“So, how's the tour going?” he starts, swirling his iced tea like it is something stronger.
Amelia wipes her hands with a napkin and sits up straighter. “Busy. Nonstop, of course. But it’s been good. A lot of big events are coming up this next month, so it was nice to get away for a few days.”
“And you’re in charge of the entire squad?” Mom asks, clearly impressed.
Amelia nods, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Yep. Commanding officer, just promoted before the tour started.”
Dad lets out a low whistle. “Takes guts. Good leadership’s scarce these days.”
I can practically see Amelia trying not to beam at that, but I don’t let her get away with playing it cool. I reach under the table and give her thigh a squeeze.
“She’s the best,” I say, proud and completely unapologetic about it.
Amelia gives me a look—half warning, half soft—but then she turns her attention back to my dad. “Ash mentioned you run a physical therapy practice?”
Dad nods and leans in a bit. “Yup. Mostly work with athletes these days. Stock car drivers, motocross, and even some of the pit crews. Lotta injuries in those high-intensity sports. I help them get back in the game.”
Amelia’s eyes light up. “That’s actually incredible. I saw Chase Bryant and Mila Michalson in a few articles recently—huge comeback season for her.”
Dad’s grin spreads. “Mila is one of my clients, yes. Chase has been working with her since that wreck last season. She’s stubborn as hell, but Chase keeps her in check.”
“That’s so cool,” Amelia says, leaning in like she knows them personally. “Mila’s been all over the sports pages lately. Total powerhouse of a driver.”
Mom chuckles, clearly enjoying the conversation. “She’s been great for Chase. Those two are inseparable. Honestly, it’s adorable.”
I catch Amelia sneaking a glance at me before quickly looking away, but I don’t miss the faint blush dusting her cheeks.
She smiles, sweet but sharp. “Well, Amelia, if this tour ever slows down, you two are always welcome here. You know, for more than just dinner and a few days.”
Amelia hesitates, caught between a laugh and something softer. “I might take you up on that.”
And the way my chest tightens at her words? Yeah. This isn’t just a tour stop or a weekend getaway.
This feels bigger.
The weekend with my parents? Perfect. Almost too perfect.
Mom pulled out all the stops—home-cooked meals, family photo albums I haven’t seen in years, and enough “When are you bringing her back?” comments to last a lifetime. Dad talked Amelia’s ear off about his physical therapy business, even offered her a tour of the facility, and Amelia? She handled it all like a damn pro.
She fit. Effortlessly.
By the time we are throwing our bags in the truck Sunday afternoon, headed to the airport, all I can think is—I need to get her home.
Because sneaking around and holding back every damn time I caught Amelia alone in a room was absolute torture.
“Did you have to be so perfect?” I mutter as I throw my bag in the back.
Amelia leans against the passenger door with her sunglasses perched low on her nose. “Sorry, I’m irresistible to parents.”
“Yeah, well, my mom loves you now. So thanks for that.”
She grins, but there is that glint in her eye—the one that tells me she knows exactly what I mean.
“You could’ve just locked the door last night,” she teases, sliding into the seat.
I shoot her a flat look as I get in beside her. “Right. And explain to my mother why there was a suspicious lack of Amelia at breakfast this morning?”
She laughs, a low, throaty laugh that crawls down my spine. And damn, that’s it—I am barely hanging on here.
