She shakes his hand. “Only the good things, I hope?”
He grins. “Of course.”
Mom slips her arm through Beth’s and ushers her inside. “Come on, let’s get you some real food. I want all the details.”
I shoot Dad a look. He shrugs and follows.
Beth glances back at me over her shoulder, half-smiling, half-terrified. I nod. “It’s okay.”
Inside, dinner is chaos. Mom peppers Beth with questions about her job, her family, her favorite foods, what she wants out of life. Dad listens, occasionally inserting a dry comment that makes Beth laugh.
Beth handles it all. She talks about loving numbers, the old job she left behind, how we met over a broken hose. When she mentions working at the garage, Mom’s eyes light up.
“A woman who’s smart, gorgeous, and can handle Jack? Marry her on the spot.” Mom claps her hands.
Beth chokes on a sip of water. I glare at my mother. “Ma!”
She waves me off. “I mean it. She’s perfect.”
Beth blushes but doesn’t look uncomfortable. If anything, she’s surprised by how welcome she feels.
Dad smirks. “She’s got backbone. That’s what matters.”
Beth looks at me, a small smile curling her lips. “Guess I have some redeeming qualities.”
I squeeze her knee under the table. “More than you know.”
Mom sighs. “I love her.”
Beth laughs. “I think I love you, too, Linda.”
Mom beams. “Jack, you better not mess this up.”
I meet Beth’s eyes, and for a moment, it’s just us, the noise of dinner fading away. Something true and certain settles in my chest.
This, her hand in mine, my family around us, is just the beginning.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
BETH
Jack’s parents are nothing like mine. From the moment we step inside their house—a cozy, sunlit bungalow that smells of cinnamon and fresh coffee—I feel something loosen inside my chest. Warmth radiates from every corner. It’s effortless, natural, and leaves me aching for something I’ve never truly had.
Linda, Jack’s mom, is a whirlwind in the kitchen: checking the oven with one hand, pouring drinks with the other, her laughter filling the air. She squeezes my hand, tucks a stray hair behind my ear, and beams at me like I’ve always belonged here. Jack’s dad, Robert, is quieter but just as present. He studies me over his mug, eyes soft and kind, his calm mirroring Jack’s.
It’s overwhelming. And it’s wonderful.
I’m not used to this. I grew up with awkward silences, the cold click of utensils, my mother’s disappointed sighs, and my father’s empty stare. I learned to fight for scraps of warmth, to prove myself at every turn.
But here, I don’t have to prove anything. They just like me. The realization is both heady and terrifying.
Linda sets a plate of cookies on the table and claims the seat at my side. “Alright, sweetheart, tell me everything.”
I pause, unsure. “Everything?”
She waves away my hesitation. “I want to hear about you and Jack. How you met. How he finally made a move. All the details.”
Jack groans from across the table. “Ma.”
