“Yeah, it’s really beautiful,” I agreed because it was.
Growing up on the Newport Coast had been a dream.
I turned right, then left, and made another right before pulling into our driveway and shutting off the engine.
“Stay,” I said before hopping out and going to the passenger side.
I opened her door and extended my hand as she reached for her bag that I knew were filled with torturous study materials for later.
“I can open my own door, Hotshot.”
“I know you can, Spitfire. I just don’t think you should.” I helped her out before shutting the door behind her.
“Oh no. I didn’t bring anything for your mom. My mom would be horrified that I showed up empty-handed.”
“Danika, it’s okay. My mom won’t be offended. She’s going to love you.” I offered her a smile, but she frowned in response.
“It’s not about that, Chance. It’s just basic manners. You don’t show up for dinner at someone’s house without flowers or a bottle of wine or dessert or something.”
“Well, it’s too late now. Come on.”
I reached for her hand and pulled her without even thinking. She jerked her fingers from my grip, and I looked at her apologetically. I hadn’t truly meant to do that. It had come so naturally. Instinctual, I guessed before mentally beating myself up for it.
“We’re home,” I yelled as we burst through the front door and into the oversize foyer.
“Chance!” my mom shouted from somewhere.
“We? I hope you brought me someone hot to look at.” Jacey’s voice filled the air.
Danika stifled a laugh while she looked around. Natural light filled every inch of the space, and I knew that all the blinds were up, so the ocean view would be on full display.
“That’s my little sister. She’ll be momentarily sad you aren’t a guy.”
“I’ll win her over,” Danika said with a smile, and I knew that she would.
I led us toward the kitchen. Danika followed a few steps behind, and I knew she was looking at the framed pictures that lined the walls. There were pictures of us as a family throughout the years, photographs my mom had taken of me playing baseball and Jacey dancing. There were pictures of my dad playing during his prime years on the Mets, coupled with ones of him coaching at Fullton State now. For as elaborate as our house was, it still felt homey, and I loved that the most. My mom could take anything and make it feel warm and welcoming.
“There you are,” I said as we reached the kitchen.
My mom was bent over the cutting board, chopping at something.
“Hi, honey.” She turned around, her green eyes bright and her long blonde hair up in a bun on top of her head.
I gave her a hug before she focused her attention on Danika.
“Mom, this is Danika. My tutor. Danika, this is my mom, Cassie.”
Danika reached out her hand. “Mrs. Carter,” she said, and my mom waved her away.
“Call me Cassie. And come here,” she said before pulling Danika into a hug. “Sorry. I’m a hugger, not a hand-shaker.”
“Well, I’m sorry I came empty-handed. I’m not usually so rude,” Danika said, and my mom laughed.
“Oh, honey, that’s not rude. You’re fine. We invited you,” my mom said sweetly.
“More like forced,” I said with a choke, and my mom swatted my shoulder. “What? Tell me it’s not true!” I argued.
“Well, can you blame me?” my mom asked.
Jacey strode into the kitchen, a sucker in her mouth.
“I can,” she said before looking Danika up and down. “You’re not a hot guy.”
“Told you,” I said, shaking my head.
“Nope. I’m better,” Danika added, and Jacey giggled. “Guys are dumb. And nothing but trouble. And super bossy.”
“So, you’ve met my brother then.” She tossed the sucker in the trash can.
“Jacey,” my mom tried to chastise, but she and my dad had raised us on sarcasm, so they couldn’t get mad about it.
“Oh, Mom, you know I’m only kidding,” Jacey defended before looking at me. “Kind of.”
“Can we go now? We showed up, said hello. I really need to study,” I joked, and my mom’s face dropped.
“No. I’ll lock Jacey in her room all night. Please stay.”
“I’m standing right here,” Jacey whined with an annoyed expression on her face.
“It’s not always like this,” my dad said as he stepped into the kitchen, looking larger than life. “Who am I kidding? Yeah, it is.”
“Danika, this is my dad, Jack,” I said as my dad walked immediately over to my mother and gave her a kiss before whispering something in her ear that made her blush.
Dammit. I had forgotten to warn Danika that my parents were still disgustingly in love and not afraid to show it. And I probably should have told her about their weird quarter fetish in case my dad started dropping fifty cents in my mom’s hands all night.
Danika looked unfazed by my parents’ affection but also seemed a little starstruck in a way. I hated it until I remembered that her dad was a huge fan.
“Didn’t you say that your dad was a fan?”
Her expression shifted, and she looked slightly embarrassed that I’d called her out. “Yeah, he is. And I can’t believe I’m even asking you this because it’s so wildly inappropriate, but—” she started to ask, but my mom cut her off.
“Danika, what did you say your last name was?” My mom cocked her head to the side. “I didn’t mean to interrupt you. It’s just that you look so familiar, and you’re obviously from New York, am I right?”
“I am, yes. And my last name is Marchetti.”
My mom’s jaw dropped open as she narrowed her eyes. “As in Ralph and Cecilia Marchetti?”
Danika’s face lit up. I’d never seen her look so happy before. How in the hell did my mom know Danika’s parents?
“You … you know my parents?”
“Actually, I do.” My mom smiled. “How are they? How’s your mother?”
Danika’s face fell just as quickly. “She passed away a few years back.”
“I didn’t know that,” I whispered toward Danika, and she turned to look at me.
“I know. It’s okay,” she whispered back, reaching for my hand and squeezing it before letting go.
My mom stepped out of my dad’s arms and toward Danika. She reached for her and pulled her into another hug. “I’m so sorry. She was a really great woman.”
“She was sick for a long time.” Danika focused on the floor before looking back up and meeting my mom’s watchful gaze.
“Jack, honey.” My mom turned toward my dad, who was picking at whatever was in the bowl and tossing it in his mouth. “You remember Ralph and Cecilia? Real estate Ralph.”
My dad grinned. “Ralph? Oh, man. That’s your dad?”
Danika smiled as she pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and sat. “He is.”
I moved to stand next to her, wanting to be there for support or needing to be near her—I wasn’t sure which.
“Damn. He gave me so much shit about being on the Mets. Would always say, ‘Why can’t you be a Yankee, Carter? Why you gotta make me root for the Mets?’ ” my dad said, mimicking a really bad New York accent, but it made Danika laugh.