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She gives me an approving nod before returning her attention to him. “I’m only Dr. Rucker if you need a medical consult.” She winks at Koen and bypasses his proffered hand in favor of a hug. “But if you’re in love with my daughter, you should call me Caitlyn.”
Koen doesn’t give me a second glance when she releases him. With a confident smile, he nods. “Caitlyn, I love your daughter very much.”
My mom’s usually controlled with her emotions, but Koen has her fighting a few tears.
I hug his chest and kiss his jaw.
“Thought I heard the door open.” Dad makes his way down the hardwood stairs that have an old runner rug down the middle of them. They added it after my sister took a tumble and had to get ten stitches in her head.
“Hey, Dad.” I give him a quick hug. “This is Koen.”
He offers Koen his hand. “Denny Rucker. Nice to meet you, young man.” Dad tucks his hands into the pockets of his cargo shorts, which he’s paired with a “Tree Hugger” green T-shirt. His signature white socks are pulled halfway up his knobby shins.
And much like Koen’s usual attire, Dad’s sporting a baseball hat. A red Phillies hat.
“Likewise, sir.” Koen’s comfortable. Too comfortable. It’s not natural.
“Southern boy.” Dad winks at me. “Well done, Scottie. But you should call me Denny. Come on in. Can I get you something to drink? Beer? Whisky? Wine?”
“I’m five years sober. Water works great. Thanks.”
My heart squeezes until my whole chest aches. I’m in love with a man who is confident and honest. Owning his imperfections only makes him more perfect in my eyes.
Mom loops her arm around mine as we follow Dad and Koen to the kitchen. “He’s cute, Scottie,” she whispers with the giddiness of a girlfriend instead of my mom.
My grin swells. “Yes, he is.”
Koen tosses me a curious glance over his shoulder, those blue eyes alight with curiosity.
“Mom and I were just discussing how homely-looking you are, babe.”
“Oh, Scottie Ann Rucker. That is not true.” Mom releases me and pats Koen on the back. “She’s always been an ornery little thing. You’ve got your hands full with this one.”
Deep satisfaction settles in his unwavering grin as I nod for him to sit in the horseshoe-shaped nook. Mom has three charcuterie trays on the table, enough for an army.
“So, what brings you two to Philly?” Mom asks. “I was surprised when Scottie announced your visit. We usually go to Austin.” She eyes Koen, and he returns a smile.
For some reason, I don’t trust that smile. What is going on?
Koen fills his plate with food. “I was hoping to speak to you, Denny, in private. But upon further consideration, I think tradition on this matter is a bit outdated. So I might as well take this moment to ask both of you.” He eyes them with a stupid amount of confidence, and I realize it’s happening.
Right here. Right now.
“Save the speech, son. You have our blessing. We’ve been waiting for this day.” Dad doesn’t skip a beat. “Take our daughter.”
“Dad!” I cover my face while everyone laughs.
“Listen, my darling daughter,” Dad grins at me when I drop my hands, “you have always walked your own path. I don’t know why this young man thinks our opinions matter. And they shouldn’t. One day, we won’t be here, and I want to believe that you and Steph will be just fine without us and our opinions.”
“But …” Mom eggs him on as if they’ve carefully scripted this.
“But,” Dad continues, “we knew if the day ever came that a man had the courtesy to ask for your hand in marriage, he would bethe onejust for having that good sense of kindness and respect.”
My jaw hangs open, my eyes unblinking while stuttered thoughts struggle to line up into coherent sentences. “Y-you didn’t even act surprised? I told Mom I had met someone special, but I didn’t say more.”
Mom hides her knowing grin behind her glass of red wine. “I knew because it’s been forever since you’ve thought of a man in your life as ‘special.’ And I’m your mother. I could tell just from the tone of your voice. So I told your dad last week that you were coming home to introduce us to your future husband.”
The room falls silent, all eyes on me. This makes no sense. My mother is a lot of things, but she’s not one to read my tone on a phone call.
