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“It’s good,” he murmured. “We’re good.”
“Mom wants me to bring you for family dinner on the weekend, both of you. And I meanallthe family. Is that too much, too soon?”
“For me? No. And if there’s food, Fox will be all over it.”
When I left, stepping out into the cool night air, I carried with me the warmth of Noah’s last kiss, a promise of more moments like this, of a connection that was growing deeper with each stolen kiss in the diner’s pantry.
And then I went back every night that week.
And we only got caught by Fox once.
Thankfully, it happened when we were drinking hot chocolate and not getting each other off in the hallway, which was the new pantry, given the hygiene concerns for the previous hookup spot.
“Youcancome upstairs,” Fox muttered, eyeing us as if he knew exactly what we’d been doing. Then he pointed at his dad. “You have a boyfriend, you kiss, you probably… yeah… just stop standing in the hallway macking on each other as if you think I don’t know.”
He stomped around a bit, but he winked at me and smirked as he went past us and up the stairs. “Night, Mr. Sheridan; night, Dad,” he sing-songed.
The little shit.
ChapterTwenty
Noah
With me carryingthe dessert I’d made—two pies large enough to feed at least twenty people—Fox and I walked towards the house, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves. This was a big family dinner, and I was about to meet everyone in Chris’s family.
The door swung open, and Chris greeted me with a smile. “You made it! Come on in, everyone’s excited to meet you.”
A wide porch wrapped around the front of the two-story Sheridan house, adorned with comfortable chairs and a few potted plants—a perfect spot for enjoying summer evenings.
Beyond the garden, the land sloped away gently, providing a view of the Wyoming landscape with its rolling hills and distant mountains, and best of all, it was the kind of place that felt like home as soon as I set foot on the property. It seemed to wrap its arms around me the moment I entered, filled with warmth and family history. The walls of the hall were adorned with family photos, each capturing a moment, a memory, a piece of the story that made up Chris and his family, and I loved checking them out before his parents came to find us.
Chris’s parents were the epitome of warmth and hospitality. His mom, with the blonde hair and blue eyes, which Chris had inherited, had a smile that lit up the room. She was the kind of person whose presence felt like a comforting embrace. His dad was tall, with a sturdy build speaking of a lifetime of hard work and strength. Yet, despite his height, each of his sons seemed to have outgrown him, standing just a bit taller.
“I brought dessert,” I said, presenting the pies. “Apple and cinnamon, and my take on lemon chiffon, I hope they’re okay. I have cream in a cooler, as well.”
Chris’s mom clapped her hands in delight. “Oh, Noah, those look amazing! Thank you!”
As we walked down the hall, Chris’s mom began pointing out various photographs. There was one of Chris as a child, another of the whole family at a beach, and then, she paused at one where a younger Chris had his arm in a sling.
“Oh, this one’s a classic.” She chuckled, drawing our attention. “Chris, remember the treehouse incident?”
Chris rolled his eyes. “How could I forget? You’re not going to tell that story, are you?”
His mom laughed. “Of course, I am. It’s a family favorite.” She turned to me. “Chris here decided he was going to build the ultimate treehouse. Mind you, he was about twelve at the time.”
Chris interjected, “It would’ve been the ultimate treehouse if I had finished it.”
“Well,” his mom continued, “he was so determined, up in that tree every day after school. But one day, he slipped and fell. Broke his arm in two places.”
Chris’s dad joined in, a twinkle in his eye. “We found him on the ground, still holding a hammer in his other hand, insisting he was fine and could climb right back up.”
Chris shook his head, but there was a smile on his face. “I was convinced I could finish it with one arm. I was a stubborn kid.”
“Stubborn is an understatement,” his mom said, still smiling. “But that’s our Chris, always determined to finish what he started, no matter what.”
It was clear that these stories were threads in the fabric of their family, told and retold with love and a hint of nostalgia, and they sucked Fox in as he asked a load of questions.
The house was filled with the sounds of laughter and conversation. Chris introduced me to his siblings: Daniel, with his husband, Micah; Scott, alongside his wife, Rachel, and their kids; Michelle, and her husband, Bob, with their child; and Mark, who was only home for the weekend from his internship up in Seattle. We gathered in the spacious dining room. The conversation flowed, and with the family so warm and welcoming, I felt at home.
