I pull up outside the homestead. Charlie makes it inside before me. My mom is in the kitchen, pulling the casserole from the oven. It smells like my childhood.
“Hey, Mom.”
She looks over her shoulder as she slides the glass dish onto the range. “Hi, Warner. Smells good, doesn’t it?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Why don’t you go invite Tenley to have dinner? I heard what happened the last time she tried to eat by herself in town. I’m worried the poor girl doesn’t have enough to keep her full out there in Wyatt’s place. She’d probably enjoy a home-cooked dinner. And it wouldn’t hurt her to put a little meat on those bones.”
Tenley’s body is about as perfect as it can be, but I keep that thought to myself. I pull my phone from my pocket. My mom reaches over, batting at the screen. “No,” she says.
I make a face. “You just told me to invite Tenley.”
“I said go invite Tenley, not send her a text. Knock on her door and invite her to dinner like the big boy you are.” She winks at me and makes a clicking sound from the side of her mouth, then slips her hands from the oven mitts and walks from the room.
My mom is tough, and she’s never been a meddler. I was too young when I proposed to Anna, and looking back on it I’m almost positive everyone around me knew it. Maybe my mom should’ve said something then, but would it have even mattered? Probably not. I couldn’t see the forest, because all the trees were in my way. Perhaps that’s why she’s poking her nose in my business now. The mention of Tenley is absolutely my mom’s way of guiding me toward her.
I move through the house, checking on Charlie and saying hello to Peyton, who gives me little in the way of a real greeting, and head out the door. Pulling my ball cap low on my head, I take my truck over to Wyatt’s cabin.
Something acidic races across my stomach. Nerves? Is that what this is? I’ve seen Tenley every day, hell I even saw her already today and had a beer with her a couple hours ago. But inviting her to dinner at the homestead, with my kids, feels like more.
And these nerves feel like more, too. Like excitement.
This is why I called Anna, even though she’s the last person on the planet I want to talk with.
Closure. Not all of it though. Not yet. But what I do have, is enough for right now.
I pull up and cut the engine. Tenley is sitting on the porch swing, but I don’t see her until I’m on the second step. She shifts, my attention is caught, and I halt. Her eyes are on me, cornflower blue reaching out to my light brown, and her face is excruciatingly gorgeous. She’s an actress, so of course she’s beautiful, but it’s not just that. It’s the layers underneath her skin. She’s funny, and she’s always game to learn. I can’t think of many people who’d shovel shit just to learn how to hold the shovel the right way.
“Did you forget something?” Tenley’s head tips to the side, her long hair fanning out. She tucks one knee up into her chest, but keeps her other foot on the floor. She pushes off, and the swing moves slowly.
“My mom told me to invite you to dinner.” That’s not what I meant to say. Or maybe I just wish I’d said something smoother. But how can I be smooth when I’m inviting her to dinner at my parents’ house with my two kids? Nowhere in that scenario is there room for anything even remotely romantic.
She smirks. “Your mom?”
“Yes, but in the interest of full disclosure, she’s not the only person who’d like you to be there.”
“Charlie, too, huh?” She grins, teasing.
I huff a laugh. “Yeah. Charlie.”
The swing slows and Tenley stands. She sails past me and into the cabin, stepping out a moment later with a jacket. “It gets chilly here at night.”
“Lack of humidity.” I follow her to the passenger side of my truck and open the door for her. It gives me the opportunity to appreciate her backside, and it’s not one I miss.
I nod my head at her when she’s seated, and she narrows her eyes in response. She knows.
We’re quiet on the short drive to the homestead. She climbs the stairs to the front door ahead of me.
“Tenley?” Her name has left my lips before I’ve had time to consider what it is my brain would like to say.
She pivots. The setting sun casts a dull glow on her, turning her blonde hair amber and her eyes a darker shade. She gazes at me, expectant, but I’m too afraid to do what I want right now.
Instead of pulling her into my arms and tracing her lips with my own, which is what I’d do if my parents and kids weren’t on the other side of the front door, I do the lamest thing possible. I offer her a high-five to make up for the one I missed earlier.
She stares at my offered palm, then slowly presses her palm to mine. Her gaze lifts.
“Another time,” she whispers, then turns back around and walks inside.
17
Tenley
Casserole.
Tater tot, to be exact.
I’ve never had it, but it smells good enough to have kicked my salivary glands into working order. Just one look at the glass dish in the center of the Hayden dinner table tells me I’ll be hooked for eternity.
“Juliette, that smells incredible.” I smile at Warner’s mother as she leans over the table with a large wooden salad bowl in her hand.
“Well, eat up,” she replies. “There’s plenty.” She sets the salad in front of Beau, as far from me as possible. Either she’s sending a message to her husband, or she’s sending a message to me. Somehow I think it’s the latter. She’s always trying to get me to eat more food at breakfast.
The dishes are passed around the table. I take a bite of my dinner. Oh my God. It’s as good as it smells. I chew and swallow, then open my mouth to compliment Juliette a second time, but decide not to. Twice would be overkill. Juliette doesn’t seem the type to appreciate a barrage of compliments. Instead, I focus my attention across the table.
“Peyton, how was school?” I look at Warner’s daughter and arrange my face into polite interest.
The look she gives me back could cut ice, slay a demon, maybe even scare the robe off Voldemort. “Fine,” she answers, the answer sounding more like ‘fine-uh.’
Oh Lord. The ‘-uh’ ending. I did it. My sister did it. A hallmark of teenage girls, both past and present. I nod enthusiastically, as if Peyton has just told me that today she was elected president of student council. “That’s great.”
Warner meets my eyes. His shoulders lift, his eyes squeeze tight. He releases them both, the frustration clear. His mouth opens, but the voice comes from the far end of the table.
“You can be rude to used car salesmen and boys trying to get you to do something you don’t want to do.” Beau’s voice is low, and he doesn’t look up from his plate. He doesn’t need to. He might have used a megaphone for all the attention he commanded the moment he spoke. “But you will not be rude to a guest in my house.”
Peyton ducks her head, and I feel bad for her. I want to defend her, to tell them I was a teenager once too, that I had the same attitude. What I didn’t have was an intimidating grandfather to tell me to knock it off.