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“You ready?”
For just a moment, Caroline squeezed her eyes shut, her face a resolute mask. It was a stark contrast to the rest of her. The front half of her hair was pulled back from her face to reveal little silver hoops in her ears. She’d chosen a blue dress, but this one was more sedate than the sundress she’d worn for our first date, with a flowy skirt that hit past her knees, short little sleeves that just cupped her shoulders, and a straight neckline. Her open-toed sandals revealed a pretty shell-pink polish on her toes. I could see she’d added the same to her fingers.
“You look beautiful. But why do I feel you dressed like we’re going to a church picnic?”
Insult whipped a little color into her cheeks. “I’m meeting your parents. I want to make a good impression.”
I stepped in to skim my hands down her arms. “And you will. Relax, it’s just dinner.”
“‘Just dinner,’ he says.” She picked up her purse and a small paper gift bag, and muttered something in Spanish that, judging by her tone, probably wasn’t complimentary. “Let’s go.”
I laced my fingers with hers and lifted her hand so I could press a kiss to the back of it. “It’ll be fine. They’re going to love you.”
“I really hope your faith isn’t misplaced.”
Did she mean my faith in her or my family? Either way, I was vaguely insulted. But as she was one step away from crawling out of her skin with nerves, I let it go. It had taken nearly a week and a half to coordinate schedules, and in all that time, Caroline had built this whole dinner up into some monumental thing. On top of which, I knew a lot of people had treated her and her family poorly. At this point, nothing but getting it over with was going to put her at ease.
We headed out to the loaner car I’d been using since the fire. Though the case was straightforward, it would still be a few weeks before insurance approved my claim and sent a check to cover the loss of my truck. In the meantime, Stan Jenkins, one of my dad’s fishing buddies, had offered his antique 1980s Chevy pickup. It was a project vehicle Stan had been talking about restoring since I was old enough to peer into an engine compartment, and in all that time, he hadn’t gotten much further than replacing the motor. But it was getting me from place to place, so I was hardly going to complain.
As I drove the short distance toward my parents’ place in Sutter’s Ferry, Caroline gripped the sea turtle pendant on her necklace like a lifeline, dragging it back and forth on the chain. Reaching across the bench seat, I found her hand with mine and linked our fingers again. She didn’t look at me, but she held on tight, as if she’d be swept out to sea at any moment.
Her grip didn’t relax as we pulled into the driveway of the house where I’d grown up. It was a quintessential coastal cottage, clad in weathered shingles that had taken on a soft, silvery-gray patina, and a cedar shake roof my mother loved for its rustic charm and my father cursed for being a pain in the ass. I had to side with Mom on that one. White trim around the windows offered a crisp, clean contrast, and the bright blue front door added a splash of color and whimsy that reminded me of Caroline and her kitchen cabinets.
I tugged her up the steps to the porch, past the rocking chairs and hanging planters with their profusion of red petunias, and went straight inside. “Hey! We’re here!”
Mom popped out of the kitchen, her silver-streaked blonde hair tossed up in a ponytail, a checkered dish towel tossed over one shoulder. “Welcome!”
Beaming, she hurried across the room and embraced me like it had been a year instead of three days since she’d laid eyes on me. Then she turned to Caroline. “It is so nice to officially meet you, Caroline. I’m Ibbie.” She waved a hand toward the open back door, where Dad was stepping inside. “And that’s my husband, Frank.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. McNamara. Mr. McNamara.”
Mom waved that away. “Oh, now. Mrs. McNamara is my mother-in-law. Please, call me Ibbie.”
Caroline shot me a look of vague panic before squaring her shoulders and offering the bag. “I brought you a little hostess gift.”
“Ooo, presents. I love presents.” Mom took the bag and dipped a hand inside. It was a pint jar of something golden.
“It’s local honey from Golden Dunes Honey Company. And I added in a dozen or so of my favorite recipes, in case you needed ideas for how to use it.”
As Mom reached back into the bag again, Dad offered a none-too-subtle thumbs up.
Mom drew out a neat stack of index cards tied with purple ribbon. “Oh, how thoughtful! I love it. Thank you.” She wrapped an arm around Caroline’s shoulders in a friendly squeeze that stunned Caroline so much, for a moment I thought she might cry.
Shit. I hated she wasn’t used to casual affection or people being nice to her.
Before I could decide if and how I could rescue her, a timer went off. Dad waved a spatula. “That’ll be the chicken. Y’all have good timing.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Caroline asked.
“Everybody come grab a platter,” Mom ordered. “Drew! Come make yourself useful, son!”
My brother materialized from somewhere, and we all headed for the kitchen, grabbing plates and bowls of food and hauling them out back.
Caroline stopped on a gasp two steps out the door. “Oh! This is wonderful.”
Dad grinned from ear-to-ear. “It is, isn’t it? Our own little slice of paradise.”
Inside the fenced yard, my parents had planted an oasis of a garden that they’d nurtured over nearly three decades. It surrounded a wide patio that was shaded by one of the ancient live oaks that were sought after on the island. Beneath it, we’d built a long picnic table for the parties they liked to host. Tiki torches with citronella were already lit around the perimeter.
