “Take him a beer and make a few casual suggestions.” He seems to notice the box for the first time. “What’s this?”
“Oh.” Daniel blushes. It’s adorable. “Skye told me you’ve been working on a vegetable garden, so I brought you some seedlings.”
Dad lights up like a Christmas tree. “Really? That’s great! Can you show me how to keep them alive? I’ve been really unlucky in that regard, no matter how many magazines I read and YouTube videos I watch.”
My boyfriend smiles, regaining some confidence. This is his area. It probably helps that Dad’s being so normal. “Sure. I can come back another day and we can plant them together, if you want? They’ll be fine like this for a few days, as long as you water them.”
Dad looks at me. “He’s a major improvement on all your other boyfriends.”
I’d protest, but he’s right. “I like to think so. Let me grab those beers, and I’ll show Dan where to put the plants and then we’ll say hey to Patrick.” And hopefully save dinner.
We step out onto the deck, and I point Daniel toward the patch of dirt where Dad’s trying to grow vegetables. He frowns, glances at the setting sun, then the big oak next door, and says, “I’m going to leave these here on the deck for now.”
I shrug. “Sure. Hey, Patrick!”
My stepdad stops scowling at the temperature gauge on his fancy grill-slash-oven and smiles at me. “Hey, Unicorn. Hope you’re hungry.”
“Starved,” I assure him, passing over a bottle of beer. “How’s it going?”
“Well, you know how these things are. It’s an art, and you can’t rush art.”
Yep. That sounds about right. I take a big gulp of beer.
“Oh, cool, you have a Kamado Joe,” Daniel says, coming to join us.
I hand him his beer. “My brother has one. Hey, when it’s time to open the air vent, can I do it?
He never let me, and I’ve always wanted to.
” His face is a little red, likely because it’s a pretty childish request, and I make a mental note to kiss him until he turns that same color later.
Patrick’s expression turns thoughtful and a little sly. “Sure. Hey, if you wanna practice your Kamado skills, I’d be okay with that.”
I blink and then drink more beer to hide my smile. My stepdad is a sneaky bastard.
“Really?” Daniel asks, so fake-innocently that I’m sure Patrick will guess what we’re doing. His eyes narrow a little, but I guess he’s sick of eating late too, because he rolls with it.
“Course. You’re family now, right? My Kamado is your Kamado.” He gestures expansively. “You take the reins, and I’ll supervise.”
Daniel grins, moves closer to the Kamado Joe, and studies the temperature gauge. “Hmm. Well, I guess here goes nothing.”
“You’re sure dinner’s going to be ready on time?” Dad asks me for the fourth time. “Because these beans are nearly steamed, and—”
“Dad, relax. They took the roast out fifteen minutes ago to rest. Yeah, look—they’re bringing it in now.”
He comes to stand beside me at the window. “I can’t believe we’re eating before ten,” he mutters. “Good job choosing Daniel.”
“Thanks, but I didn’t choose him just for his skill with meat.” I wince. “I mean grilling. Or whatever this is.”
Dad’s laughing too hard to answer. I’m pretty sure I’ll be hearing about this for the rest of my life.
“Listen, don’t bring up meat skills,” I say fast, cringing even as the words leave my mouth. “He’s been super nervous about tonight.”
Dad stops laughing. “Why?”
I shrug. “Something about wanting you to like him. I don’t know, Dad. Just go easy.”
The door opens before he can respond, and Patrick walks in bearing the roast on a platter, Daniel two steps behind him.
“Kevin, wait’ll you see what a great job Daniel did with this roast. I’m proud to call him my protégé.
” He slides a sideways glance at Daniel as he says the last bit, inviting him to share in the joke.
Patrick’s no idiot—he knows he was managed, but he doesn’t care.
My dad and I really do have the best taste in men.
Dad takes the platter and carves the meat, and within a few minutes we’re all sitting around the table, piling our plates with food.
“I hope you don’t mind that we’re eating in the kitchen, Daniel,” Dad says, passing me the green beans. “I thought about setting the table in the dining room, but that’s for company, not family.”
Daniel beams. “I don’t mind. This is much more comfortable.”
“You have no idea,” Patrick grumbles. “Those chairs in the dining room contravene the Geneva Convention.”
Dad scoffs. “Don’t exaggerate. Anyway, you chose them.”
“I didn’t know how bad they were. You only let me sit on them for a few minutes. Everyone knows it takes more than a few minutes to eat dinner.”
“Patrick, you can’t sit on a chair in a showroom for an hour,” Dad explains patiently for the hundredth time. I ignore them and take a bite of meat, which is outstanding. Huh. Daniel can barely cook in the kitchen, but turns out he’s a champion with a grill thing.
“Sure I can,” Patrick insists. “It’s not hurting anyone.”
“That’s what I did,” Daniel agrees.
Huh? “You what?”
“Last time I had to buy a mattress, before I came here, I lay on three different ones for thirty minutes each.”
“You did?” Dad asks incredulously. “And nobody asked you to leave?”
He shrugs. “They asked, but when I explained what I was doing and gave them my credit card to hang onto, they were okay with it.”
Patrick nods approvingly. “You’re a smart man, Daniel. I especially like the way you look after Skye.”
“I can look after myself,” I protest, and Patrick waves it away.
“I know. But I still like that Daniel looks out for you.”
I sniff. “Last time he ‘looked out for me,’ most of the town ended up thinking we were dating.”
“And now you’re dating. Seems to me like it all worked out.” My stepdad smiles broadly. “Not to mention how entertaining it all was.”
For them, maybe.
“But,” he continues, “just so you know, if you ever hurt my unicorn, they won’t find your body.”
To my surprise, Daniel grins. “I know. Skye’s vicious when he’s crossed. And Tom’s uncle has a mincer in his garage.”
Patrick laughs so hard, tears stream down his cheeks, and Dad lifts his beer in salute. “Welcome to the family, Daniel.”