“How would you feel about meeting my parents?” she asks hesitantly.
I blink in surprise, not because this is an unwarranted request or too soon. In fact, it seems about the right time.
I have a moment of shock—maybe more awe than anything—that Clarke clearly thinks this is serious, much in the same way I do, even though we haven’t quite yet voiced it to each other yet.
“You know, I’ve never once in my entire adult life been asked to meet a woman’s parents,” I reply with a crooked smile.
She rolls her eyes. “I’m not so sure you’ve bothered asking a woman her last name before.”
A bark of laughter erupts from me, and I love she can make light of my reputation. I spring up from my chair and snag her around the waist, pulling her back down into the same chair with me.
“I’d love to meet your parents,” I say before inclining my head and pressing my lips to her neck.
CHAPTER 21
Clarke
“Stop fidgeting,” Aaron commands and I shoot him a side-eyed glare from the passenger seat of his truck.
“I can’t help it,” I mutter, but I clasp my hands tightly together in an effort to stop my nervous squirming. “You know how you’ve never met a woman’s parents before?”
Aaron whips his head my way, his gaze on me far too long since he’s actually driving, but then he moves his attention back out the windshield. “You mean to tell me you’ve never brought a man home to meet your parents?”
“Of course I have,” I snap, frustrated he isn’t getting the significance of my discomfort. “I’ve brought a few home before.”
“Gee,” Aaron drawls, his voice dry as the desert floor. “I feel so special.”
I snort and grab his hand, which is within reach since his arm is resting casually on the center console. Sliding my fingers between his, I squeeze. “You should feel special, because those other dudes I brought home were easy.”
“Not making me feel better,” he mutters.
“What I mean is they were all perfectly nice and uncomplicated, so it was easy to bring them over for a dinner with my parents. You’re…”
“Not uncomplicated?” he guesses.
I shift to face him. While he doesn’t look, keeping his attention firmly on the road, I know I have his full focus by the way he stills. “You’re the best kind of complicated. And it makes this visit far more important than any other, which is the reason for my fidgeting.”
Aaron finally spares me a glance. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said about me.”
“I know, right?” I quip back with a grin. “Who would have thought I’d like complicated?”
Aaron pulls my hand to his mouth, then kisses my palm before drawing it down to rest in his lap for the rest of the ride to my parents’ house.
When we arrive, I take a deep breath as Aaron pulls into the driveway behind my father’s Cadillac. They still live in the same house I grew up in. Whenever I see the glowing lights within, it always brings me a measure of comfort. My parents have been looking forward to meeting the man I have seemingly taken a big chance on, as I think they’ve all but given up on me finding someone to have a solid relationship with.
While they fully supported my decision to go on that reality show, I’d known they had trepidations. In their infinite wisdom, they could see the potential for hurt and heartache in a way I just couldn’t. However, they also are the type of parents who believe the best way to grow and mature is by making mistakes that sting long enough to make lasting impressions.
When we make it to the porch, the door swings open and my father stands there.
Perry Webber certainly doesn’t look like the stereotypical accountant. My father more resembles a beach bum or a surfer dude than an accountant, which, technically, he sort of is. He was raised in southern California, and he could ride a surfboard flawlessly by the time he was five years old. He has longish, wavy blond hair, pale blue eyes, and a thick beard. He’s also tall and muscled, almost as broadly built as Aaron.
I can tell Aaron is shocked by his appearance, especially since my dad is wearing faded jeans ripped at both knees, an old Billabong t-shirt, and no shoes.
“You were expecting glasses and a pocket protector, weren’t you?” I can’t help but tease Aaron in a low voice before making a formal introduction to my father.
Aaron smirks, shaking my father’s hand before he invites us in. My dad leans in to give me a quick peck on the cheek, which tickles, then claps Aaron on the shoulder. “Aaron and I will fix everyone a drink. Your mom is in the kitchen.”
“Very subtle, Dad,” I mutter, and he winks. I’d expected no less than him pulling Aaron aside for some alone time to judge him. This is something Dad hasn’t ever done with someone I’ve brought over before, but I’ve told my mom how much I like Aaron. I’m sure she’s passed that tidbit along to my father.
I find Mom in the kitchen, making what looks like stir fry. I’m almost a pure clone of Amy Webber and if Aaron ever wants to know what I’ll look like in my late forties, he only has to gaze at my mom. We share the same fiery hair, hazel eyes that turn greener with high emotions, and petite frames. Our facial structure is almost identical, and my mom often gets mistaken for my older sister. I sure hope I have her youthful appearance and lack of lines when I’m her age. She always harps on me to wear sunscreen, and I’m mostly diligent about it.
“Hey, baby,” my mom coos when she sees me walk in. I round the kitchen island, and we engage in a long hug while the stir fry sizzles in the wok. “I’ve missed you.”
“Missed you back,” I assure her as we release. Bending over the wok, I inhale. “Smells good.”
My mom smiles, peering through the archway of the kitchen with a raised eyebrow. “Your dad kidnap Aaron already?”
“Yup,” I reply, moving back to the end of the counter and perching on a stool. “I’m sure he’s grilling him deeply by now.”
My mom laughs as she stirs the wok, splashing in soy sauce while her other hand perches on her hip. She’s always so relaxed and carefree. I definitely did not inherit that from her, but I do strive to emulate that. “Well, while the boys are otherwise occupied, tell me all about the trip to St. John.”
My mom isn’t totally clueless. I’d shared photos and texts. We’ve talked via phone and because I’m super close to my mom, she knows exactly how I feel about Aaron. But we haven’t seen each other since I’ve returned, so I haven’t been able to give her all the details.
“It was wonderful,” I say, propping my chin in my hand while she cooks. “So relaxing. And Aaron’s friends are super nice. The guys he plays on the same line with are all married, and their wives are so outgoing and inclusive. I didn’t feel like an outsider at all.”
“They sound lovely,” she replies.
“They really are.” Admittedly, they were so much more than I had anticipated.
I spend some time describing the resort, how we went snorkeling in crystal waters, and how we dined on some of the best food I’ve ever had. I did not tell her about how much sex I’d had, the countless orgasms, or how Aaron has taught me more about intimacy and desire than I could have ever learned from any other source because he takes the time to make it good for me. I love my mom and we are indeed close, but not that close.