Page 94 of Almost Yours
Silence wraps around the table like a held breath.
“And for what it’s worth,” he continues. “I’m not intimidated by tough conversations. I’d rather be uncomfortable than dishonest. Violet deserves that kind of man.”
For a split second, I swear I see my mom smirk.
My dad stares at him for a long beat. “Hmm.”
While it’s not necessarily approval, it’s not a dismissal, either.
I glance sideways at Rowan, who just picks up his water glass like he didn’t just casually say the most romantic, emotionally mature thing anyone’s ever said in front of a man who once made a mechanic cry over a scratched bumper.
The rest of dinner passes with some stilted conversation, but at least Dad’s holding back the worst of his comments. When we finish dessert—Mom’s peach cobbler that even has Rowan making appreciative noises—I finally start to relax.
“Thank you for dinner,” Rowan says as we stand to leave. “Everything was delicious.”
Mom beams. “Oh, it was our pleasure. Wasn’t it, David?”
Dad grunts something that could be considered agreement, which from him is practically a standing ovation. He extends his hand to Rowan, who takes it without hesitation.
“Drive safe,” Dad says gruffly, and I nearly drop my purse in shock.
“Yes, sir,” Rowan responds, his face giving nothing away.
I’m just about to follow Rowan to the door when Mom’s hand closes around my wrist. “Violet, honey, could you help me with something in the kitchen before you go?”
“Sure,” I say, glancing at Rowan. “I’ll be right out.”
He nods, understanding the unspoken code of mother-daughter conversations.
As soon as we’re alone in the kitchen, Mom turns to me, her eyes bright with excitement. “Well?” she whispers.
“Well, what?” I ask, though I know exactly what she’s asking.
“Oh, don’t play coy with me,” she says, swatting my arm lightly. “That boy would walk through fire for you.”
I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face. “I know. He kind of just did.”
“And you feel the same way.” It’s not a question.
I nod, unable to form words around the fullness in my chest. Mom’s smile softens as she reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, just like she used to do when I was little.
“I’m happy for you, sweetheart,” she says. “And for what it’s worth, I think your father will come around.”
I blink fast, nodding before the tears can get the best of me. “I should get going. Rowan’s waiting.”
“Go,” she says, shooing me with her hands. “And don’t be a stranger. I expect to see both of you back here soon.”
When I step outside, I find Rowan leaning against his truck, arms crossed, looking up at the stars. The sight of him—tall and imposing against the night sky—makes my heart do that stupid fluttery thing again.
“Hey,” I say, crossing to him. “Sorry about that.”
He straightens, reaching for me as I near him. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah. Just mom stuff.” I slide my arms around his waist, breathing him in. “Thank you for tonight.”
His hand comes up to cup the back of my head, holding me against his chest. “It wasn’t so bad.”
I pull back, raising an eyebrow. “He practically asked for your tax returns and a five-year plan.”
