Page 95 of Between the Lines

“One day,” he adds.

“Speaking of meeting people.” I pause, letting the words hang, hoping what I say next isn’t a total deterrent. “Once I tell my family about the whole roof situation, I want to have a family dinner at my house. Thought maybe you could come.”

I wait with bated breath.

“Sure, yeah,” he replies easily.

“I know you hate small talk, but I promise it won’t be bad. My sister is a bit of a . . . Well, you’ll meet her. But Jesse and Danny are really cool. It would mean a lot. Plus I’m sure they’ll want to meet the guy who saved the house.” I attempt a wink, surely looking like a total dork.

“I’m a big boy, I can handle it,” he replies, his voice husky, as he pulls himself up next to me on the edge of the pool, water droplets rolling down his muscles.

I’m relieved, thinking about dinner. How it might heal everything, bringing all the people I care about together. Maybe if my family sees me with a fixed house, a relationship with a mature, responsible man, they will be forced to take me seriously.

37

Caden

“What are you doing here? It’s Friday,” Fia asks, leaning on the counter as I walk into Good Grinds. It’s busy, the tables full of tourists, but there’s no line at the moment. And today, I have a real excuse to be here.

“I’m on my way to meet my fish guy, but I wanted to stop in and hang this.” I hold up a framed photo of the article Wilmington Life did on us.

Fia shakes her head. “First, I have so many questions, like what is a fish guy?” She nods towards the frame. “And I didn’t know that the article was published already.”

“A fish guy, like the guy I buy fish from,” I explain.

Fia tilts her head, apparently more confused.

“A friend with a boat.” I wave my hand in the air. “Never mind, but I’m making cod tomorrow.”

Halle, who’s making a drink beside Fia, flashes me an odd look.

Realizing what I said, I clear my throat. “And the magazine came out this morning. I had an appointment lined up to get the article framed.”

I eye the wall across from the barista station and place my tool kit on the table next to me. Fia comes up beside me, her arms crossed over her chest.

“You’re chatty today,” she muses.

I look her over, probably for too long—because all I want to do is wrap my arms around her shoulders, pull her into me, and kiss her deeply—but I keep it professional.

“I’m just excited for the article . . . and for the weekend,” I add, holding a nail between my lips while I decide where to hang the frame.

“Oh yeah, what’s going on this weekend? Any exciting plans?” Her voice is flirty.

“Going to have my girlfriend over tomorrow and cook out for her.” I glance out of the corner of my eye at Fia.

She bites back a smile and whispers, “Girlfriend?”

I hit the nail straight on the head—one straight shot into the wall. I smile, cocky.

“Yeah, girlfriend.” I make a show of raking my eyes up her body and Fia blushes.

Shit. I almost forgot where I was for a moment. Again.

“How’s this look from back there?” I call out gruffly.

Halle perks up.

“Good. It’s straight.” Then she comes around to join me and Fia. “That’s a cute photo.”